Until you name me/ You can’t tame me!/ This is one old game/ That I can play so well…

I've been meaning to write this post for awhile now. Sigh. If intentions were horses I'd be violating my apartment lease; or else I guess boarding them somewhere? That would probably be the better choice.

Anyway, I finished 50 books earlier this month; I always aim to hit the 50 mark by the end of June, so it's exciting to be on track. So exciting, that I took basically a month off to read through a math book at a snail's pace. Yup.

I wanted to read the book as a reward for making so much progress, and then I started wondering if it's weird that I reward myself for my hobby. I mean, it's supposed to be fun inherently, right? Still, mini rewards do help with the motivation. Now I just need to get going again to stay on track for the year.

Normally this would be the time that she would let him talk her out of leaving

It's been a few exciting weeks at the trapeze school; I got to film several people's first swings without safety lines and cheer on others as their first return bars were dropped and in some cases caught. Obviously the highlight for me was Drew taking his swing OOL; I'm so glad that I got to be there and celebrate with him.

When I first started trapeze I hated it. HATED. It scared me so much; climbing that ladder scared me so much. I was in a Saturday flying workshop, and starting on Thursday evenings I would feel so anxious. I never slept well on Fridays. Then on Saturdays I'd spend two hours so intensely facing my fear. What people may not realize is that this went on for 6+ months. It wasn't until I was a few weeks into my third IFW that it started to subside (maybe because I went to Puerto Rico and had to face it for five days in a row? Maybe because I started to get better?).

So, why in the world did I keep going? I don't completely know. I do know that I saw that everyone else at the rig seemed to love flying, and I desperately wanted to be part of that world. I wanted to love it so much. The hardest part was hating that I couldn't.

And then eventually, I started loving flying trapeze.

Lately, several people  have asked when I'm going to take my swing OOL. The answer I always give is, oh, never; it's not why I fly. That's not a world where I'd belong.

The thing is, as special as that world of OOL is, and as happy as I am for everyone who steps into it, there's something special about my flying world, too. About this world where nothing comes easily and everything comes with fear at first and then eventually with love.

About that moment when turnaround isn't scary anymore and I can be aware of my body position (after firmly believing that I'd just be a flyer who never turned around and that I could live with that). About discovering that I love taking off from the second rise (which makes you higher and should make it scarier)

About Mandy having to have a talk with me about the fact that I was ready for an unassisted takeoff and had been for weeks (a talk she said that very, very few people get). About the moment when you realize that you aren't smiling before taking off because Mandy and Meghan said that you had to (it forces your body to let go of some of the nerves and you to collect yourself a bit before taking off), but instead you are smiling in anticipation of the sheer joy of flying.

And, of course, what's really, really special is a place like the rig and the community of flyers there who can welcome and celebrate people in these various worlds.

Some things are meant to be/ The tide turning endlessly/ The way it takes hold of me/ No matter what I do

This. That's all.

Give me pain if that's what's real/ It's the price we pay to feel

I just can't even. Gah.

"In a perfect world, he would sleep only with perfect women, women of perfect femininity." Oh, would he now? Maybe in a perfect world he'd be less of an entitled little prick. Certainly in a perfect world I wouldn't have to keep reading Coetzee.

Doesn't help that I'm still not in the mood for this. At all.

Do you know /Do you know/ What it's like to die alive?

Okay, I truly don't mean to constantly hate on Coetzee. I really did try with Youth. I was all primed to give it a chance, I swear. And then the stuff with Jacqueline happened. First, let's get something out of the way. It is ALWAYS wrong to read the private writings (emails, texts, diaries) of someone else, and EVERYTHING is private until you are told otherwise. It can only end in tears. So yes, she is awful. Fine. But why does Coetzee have to make women so uniquely awful?

Don't get me wrong;  I'm not saying real women are easier to get along with. I'm not even saying that I am easier. I am quite sure that I am an extremely difficult person to deal with, live with, love. But who isn't? I have my hang-ups, fears, obnoxious quirks, moments where I'm so far less than my best self (which, how great is that best self to begin with anyway?). But who doesn't? That happens because we're all human, not because women are uniquely difficult/infantile/selfish/awful as a gender.

Yes, you could argue that Coetzee's protagonist is male and he doesn't have to view women as fully human. And I would say, I don't care. Yes, fine, men as the privileged group get to view women as less than human, they get to be oblivious to women's experiences in a way that women don't get to with men. Same is true for me as a white person. That does not make it okay.

At a time when we're facing a very real, raw, terrifying, and tragic reminder of why street harassment (and even just getting hit on) is not flattering but incredibly scary, my patience for casual misogyny is at an all time low.

So casually cruel in the name of being honest

Maybe I should get a job like this! I'd be done in no time.

Maybe we can't be okay/ But maybe we're tough and we'll try anyway

I should read this book, I think. I kind of really want to, anyway. But, that would certainly put me off track for the quarter.

Tonight I'm getting over you

Oh. My. God. Coetzee.

Dusklands. Oh yes. Yes indeed. I don't want to write about this one. It did annoy me, though. Referencing the Truman Library? Sure, Coetzee, sure. You don't get to look down on the midwest like that. I realize that this is like an older sibling who picks on their younger sibling but will fight to the death anyone else who bugs them, but seriously.

Personally, I have a great fondness for the Truman Library. Life changing events and all that. I dug out some pictures from that. The first one made me so nostalgic. Seriously, this woman so completely changed my life; she was the best thing about my time in undergrad; I was so luck to have been there while she was. I'm so glad that she was able to join for the appointing ceremony thing. Second picture is just amusing to me.

Even if it's a lie/Say it will be all right/And I will believe

Rather than have a more comprehensive existential crisis (because general Jenny existential crises are so 2012..... well, okay, and 2013), I thought I'd have one on the list project.*

What is the point of this project? Is there any point? Does it matter? Does it mean anything?

Why am I doing it? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

In other news, I'm trying to finish off the remaining Coetzee's that I have on the list. That undertaking is not unrelated to the rest of this post.

* Yes, I do realize I am abusing the term.

How could I ever forget?/ The moment my life was set/ That day that I lost you/ It's clear as the day we met

Quote of the day (reminded of after reading another Elizabeth Bowen that left me feeling strangely unsettled)

“Who is ever adequate? We all create situations each other can't live up to, then break our hearts at them because they don't.”
 - Elizabeth Bowen