2004-02-19 - 12:13 p.m.

I have a tendency to look at things I don't really want to see.

I suppose that's how I started really enjoying dissections because who could really WANT to see that?

No. I really wanted to see that. I don't remember ever NOT wanting to see that.

So that won't work as a correlation, but the point remains true that I do look at things I don't want to see.

Maybe it's like people who see an accident on the highway that say they don't really want to see someone's severed head lying on the yellow lines but can't stop themselves looking anyway.

Me I really want to see the severed head. Furthermore I think anyone who says that they DIDN'T want to see the severed head is a big fat liar.

So I guess we all really want to see what we don't want to see.

What is that about?

Remember that day that I sat around and completely tortured myself looking at photos of Nick and his naked moose?

I cried and cried looking at those pictures but I still searched out more of them.

Those pictures, or newer versions, don't hurt me anymore because I've forgotten what I ever saw in him. Honestly. Completely forgotten.

If you know, please don't remind me. I don't want to know.

The thing is that now that those pictures don't hurt I don't look at them.

Last night I was lamenting the leaving of someone I had sort of gotten used to having home. (There are lyrics, maybe more than one set coming your way today that have to do with him, feel free to skip them, unless you're him.)

In the lament I went through photos, some of which I've never shown anyone, and probably never will. Photos I deny having to anyone who isn't in them. Not because they contain anything embarassing or pornagraphic, but because I've always felt that anyone asking to see the photos are asking to see proof. I don't have to prove myself. I've never had anyone ask to see a photo of a friend or ex who wasn't at some point famous. If you aren't looking for proof, why haven't you asked to see pictures of my husband, or TL (I, sadly, have not one photo of TL so I couldn't help you there, but the point stands). Most of my friends in Ma have never met my ex best friend Deirdre, and yet, no one ever asked to see a photo of her.

Eh, I'm way off topic and ranting.

They're mostly pretty old now,the photos I pulled out last night, but there are a few more recent in the bunch. It tore me up to see them, and to make the connections that they made for me.

Today I was working along, something I'll address in another post, and had to open a few windows on the internet to do a search. When I was done with one of the windows, instead of closing it I did a search for more photos of this person. I did it almost automatically, without even noticing. And do you know, the only photos I bothered to click on, make larger, and fully examine, were the photos of him and his wife.

It seems I do this sort of thing much more frequently when I'm due for my monthly uterine dance of joy. Yeah, it's cliche to be more emotional etc. around this time and so there is a sense of it being normal to wallow.

But wonder if this is what cutting feels like for the people who feel the need to take a knife to their skin. They all explain it as a release. Like they deserve the torture and the pain, the punishment, helps to let out some of the inner pain and turmoil.

So I wonder if this need to look at photos of the men I've wanted and loved, with women they have have wanted and loved is my form of cutting, and maybe that's why I do it when I'm getting ready to bleed.

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