Outside it's cold, and the wind is blowing.
This time of night you get to thinking about things, and if you're human you'll start thinking about all the mistakes you've made. Considering that I'm me, I've made approximately 50 jillion of them--and every last one of 'em comes around to haunt me when this kind of mood strikes. You can't correct 'em, you can't fix 'em, you can't even make up for 'em. You just have to live with 'em.
...but you aren't you without them, either.
Making mistakes is so essential to the process of learning that you simply cannot learn to do anything without them. No one ever does anything flawlessly from the get-go; the only thing people are born knowing how to do is swallow, shit, and complain, and everything else must be learned. A man that's never made any mistakes has never tried to do anything.
That's about all the words I have on that subject right now.
* * *
Thank God for Mrs. Fungus.
I do so every day, but lately some reasons have occurred to me which previously did not.
Fred talks about how birds of a feather flock together:
People cluster by intelligence. With high consistency, we choose mates of intelligence close to our own. Likewise with friends: If you have an IQ of 100, or 150, you are unlikely to have friends of 150, or 100. Bright people join Mensa not from snobbery but because they want to be around people like themselves. On the internet this takes the form of distributed cognitive stratification in which people from around the globe congregate by intelligence.I downplay my intellect, considering myself stupid, but an honest and objective evaluation would put me somewhere at "smarter than the average bear". Mrs. Fungus claims I'm the smartest person she ever met; but the simple fact is, I can't stand stupid people, and if she weren't in the same brain class as I was, I wouldn't be able to stand her. I keep trying to tell her that feeling stupid is a sign of intelligence, because it takes brains to understand how little you actually know.
When Mrs. Fungus and I talk, it's fun, because she's smart. When we do anything at all together, it's fun, for the same reason. She says some silly things, but there's a logic behind it, and that logic is something I understand. Okay, the time she yelled "Hello!" into the green pepper, and explained she was waiting for Mr. Tablecloth to come out? I understood that, well enough that my rejoinder was that Mr. Tablecloth was in red peppers, not green ones. Perhaps she doesn't realize it, but the silly games she plays (like deciding that cats are full of cream, raccoons are full of croutons, etc) are things that smart and imaginitive people do.
She is both.
This evening, she came across a plaque with an aphorism on it: "If I could do it all over again, I would find you sooner so that I could love you longer." She's said before that she feels that way about me, and in fact I feel that way about her, too...but there's one problem.
Prior to our meeting in early 2012, I wasn't fit for her. If we'd met in 2010 or 2009 or 2007 or when-the-hell-ever, I wouldn't have been the man she fell in love with. I didn't know what love was, nor did I know how to love; and in fact I didn't learn any of that prior to 2011, after I started going to church and Bible study and so forth. As screwed up as I am, being a flawed human being, I was lots more screwed up prior to 2011...and she has been a big part of what I've done to reconstruct myself following the breakdown I had in May of that year.
People who met me today would not recognize the me from 2010 except on a superficial level. Mostly that change has been for the good, but it would not have been possible had she not come into my life.