2003-06-19

I want to tell Becky about jumping Sunday, but I don't want us to argue about it. I don't want another instance of me going ahead and doing something despite her wanting me to not do it. It would make her think worriedly and sadly about what desires I might manifest in life, and it'd make her feel awful about the world and all the scary, abhorrent-seeming things that people do in it.
���� And of course, sad again that I would do something even while she wished I wouldn't.

���� But I wish I would! and I can't figure out how to manage it. Free will, and responsibility and respect and all that, for one's closest people. I don't think there's an answer. And then besides all that, the skydiving proposition is itself a major wrestle, I'm realizing as the day draws nearer.

���� But I'm too obsessive. I worry about it all too much.

���� eg. I think about a wingless human body falling from supernatural heights.
Falling!
From heights. It's horrific.
���� It seems like an environment that people can never know. What is there really to know? -- there's nothing to touch, no reliable way to sense distance, hardly even a means of moving around. All of which resembles my most common nightmares.
���� But I guess it's just like trusting a car at 80mph. A parachute could just be a vehicle with which I'm unfamililar. It's only scary because I have no feel for it -- nothing analogous to a driver's grasp of cornering, braking, and accelerating. The main difference --that I'd be traveling at high speed directly toward imminent death-- is offset by the parachute's operation being vastly more simple. There's no swerving or brake-pumping or rolling over into the woods. There's just a crucial yanking, and then if necessary, a second, more crucial yanking.

���� Anyway blah blah blah, who cares about all that. This is about this: It feels wrong to me to not talk to Becky before I go (not morally wrong, but rather uncomfortable) because I she is --I don't know-- the person I like to talk to, the one with whom --ideally-- I'd share everything. But we're not really in that kind of state anymore, because it's an arrangement that doesn't function for us. There are lots of things that I think are okay that she finds repugnant, and our choice is this: we can talk about them fruitlessly and suffer the alienating consequence, or we can not talk about them and I can avoid becoming horrifying and disliked. Which is an exaggeration, but that's the fundamental mechanic.
���� And she uses the word "hate" liberally.

���� So I don't know what to do. What I should do is talk about it. The result will be a frustrating impasse in which I yet again demonstrate a disregard for her concerns in order to be able to act on my own behalf. I can imagine it working out differently, but there's not a thing in me that gives me any hope that right now, in this case, it would. It's really unfair that it's working like this for us. Really just unfair.


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