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In praise of a sedentary life

In the winter of 2017, my husband and I compared notes about whether this was indeed the coldest winter we had known with temperatures plunging in some places to near zero.

Even rugged up under four layers, it still felt cold.

At times like this your impulse is to stay home or if you can afford, make your way to warm places like Queensland or the top of Australia.

But we were not feeling flush at this time with a down turn in my husband’s work and my usual reluctance to travel too far from home, so we decided on some place nearby.

I do it every time we travel. In my head, I compare the internals of the hotel in which we stay with its typical set up of one small on suite bathroom, hidden jug in cupboard with two cups, two glasses, two spoons and several sachets of tea and dried coffee, to home.

The usual pods of long life milk unnecessarily stuck where the eggs should sit in the fridge are never enough for me who likes her tea milky, but at least this time the Vue Grand in Queenscliff went upmarket with Twining’s tea, instead of the unfamiliar brands from bulk supermarkets like Aldi.

We breakfasted here in the downstairs dining room on the latest shift possible at 9.15 am or so before a day of roaming the area to Portarlington and nearby Swan Bay in the hope of some beach walks; wind in our hair, salt on our cheeks and a sprinkle of sun, however inadequate, to make the whole thing seem more beautiful. Though the sea on a grey day has its own beauties, when the rain and sleet bash onto your face, it’s hard to enjoy them.

These days my husband, if offered the chance, can sleep for twelve hours, which amazes me given I wake after eight. To me this is a generous sleep and more than enough to keep me alert the next day. But he wants more.

We talk about it sometimes, my concern that sleep is his escape into oblivion, that same oblivion his father sought all those years ago when he took to his bed after retirement and spent day after day secretly slugging from a sherry bottle and listening to the horse races.

Maybe his father thought gambling a legitimate way to augment his pension once he stopped the nine to five drudge of a job with the local council, doing whatever people who work in overalls do.

I never thought to ask. It didn’t seem relevant but these days as I watch my husband slide into a life of less activity, I wonder what it was his father did to while away the hours and what it might be that could keep another man going, especially when I figure my husband of the high intellect must have got his brains from someone.

Perhaps it’s true, as I’ve read elsewhere, we get our IQs from our mothers.

This idea would offend my father who was convinced my mother was one of the stupidest and most unintelligent people who ever lived.

Why then did my father marry her?

Did he not reckon on this when he first decided he would convert to Catholicism in order to claim her as his bride?

Was that not a foolhardy act?

Or was he drawn to the respectability of my mother and her family? Their clean living ways? Their religious convictions and the gentle aspect of a family of seven children, two of whom became Franciscan priests, and parents who managed to keep all their children dedicated to the church even into adulthood and for some even after they migrated to Australia and far from home.

My father was the first from his newly adopted family to drop his faith, until years later when he was on the edge of death and had stopped drinking and decided maybe he needed something to help get him through all those doubts we all have about what it is like to be no more.

In winter, the main street of Queenscliff, lined on either side with the usual array of food stops and junk shops disguised as antiques, was all but closed at 4.30 in the afternoon given trade was so slow.

We walked up and down then in search of the best place for our evening meal, the only thought: how to get a half decent feed at a reasonable cost. They tend to charge more in the country and much as they try to emulate the restaurants and cafes in the city, they never quite succeed. You pay more for less.

This place throbs with bodies at the height of summer, but like most places by the beach it all but closes up for the short cold months after Easter through to Cup Day in November when the cash registers start to clang again and the locals grit their teeth against the onslaught.

Much as they might try not to complain – most of them rely on the tourists – the arrival of the locusts, year after year interrupts their quiet lifestyle and cause an irritation many of them cannot bear.

In winter they can forgive us for traipsing the streets. They’re grateful even that a few city folk might venture so far into the cold to enjoy a winter holiday by the beach.

This then is another trip I have made to appease those who consider my life at home too sedentary. They want me to stay on the move before my body seizes up altogether, but I prefer to travel only in my mind.

The Black Mirror of Internet Desire

‘Give me the decadent any day. Purists shit me.’

So reads the prompt I wrote for myself some time back and stuck to a sticky note on the side of my computer, which is where I tend to post sticky notes with ideas I’d like to pursue later.

But this one puzzles me. I can’t remember what prompted it. Maybe an encounter with someone or other who plunged me into that abyss of inadequacy that makes me want to rail against perfection.

Last Saturday, I took myself off to the fortieth anniversary of the Freud conference, which was held at the Cunningham Dax Centre in Carlton on the topic: ‘The Black Mirror: psychoanalysis in the techno-culture age’, a conference that explored how technology can influence our lives in unhelpful ways, particularly when it comes to some folks’ addiction to pornography.

The issues with the Internet relate to its speed and availability.

