Some epileptics experience auras. They are not merely colored halos that appear around people or objects ( like Van Gough's Starry Night). According to Lauren Slater's Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir, epileptics may experience olfactory auras for days. One epileptic smelled jasmine for days before a seizure ( Although SLater pointed out another case where the patient smelled sewage.)
In Mark Salzman's Lying Awake, a nun suddenly starts writing ecstatic poetry. She discovers her ecstasies are the result of seizures caused by a terminal brain tumor. She must make the choice either to slowly die whilst continuing to enjoy the ecstasies or to remove the tumor and return to what she now conceives of as a "dull existence." ( I won't ruin the ending for you.) What is intriguing about this novel is the justice it does to the benefits of certain diseases.
Certainly there are those who are so attached to the benefits (and on occassion even the drawbacks) of a particular condition or disease that they will refuse to be cured. Other times so much of perception or identity has become linked with the disorder, it is impossible for the sufferer to really function without it. Those subject to the horror that was At First Sight ( based on a case history by Oliver Sacks) have an idea of the series of difficulties faced by someone who chooses to be "cured" of a lifelong ailment.
Which brings us to love. As Barabara Streisand once said "Sometimes people love you so much, their love is like a goddamn gun to your head." (Special points to heterosexual men who can identify the film.) Much like the nun, often in love we have to make the choice: go back to our healthy, but "dull", existence or embrace ephermeral ecstasy knowing, in the process, that such an embrace will surely result in a "bad end." It's a difficult choice. How do you voluntary give up the elusive smell of jasmine? How do you walk away from the spilling of poetry on the page? The moment of revelation when you look over your lover's shoulder as he kisses your neck to realize "Dear christ the trees on block are in bloom and I didn't notice? How did I miss it? How long have I not seen this beauty?" And more importantly, the question implied but never asked, how will I see this beauty again when he is gone?
Because gone he will be. As certainly as the nun has to make a choice, the beloved of an unstable or unhealthy lover must make a choice too. And essentially her choice is between end it now or end it later. One can not be host to such disorders for very long. Eventually even the smell of jasmine becomes oppressive, cloying. Even the rush of ecstasy becomes another cross to bear as opposed to a pleasure. Even if the unhealthy lover remains constant, in his way ( I have been faithful to thee Cynara in my fashion), the beloved may finally get up with the excuses, the absences, the demands, the tearful nights, the frightening hallucinations, and the shared delusions.
to be continued on monday.....
Bad Bunni posted at 7/29/2004 04:28:00 PM
My Latin teacher, Mrs. Hightower, was from Texas. When she wanted the second person plural form of the verb, she would say "You all" as opposed to the singular, which was just "you".
"You all" somehow stuck with me, and often my classes ask me if I am from the South despite my utter lack of an accent. I am in agreement with Mrs. Hightower that there is no fast effective pronoun for you plural in English. Sure, you can say "all of you", but it's not as simple as saying "vous" instead of "tu." ( I am brushing up on the French for the trip to Paris.)
The other day I was sitting with my friend Bill talking about my class, and I told him about my use of "you all." Bill, who lived for a large portion of his life in various parts of the South, said, "'Y'all' is singular."
"If 'y'all' is singular," I asked, "what is the plural form?"
Bill, without moving his eyes from the parade of Upper East Siders in front of us, said, "All y'all."
Bad Bunni posted at 7/29/2004 10:57:00 AM
This Does Not Bode Well
I'm glad you asked.
I'm not having a good week for reasons other than the Jackass. I have no sleep, my non boyfriend has vanish-ed leaving me sexually starved as well as overwhelmed with work, underwhelmed by my students, totally disgusted by my colleagues ( including The Mistake-who recently revealed during our latest staff meeting that not only can she not SAY Aristotelian, but doesn't know who Aristotle is), and without any male attention to distract, flatter, or even annoy me in amusing fashion.
And then I sign on to "mate.com" to check my online male fan base.
Now you would think after the fiasco with the agoraphobic recovering alcoholic, I would just pull my profile and move on. But, well, if I ever did anything reasonable or even remotely good for me I think I might suffer a seizure. Essentially I say I keep my profile up because the profiles and emails I get sent by men are precious and amusing.
Our good friend Hans (featured above-sporting what my friend termed once "an ironic mullet" which I thought would make a great name for a garage band) sent me an email today asking if he could eat Chinese food off my tummy. ( Yes, he used the word tummy. Stomach probably was too many syllables.) And then chided that he would prefer to eat Japanese food off of my belly since it's healthier. Yes, I can imagine that chomping egg rolls off of my abs would have a high caloric toll, but then that is the price of trysting with the Bunni. ( Generally, the price of trysting is measured in martinis, but you know as long as it's bad for you I'll accept it as currency.)
