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Today my friend Sydneycat, distraught over the state of her relationship with Morlock (read their livejournals now!) and struggling to come to grips with her recently-admitted anxiety disorder, announced that she would kill herself if they broke up. She then went on to divvy up her possessions amongst various friends and family. (I get a TV, VCR and DVD player!)
Alerted to this development by Filthy Assistant (don't bother looking, FA's livejournal is by invitation only), I scrapped my plans for the afternoon and drove over to SC's office and waited for her to get off work, which she did at 3:30. We then went over to UMass, where I collected student papers and showed a rather bizarre video biography of Ataturk. (Professor Wilson had to go to New York.) It was, without question, one of the strangest things I have ever seen. It revealed some interesting stuff I didn't know, but it was full of non-sequiturs, lacking in background, and featured Nigel Hawthorne strolling through a garden pretending to be a reminiscing British ambassador. Why was not clear.
Then, SC and I came back to my place where I made dinner and we played paper crack for awhile. Then I drove her home, and I waited with her for Morlock to arrive, which he did shortly thereafter. (He seemed really out of it--he has just today started anti-psychotic meds, and they seem to be very tiring for him.) SC then announced that she was going to play video games, and so Morlock and I played a couple of games of Magic. Then, they went to bed and I left. God only knows how it's going over there, but they seemed too tired to do anything but snooze.
Am honestly perplexed. SC writes as though she has lost her shit entirely, and I have certainly seen her break down in hysterical sobbing and have sudden panic attacks. Yet, while she was clearly sad when I first saw her, she wasn't inconsolable, and I thought we actually had a very nice evening. I realize that my turkey meatballs, pasta with sauce, and steamed broccoli are hardly sufficient to justify one's life in the face of long-term existential anomie [which reminds me: drop me a line if you haven't seen the 'press release' about deployment of the Jean-Paul Sartre brigade to Afghanistan], yet I didn't see the sort of pervasive depression, misery, and pain that I normally associate with suicidal urges. Either SC is repressing and hiding a lot more than she lets on, or I have serious lacuna in my human behavioral modelling subroutines.
Any helpful data or insight will be welcome.
(As for me, I came home and called an old friend who is out in Texas. I tried to explain what I have been up to for the past three months. He hadn't heard about all the shit with Sabbath. He was very understanding, and didn't even hint that he wanted to say "what the fuck is wrong with you??" and dope-slap me over the phone, which is what I had been dreading. Should call him more often.)
Alerted to this development by Filthy Assistant (don't bother looking, FA's livejournal is by invitation only), I scrapped my plans for the afternoon and drove over to SC's office and waited for her to get off work, which she did at 3:30. We then went over to UMass, where I collected student papers and showed a rather bizarre video biography of Ataturk. (Professor Wilson had to go to New York.) It was, without question, one of the strangest things I have ever seen. It revealed some interesting stuff I didn't know, but it was full of non-sequiturs, lacking in background, and featured Nigel Hawthorne strolling through a garden pretending to be a reminiscing British ambassador. Why was not clear.
Then, SC and I came back to my place where I made dinner and we played paper crack for awhile. Then I drove her home, and I waited with her for Morlock to arrive, which he did shortly thereafter. (He seemed really out of it--he has just today started anti-psychotic meds, and they seem to be very tiring for him.) SC then announced that she was going to play video games, and so Morlock and I played a couple of games of Magic. Then, they went to bed and I left. God only knows how it's going over there, but they seemed too tired to do anything but snooze.
Am honestly perplexed. SC writes as though she has lost her shit entirely, and I have certainly seen her break down in hysterical sobbing and have sudden panic attacks. Yet, while she was clearly sad when I first saw her, she wasn't inconsolable, and I thought we actually had a very nice evening. I realize that my turkey meatballs, pasta with sauce, and steamed broccoli are hardly sufficient to justify one's life in the face of long-term existential anomie [which reminds me: drop me a line if you haven't seen the 'press release' about deployment of the Jean-Paul Sartre brigade to Afghanistan], yet I didn't see the sort of pervasive depression, misery, and pain that I normally associate with suicidal urges. Either SC is repressing and hiding a lot more than she lets on, or I have serious lacuna in my human behavioral modelling subroutines.
Any helpful data or insight will be welcome.
(As for me, I came home and called an old friend who is out in Texas. I tried to explain what I have been up to for the past three months. He hadn't heard about all the shit with Sabbath. He was very understanding, and didn't even hint that he wanted to say "what the fuck is wrong with you??" and dope-slap me over the phone, which is what I had been dreading. Should call him more often.)
