the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

to a less than stellar week

I've been emotionally withdrawn for a couple of weeks. I do this when I get hurt. It's a self-defense mechanism I learned as a child. I can take physical abuse, but I run from emotional abuse the only way I know how: I retreat into myself where you can't reach me. "Abuse" is a pretty strong word for what I mean, but it is how I perceived it, which is the important factor here.

I never fit in anywhere as a kid. I believe most children feel this way, frankly, and they deal with it in different ways. My not fitting in, though, was calculated. My parents believed little girls should wear dresses instead of jeans or slacks (and girls shouldn't do anything that requires them to wear pants, as it was explained to me), so I stuck out as markedly "different" from the word go. But I was bookish, too, and made good grades, so it may be said that I contributed to my geekdom. I was quite a tomboy, which might have had something to do with my parents' choice to dress me like a little girl, in the hopes of feminizing me. I was also a highly religious kid, and I'd been taught to be in the world, but not of it--which is kinda tough for a child to try to figure out. I figured it meant that I should choose my friends from among my fellow Christians (not Catholics or Baptists or Episcopalians, etc), which narrowed the field considerably.

I was more or less programmed to be a loner, but it helped that my mother dressed me funny, as the saying goes. I was not a "cool" kid, and I got a lot of ribbing about it, much of it quite mean, because that's how kids are. And so, I wasn't highly socialized with my peers, and I wasn't encouraged to be. Out of self defense, I learned to not expect to make friends, to be aloof. I kept to myself and I read a lot. For the most part, I didn't care what people said to me or about me, because I wasn't emotionally invested. (Lest I mislead, I did make friends occasionally. They were always other loners and outcasts like I was, and they also made good grades.)

I made more friends when I left home at 18. We went through basic training together (which is designed to be a ritualized bonding experience), and were enlisted in the service and living in the dorms together, etc. I'm now fairly comfortable with my ability to make friends, but I've never felt like I really fit anywhere. Again, maybe this is common to most people. I fit in the Air Force better than anywhere else, I suppose, but even then, as my roommate told me in Officer Training School, "You're a team member, but from the outside." I thought she summed it up nicely: I do my part for the team, but I'm not one of them.

Anyhow. When I had the miscommunication with my friend a couple of weeks ago, I was hurt, and I began to withdraw, like a turtle. When I got her final email, which was shocking and vicious, I realized that I hadn't withdrawn enough, and I paid the price again. The next morning--a Sunday--I awoke feeling distant from everyone. I put this to good use by focusing on my studies. I went to school that week and realized I very much felt like I was on the outside suddenly, like when I was a child. I dealt with it like I did when I was young: emotional retreat.

In reality, I don't think my friends at school have withdrawn from me. They're all just as busy as I am, if not more so. We have chats before and after class, too. Everything is normal. I know this. However, in my emotional state, it felt distanced. It was the same this week. If anything, I felt more withdrawn.

I dealt with it the way I did most of my life: exercise. I've been riding my bicycle from Broomfield to school in Boulder (and back, when I can). The round trip is 32.4 miles, which is plenty of time to trigger much-needed endorphins and let my brain sift through random thoughts. It's my preferred method of meditation, I guess. It has helped quite a bit, but I still hadn't figured out how to get back from where I'd retreated to.

Then before I left school yesterday, Kim came over and chatted for a couple of minutes. It was nothing, really, but I needed that. I needed someone to reach out to me. I like to think I'm strong and that I can deal with anything without help, but it isn't true (I wonder if it's true for anyone, for that matter). I realize this sounds corny, but emotions are by their very nature unpredictable, messy, silly things. So be it. And...thanks, Kim.

I was better on the drive home. All I could think of was getting back to my retreat, communing with my cats, getting a good night's sleep, and getting a good start on my homework for next week. Oh...and seeing the new home theatre system.

You remember that we have a theatre in the basement. At least, we had the pre-wired shell of one, complete with a raised floor for seating, and acoustically curved walls, floor lights, etc. We just didn't have the equipment. We've been watching TV on a stand (despite it being a sizeable TV, it was too small to see well from the back wall where the seating was arranged). For Christmas, we pitched in and ordered proper equipment. That is, a projector and screen, surround sound, and professional installation. The projector was on back order for over a month; it finally came in, and the equipment was installed Wednesday.

I was looking forward to watching a little Dead Like Me on the new system, too.

When I came in, I was told to check the phone messages.

Oh. A word about me and phones. I don't like them, as a rule. I may have mentioned this before. I rarely simply answer the phone when I'm called, even though I have caller ID and can identify friends. I prefer to get myself in the mood to talk on the phone (and sometimes, in the mood to talk, period), then call them back. My friends understand this. I also will often not check messages for days. I have other stuff taking my time and energy, and my friends understand this, and put up with my anti-social stints.

This is why I had to be told to check the messages. I had two messages. First, I from AFIT. The message was this: "Capt Black, this is Mr. (?) at the Air Force Institute of Technology, the division chief at the CI* Programs Office. I'm just trying to contact you to tell you congratulations on your selection for promotion to major. Your line number is one zero eight. I hope you have a great evening."

* Civilian Institution

The second message was this: "Hello, Captain Black. This is  Col McGuire from your old home in DFENG.* I'm calling to see if you got your results from your major's board. I'll be happy to share that information with you. If they haven't, gimme a call. I've got some happy news. Even if you have, I'd still like to know how you're doing, so gimme a call. Bye."

* Dean of Faculty, English Department. Pronounced "defang," like what you'd do if you wanted to make a rattlesnake a pet.

Wow. I did expect to be selected, of course. I knew that I have a strong record and I'm competitive according to what I know the board looks for. Also, I knew the promotion rate for this cycle was going to be over 90%. What surprises me is that selects (from the November board) aren't usually announced until spring, around April or so.

The second "wow" is for my line number. When the Air Force selects people for promotion from one grade to the next, they promote them by increments throughout the year. The lower the line number, the sooner you pin on the new rank. Unless I'm dangerously misinformed, this promotion increment (108) means I will be in the first group to pin on major this cycle. I'm just not sure when that will be, yet.

I might find out the way Don did. He was a major and working on his MFA at Cornell when he noticed he was getting too much money in his paycheck. He called finance to investigate, and they said, "I'll be happy to look into that for you, colonel. Please hold."

And so. My week was a bit rocky, but it ended quite well.

Now I'm off to get busy on my homework. :)

d