And you know what the worst part is? So far this is the highlight of my week.
Bad Bunni posted at 7/28/2004 12:01:00 PM
I'm exhausted and I have oodles of work to do and my would be non boyfriend is MIA (although considering the weather I wouldn't be entirely surprised if he showed up tonight...schmuck) But I have to share the latest bunni tale with you all just to make sure I'm not the crazy one here.
My friend C, who is married, introduced me to another friend of hers, a friend so close she calls him family. I'm going to call him Jackass, you'll see why shortly. So Jackass meets me and we talk and seem to hit it off, but he doesn't ask for any contact info or whatever. So I run into him again about a month later and he asks me out. Fine. Fine.
So brilliance personified calls me after about four days and asks me out. OK great. We schedule for a saturday. That friday he calls and cancels but reschedules for sunday night. When my friday night cancels and wants to reschedule for sunday, I make up some excuse. So then saturday night jackass cancels for sunday. ( So I started with two dates, and I ended up with none. How's that for a math equation for you?) I write the guy off, I figure never going to hear from him.
I should at this point give a little bit of a reason why I was so lenient. Normally some guy pulls that with me and he is in the dustbin, but the big J's last girlfriend left him for another woman. Yep, after five years together and living in the same house, J's ex is now a happy lesbian living with her "life partner." And that was less than a year ago. I can understand how that kind of situation could make any man a little nervous about dating.
But I digress.
After firmly writing him off, he calls on wednesday and asks me out for coffee on thursday.
And I go. And coffee turns into dinner which turns into drinks which turns into kissing on my stoop at three in the morning.
And then after trying to talk me into staying on my stoop all night kissing, he vanishes. Like Keyser Soze. No call. No email. Nothin' the whole weekend long.
I figure he was in for a quick fuck, I wasn't game, and he has moved on. Which is fine with me, until last night I was sitting with C having cigarettes and coffee and she says, "I wouldn't count on Jackass ever calling you."
"Really? Why is that?"
"Well, I didn't tell you. He isn't much of a drinker. Those two glasses of wine at dinner. He's mortified. He told me he got 'so drunk' and he's terribly embarassed."
"Did you tell him I had a good time?"
"Yeah, but he didn't really hear me, he just kept going on about how embarassed he was that he got so drunk."
So there you go folks, he got so drunk he kissed me on my front doorstep. Oh the scandal and now this decent person isn't going to call me back.
It's like the Dain curse.
Bad Bunni posted at 7/27/2004 10:37:00 AM
How Not To Date Bunni Revisited
For a while there how to date Bunni was kind of a regular feature here where I would explain to the public in general what not to do on a date with me. And then I kind of left off, not that the general public got better, but they were generally making the same mistakes and well I didn't feel like boring you with repeating the same commentary.
However, I had a date last tuesday ( and yes I needed time to digest the details), and it seems I need to add a codicil or two to my dating rules.
As we recall one of the cardinal rules of dating Bunni is do not call undue attention to my height. It seems we need a little review what that actually entails.
Do not ask me to stand up during dinner to prove that I actually am as short as I say I am. Why on earth would I lie? What would be the benefit in literally taking myself down a few inches? Don't be a twit. If I say I'm four six accept it and politely wait until the end of dinner/drinks/underwater basket weaving to actually see where on your body I come up to.
And here's a new one:
Do not criticize my ensemble. Recently at the conclusion of what the other party presumed was a successful date, he actually said to me, "And you really shouldn't wear such low cut clothing on a first date. It makes it really difficult to focus on what you are saying." AHEM. Well, thank you for the honesty, Mom. I thought the idea of a date was to appear sexy and attractive. Next time I show up I'll make sure to wear my least form fitting sack cloth and a lovely tar and ash accent on my hair and face.
One that should go without saying:
Don't cancel a first date especially one that is on a weekend. Really. Short of G-d personally coming down and standing arms crossed in front of her buzzer, SHOW UP. If you must cancel, come up with something really amazingly special to make up for it ( a tiffany bracelet, a third world country, the home address of Paul Belmondo ). If you cancel more than once before the first date, you don't really want to date me. Don't waste my time. You are easily replaced. There is no shortage of bunni mad men. I will find one, at least have the decency to open up my schedule so I can commence hunting season.
Oh and of course to be fair a little piece of advice to me:
Don't date anyone who has been hospitalized for psychiatric reasons.
Don't date anyone who is not willing to meet you wherever you are.
Don't date anyone who makes you feel short or fat OR short AND fat.
Don't date anyone who mentions the bad relationship he has with his mother on the first date.
Don't date ANYONE off an internet dating site EVER.
Bad Bunni posted at 7/26/2004 03:56:00 PM