. Spinning .

Most of my life was spent in the firm belief that aside from sexual differences, men and women basically could think the same way and could perform at least mentally and emotionally alike if it became a learned behavior. That’s one of the reasons I was not into feminism as while it strove for equality, it stressed the differences. The longer I live, the more I see the different paths the male brain and the female brain seem to take.

Although I don’t have the inclination to research nor lobby for gender-separated education–I have just read about the success recently of an all-girl’s school as evidenced by higher overall comprehension and knowledge scores–I would think that there is value to it. Girls learn differently than boys. Men teach differently than women. It’s something to consider.

What has brought me to this “dilemma of the day” is certain personal circumstances and both my own reaction and way of dealing as well as that of a few friends. The thought presented itself that while three women were handling a situation, it was done in a way that was straightforward, efficient, and successful in its progress towards a solution despite the otherwise unreality of the situation. I’m not saying that the men involved are not or would not be as successful in the final conclusion, but it is the method and manner that seems natural to the gender that intrigues me.

While men are usually known for fantasizing their sex lives and facing reality head-on and logically, I believe women may in fact fantasize reality as a means to cope. It is almost as if a second system were put into place as primary when needed. While reality is being dealt with, emotions are not what they normally would be allowed as input. Maybe it’s just a case of kicking into overdrive. Reality is seen more clearly than ever, but it becomes a thing apart from the reality as it is known.

My thoughts here are confused, especially in the telling. The closest example I can give is perhaps in an abusive relationship, where the woman may seem to be stupidly refusing to see her male abuser for what he is, but instead fantasizes through it and beyond it to insert a new reality in its place to make it more livable.

I’m not sure where this is going, but another thing I’m finding that is applicable to much of life, is that the hard things aren’t the hardest or least comprehensible in the doing, but rather in the initial concept, and in the afterthought.

Yes indeed, this is just a filler post that I like to leave at the top of the page whenever I’ve just posted something dumb and dismal.

Yes indeed, I do get gloomy, don’t I? The rain and lack of color doesn’t help. But as I was always taught, put your best foot forward, never let them see you cry, and any other cliché that suits the times is best depended upon in times like these. Better then to leave new readers bored than frightened.

I like playing with interactive fiction and hypertext. I’m fascinated by the way the trails lead you away from and into the forest. I’m also spatially impaired, directionally dysfunctional, and one of my greatest fears in life is getting lost, metaphorically as well as literally. Right now, I’m not at my brightest in mental alacrity. I’m bogged down by bundles and walking through fog. But even then, I believe, I firmly believe that there is that so-called light at the end of the tunnel, so I’ve come to accept that it’s okay to wander for a bit.

But this is truly aggravating: the one and only course I’m taking this semester, which should be fairly straightforward and commonsensical, is an online adventure more confusing in its navigation than any IF piece I’ve attempted getting through before. I realize that it’s me, and not the course nor the instructor, since I seem to be the only one who’s lost. There’s just so very much to absorb from so many different sources and the crunch of time and lack of mental prowess right now leave me limping through. Every stop is keyed with secrets that take more time to figure out. The Lectures seem to be the primary point of importance, and yet it is the one area I cannot seem to be able to enter. Computer tweaks and phone calls are what it will take, and these just seem to take so much more time. I’m left alone and far behind again. The sound of my own voice to yell for help would scare me. It’s not my way.

But then, I can’t seem to find my way, now can I?

I think sometimes I just use numbers to make some sense of nonsense. But then again, the world is charted, estimated, referred to and broken down by every form and angle, quadrant, scale and mile. Numbers are my god, my stability, my judge and jury. Numbers are my friends.

So 666 was not mere coincidence this morning, but a sign. Evil Susan showed her face, inspired and led directly by the devil. I told an artist that a caricature she drew for a bas mitzvah really wasn’t right.

As a picture framer, I do see wonderful things, especially the originals by local artists. I usually encourage and praise, but only honestly. And when I know them well enough, and when they’re good enough, like Diane, if asked, I offer my critique.

Pissed she was, a bit. But she knew the truth herself and tried to slide. And if she truly wanted to be that way, she wouldn’t be framing with me.

Sometimes, now and then, you can honestly trust the devil.

Balance is the key, and not my strong point; juggling being more my way of life. One crisis at a time; take one a day as needed. Not to exceed two in twenty-four hours. Overdose may cause symptoms of headache, nausea, pain.

Following directions could be vital, but I’ve no patience. I call my father anyway. “You drove?” I ask. “Of course,” he says. I cover with my doubts the Olds would even start. Worry fades, he’s safely home, but then of course, what I’d been trying to avoid since autumn: “Did you find the wrench so I could change the spark plug in the chainsaw?” “No,” I say, “I’m sorry, Dad, I forgot.”

Rough day, calm day, heaviness to the air that feels like breathing Bloody Marys with a twist of lime. Child inside thumping impatiently at its shell of patience, determination meets determined walls. Experience doesn’t count here, and the child is adamant that he can understand, but wants to play. We talk to get the necessary talking done, and then we let our children out. The world and what there is is better for it. Accepting sunlight because it can’t be stopped and because it helps a little bit to see it, while we can.