tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28133718.post3024045206066092637..comments2023-06-28T22:58:28.247+10:00Comments on Sixth In Line: UnderwearElisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04015624747225433940noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28133718.post-83151195626348301572014-05-23T15:13:24.188+10:002014-05-23T15:13:24.188+10:00Oh how I love this. It makes insomnia almost worth...Oh how I love this. It makes insomnia almost worthwhile.<br />Almost everything said resonates.<br />Facebook is beyond me. As is Twitter. Would not even know how to join.<br />This inadequacy is odd seeing that I was onto the web very early, in fact so early that Sky News let me blab on about it for ten or more minutes unhindered, prime time.<br />This was because I was a woman. They thought I was a man, as no woman had yet been able to push a mouse around, so they thought. The Guardian also thought I had to be a man when I commented on something webby.<br />I have made hundreds of blogs and webpages for myself and others since, and some rather nice ones, but Facebook is beyond me. Why I ask, when there are blogs.avalonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08051456576217305095noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28133718.post-76521291768140100672014-05-20T11:01:07.737+10:002014-05-20T11:01:07.737+10:00Your piece made me think about Jung's observat...Your piece made me think about Jung's observation, “Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.” Unfortunately, in my case, there are a lot of things about others that have irritated me from time to time.<br />Sultanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06506141014376919585noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28133718.post-36019240267306561582014-05-20T08:34:21.986+10:002014-05-20T08:34:21.986+10:00Some of the best people wear their underwear on th...Some of the best people wear their underwear on the outside, Superman is one of course.<br /><br />Anyway, I guess we ALL have to wear everything on the outside when you come to think about it.PhilipHhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06811831703263176415noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28133718.post-50964973680265689392014-05-19T01:07:37.555+10:002014-05-19T01:07:37.555+10:00Wonderful writing again… So much here I have conte...Wonderful writing again… So much here I have contemplated too.. It took so long to realize in the end how little I cared for those I would feel disapproved of me.. Anthony Ducehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17476865809734682418noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28133718.post-3550755642922113732014-05-18T23:09:22.086+10:002014-05-18T23:09:22.086+10:00I’ve three sets of underwear: grey, dark grey, bla...I’ve three sets of underwear: grey, dark grey, black. This says less about me and more about my wife who bought them. I’ve had them for years. Try as I might I can’t seem to wear them out. They mostly bore me but I can’t deny there’s small pleasure to be gleaned from slipping on a clean pair. I’ve been accused—although maybe less of an accusation and simply a notation—that I wear my heart of my sleeve. Perhaps it’d be more accurate to say I wear my underwear on the outside; we’re all embarrassed when caught in our scants no matter how clean they are. I went to a poetry reading on Friday. Marion McCready was launching her new book which was the sole reason. She was the only one I talked to at length; I spoke to one other briefly but only as she introduced us. She assured me I knew other people there but none looked like their Facebook pictures. I jabbered. My wife tells me I tend to jabber when I’m nervous. I loathe events like these. I don’t know the rules. I, for example, arrived fifteen minutes before the start time but most didn’t stroll in until a half hour later so the reading eventually started a half hour late. During this enforced waiting period I sat alone in the back row and spoke to no one; Marion and I chatted <i>after</i> the event. I didn’t say anything improper but I was aware our time was limited and felt the need to cram what I had to say—not that I’d planned to say anything—into the unknowable time available. So I jabbered. As the subject of humorous poetry cropped up I tried to recite an old poem about football hooliganism and made a complete dog’s breakfast of it, typically I went on about my health which she made light of because I look fine and I moaned about the non-existent sales of my last book all of which I wanted to take back. That’s a problem with friendships forged online. We sometimes imagine they’re deeper than they truly are. I frequently fret about what kind of friends you are I are. I’m unsure how many categories friends fall into—‘good’, ‘close’, ‘imaginary’ and ‘best’ jump to mind—but that’s me wanting to label everything. It’s an order thing: I need to know the rules (so I can chide myself when I break them) and the proper forms of address—“Hi, this is Lis; she’s my [<i>insert proper designation here</i>] friend.”<br /><br />I grew up in a phallocentric society—I literally can recall getting my dick out to show I could pee higher than some other kid—and although I realised that socially woman had a rougher time than men I was never that fond of the design of the male body; women were engineered better. The only thing about men I can stand are their faces which I’d never call ‘attractive’, I’d say they had character. Mostly male bodies embarrass me, even the toned. Had I been born a girl I’d’ve been a lesbian. <br /><br />I too suffer on Facebook. I don’t know the rules. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing there. I don’t know why anyone would care about what I do nor do I have much interest in what others’re doing. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about some of these people—you and I are Facebook friends and I’m fond of you—but to savour the odd scrap I’ve to wade through so much tripe from others. Partly this is because I struggle navigating my way. It’s not intuitive. I don’t like being there—I resent needing to be there—and I regard it as something of a necessary evil which is why I’m sure I’ve been resistant to learning its ways. As far as I can see its main purpose is to let others know I’m still alive so I like a few things, make the odd witty comment and post an occasional update.<br /><br />I want to be liked. Mostly through life I have been. Those who haven’t bother me to this day. Unlike you I’m not keen to explore these feelings publicly; my blog’s about writing and I stay on-topic pretty rigidly. Even comments I make on blogs like this I usually wish I hadn’t especially when someone else passes comment (i.e. judgement) on what I’ve said. I’m aware that what I’m saying is in a public forum but there is a side of me that forgets the world’s watching. Go away nasty world.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.com