"he's as blind as he can be..."


I wish I could blame everything on being Irish. But that would be too easy. And unfair to the Irish. My heritage is English. And other stuff. You'd have to consult my neice, the family geneologist.
I've been MIA for a while. And usually that means that I've been happy. But, oh on. On the contrary, I've been busted. And a little scared.
I had my two young proteges confront me about old men chasing younger women. Drawing the lines in our relationship. Making sure that I realized that our relationship was teacher/student. That older men and younger women was a sick match.
No. O. N. Fucking O. Even though, as a former president confessed, "I have lusted in my heart," I did nothing. Beyond that. I was the model of restraint. I resisted, I desisted. I held back.
And yet, if you added up the e-mails and events, I was as guilty as Ross Perot of evil-doing. Things I had done and/or said could be read (out of context) as the lewd suggestions of a dirty old man. I felt like Joan Allen. (In The Contender.)
But it was nothing. I was innocent.

What happened? I mean, are you wondering what the fuck I'm talking about? Okay. I was about to start on a project with a couple of women. We had our preliminary meeing to discuss the project. Instead of starting on the project, they told me they wanted to get things straight. One of them felt that I had been inappropriate in some comments and conversations. I was given a lecture about my behavior.

I was stunned at first. Me? Jim, the terminally fucking nice guy? But as I quickly reviewed all of the conversations and emails we had had and sent, I saw how everything could be read wrong. I had been working with these two women, trying to get them to open up, to explore their (perhaps) darker, less-explored sides -- so they could make their design work more personal and emotional. But me trying to get them to open up, trying to get them to explore and reveal that personal side... well, shit, it seemed like I was being some sort of peeping tom, some sort of pervert. Trying to make them open up,. I was misunderstood. Fuck, man, I was innocent. The probing and pushing I had done was to make them self-explore. To make their work more personal.
I was a teacher, abusing her power. (Now, that is funny. I meant, his power.)
ax aX \ZZZXy [and this is where i fell asleep at the computer...]

Uck-Fay. No way. I am (unfortunately) the quintessential nice guy jerk. I try to do stuff for people. For the studens who try, for the students who respond to the pushing. The students who show some sort of growth, understanding. The students who want to get better.

Sorry to interrupt, but my personal change in mood has been amazing to me. Last night, I was in the depths of what we might call depression. I felt that (boo hoo) nobody loved me. Sparked by one of my local friends at the local grocery store kind of blowing me off. I ran into her backstage (behind the deli counter) eating lunch. I talked to her for a minute, and then she said she'd talk to me out front. I don't think so. i had to move. I had to get out of there. If she was going to blow me off, then fuck her. I wasn't going to wait around. I paid for my shit and left.
And then fave client... she's off on a jaunt to Catalina. With five germans, including her current boyfriend. Not that I'm jealous. As a matter of fact, I expressed my (rather parental) concern about a camping trip with five guys. How fucking square is that? How square is "square?"

Totally, dude.


whew. i just re-read this. it's really re-assuring that alcohol is such a liberator. freed my mind. this things reads like some mental case banging his head against the glass cage. let me out let me out.


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