In earlier days people found their porn in newsagents, on the top shelf and more often than not, they needed to buy furtively, given its unacceptability in public.

Or their pornographic images might have come in the mail in brown envelopes ‘For adults only’.

Children might have found pornography under their father’s bed, his Playboys and Penthouse magazines, but it took time and effort to find these images and gratification was not instant.

In the case of the Internet, every sexual fantasy can find its equivalent in some way or another.

The second of the two speakers, Alessandra Lemma, and Heather Wood from the Portman clinic in London, talked about this as rule 34, namely there is always an image on the Internet for every single fantasy, if only we’re prepared to search for it.

Both Lemma and Wood spoke of the rise in numbers of people accessing porn and likewise some downloading illicit images.

They wondered about the extent to which the Internet is cause or effect.

Certainly, its ready availability increases the likelihood of people gratifying their desire to see images of underage pornographic images that are illegal.

Notwithstanding the dreadful effects on those children who have been exploited in the way – in so far as their images on the Internet can be pored over endlessly to gratify the unspoken desires of troubled men – there is a need to reflect upon these people who seek such comfort: the paedophiles or would-be paedophiles of this world with some compassion.

Some of these men addicted to porn (and women) present for treatment at the Portland Clinic, sometimes after they’ve been found guilty of downloading illegal images, and when they explore their life stories with one of the clinic therapists, there is a great deal of meaning behind their voyeuristic decisions, including their choice of images, their sexual desires, childhood experience and behaviour.

For this is what the Internet is about in large part: voyeurism and exhibitionism, defensive manoeuvres we all employ from time to time and part of being human.

The trouble with the Internet, notwithstanding its wonderful aspects, it often comes in the form of graphic images and sounds that leave less to the imagination than in the past, and these images, Lemma argues, are forced into the viewer.

There is our initial curiosity, but sometimes our curiosity only goes so far and we would stop it at a point, but the Internet drags us further and takes us into places we sometimes wish we’d never been.

The images get pushed into us and we cannot un-see them.

For children, this is particularly problematic. Children might be curious about what goes on in their parent’s bedroom but they also find it troubling.

The Internet can expose them to the primal scene, their parents in intercourse and so much more that is deeply disturbing before they are of an age to process there experience.

The problem becomes increasingly explicit and for some vulnerable people more and more addictive so that there are those who spend entire nights awake watching porn and they stop being able to function in their normal lives at school or work.

As well, these persistent exposures to online porn drain those addicted to Internet porn of energy and of imagination. They lose the ability to relate to real people.

During discussion, we talked of the 2D nature of Internet relationships, which preclude imagination to some extent, as against the 3D nature of real relationships.

Wood spoke about desire, delay and delivery as the three dimensions of experience that can be reduced to two dimensions on the Internet, whereby desire is met with delivery without the benefits of delay. Hence the 2D nature of the Internet.

Usually to help us deal with our desires we need to be able to work at seeking their gratification to help overcome the frustration of not actually getting exactly what we want but with the Internet our desires are met seemingly at the click of a button and this causes what Wood described as triumph over the object, over the desire.

The image is powerful. More so than we sometimes realise. It lodges itself in our head and forces itself onto us.

As much as young women can suffer the feeling that their bodies must be hairless and pre pubescent, young men can also experience erectile dysfunction because they imagine they can never perform well enough, not nearly so well as the exaggerated and enhanced characters on the pornographic stage.

In this regard, Wood pointed out the strange juxtaposition of society’s zero tolerance of child abuse alongside this pressure for adult bodies to be seen as pre pubescent.

There was also talk on the fluidity of gender and the degree to which images online can fuel this confusion for young people in adolescence who are trying to work out who they are, whether more masculine than feminine and all degrees in between.

One woman in the audience talked of the images of gloves as related to her career in nursing, when to do an internal examination, as a midwife, requires the wearing of latex gloves. If such an examination is performed without gloves it becomes an assault. Hence she argued the need for boundaries.

The speakers described the Internet screen as the Black Mirror, in contrast to the maternal mirror of infancy, one which reflects back the baby through the mother’s eyes and gestures.

The Black Mirror does not reflect back. Rather it projects into and gives an illusion of control none of us have. It can interfere with relationships.

During the final discussion, I worried that this audience of people whose average age would have most likely been somewhere between 40 and 50, were becoming too gloomy indeed.

What would the generation below us and below them again make of these things?

One member of the audience reminded us of how panicked people became at Claxton’s invention of the printing press, as a result of which people were then able to read their bibles by themselves instead of having the bible read to them.

And another talked of the days in which the legs on the piano needed to be concealed given that their comely shape and might remind men of the sight of a woman’s ankle when women needed to be covered from top to toe to help them circumvent male desire.

What a history it is to the human race.

From the inhibited and anxious to the extreme and in your face and all of us, all the time struggling to deal with our sexual desire.

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