8/25/05 Bad Hudoo In The Air  

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8/25/2005 6:53 am

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3/5/2006 9:27 pm

8/25/05 Bad Hudoo In The Air


There must be some bad hudoo in the air. I think every woman I’ve known in the last 20 years had contacted me in recent weeks.

Yesterday afternoon, after ten years, I received an angry email from Simmy. She read the lyrics to Dinosaurs and wanted to tell me that it was “not accurate.” But what the hell, it ‘s a funny song, not a history lesson.

She made a point of telling me that in ten years she’s never had any desire to see me. When I spoke to her a couple years ago I recall thinking that she was still the same in many ways. She still held a secret from the world.

The truth is it’s not me she fears seeing, but her own self. She can’t bear to look at her own past or her own soul. Ironic for someone who preaches self-knowledge. As she said to me once, “you are my mirror and I have to look at everything I do through your eyes.”

Simmy’s entire public persona was an artifice designed to conceal her secret self. As she confided in me concerning her closest friends, “why should they know what I really think.”

It is sad in a way, she was a charming woman, but all her nuttiness came from trying to hide her massive insecurities. By the end of our relationship she was terrified that I could see inside her. She accused me of reading her mind.

One of the last times we spoke, I had sent her a tape of some recordings I had done. At that time we hadn’t spoken in months, and after sending the tapes I waited six weeks before I called her.
When she answered the phone as soon as she said hello I could tell she was crying.

I said “Simmy what’s wrong.”

“You,” was her answer.

“Me, what do you mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know how you do it, “ she explained thorough her tears. “I got this package from you and didn’t open it for weeks, and then fifteen minutes ago I opened it and listened to the tape, and then a few minutes later you call me. How do you know what I’m doing?”

Later in the conversation she said she would never let a man even know her favorite color again, she was so distressed at the thought of her true self being seen. It often seemed that everything she tried to make herself out to be publicly was the exact opposite of what she truly was. If she preached positive thinking, it was because in her secret heart she was completely negative and cynical. Some of the lyrics from the song “Job & His Brethren” came from her:

“We preach what we lack, we curse what we sow, and people are the opposite of what they show.”

Simmy had a lot of unhealthy delusions and most of her friends help enable her to maintain those delusions. I always tried to be honest and make see face the truth of her actions and her self.

She was a woman who often seemed to be moving in two opposite direction. I once told a friend Simmy had a brilliant unconscious mind and a conscious mind that wasn’t always so sharp.

She would often do and say things and then deny they happened. When I would make her face the fact of her own actions it seemed to shake her to the core. He unconscious actions often made perfect sense and seemed quite logical, but she couldn’t admit to herself the true motivations behind her actions. To me she seemed obvious, but no one else seemed to notice the war going on within the poor girl.

He mother said to me one time, “I don’t care if she’s healthy inside, as long as she can function.” Only later did I learn that in her younger years she had some ‘psychological problems.’ I don’t know any details, but I was not surprised.

Just now, as I write this had a lovely moment in the coffeeshop. As I was paying my bill, the waitress, whose name I don’t know, sat down at the opposite side of the round table I sit at. Lately she has been making a few friendly gestures to me. Saying she liked my hair and so forth. As I say, she sat at my table trying to count change from the wad of dough she keeps in her apron. There’s nothing odd about this in itself, but there was an strange sensation.

It’s a soft sunny day with a perfect cool breeze that hints at the impending autumn weather. As she sat I stared directly at her face as she counted. I feel too distant to say anything much, so I just take in her beauty. She has dirty blonde hair tied around her round face. She looks solid yet soft. She is a yoga instructor when not a waitress. There is something old fashioned about her look. I can almost picture her as a early American settler-mother running a rugged homestead in the Midwest.

Normally my behavior would be considered rude, but in this moment it just felt like these subtle rules of social behavior could be broken. For her part it seemed like a performance, an act o f giving and kindness. She moved leisurely, allowing me ample time to gaze at her at close range. When she gets up to leave she looks at my face for the first time, and for a moment we both give away that something was shared. A lovely little moment.

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