Friday, October 25, 2013

To my thinking, having read Dr. Peter D'Adamo's book on blood type and diet, Hemingway is a Type O, and it seems clear to me that the famous problems which run in his line are related.  That I am a Type O is perhaps what attracted me to reading him in the first place.  An O, at least when writing, tells you how he/she 'really feels.'  Anyway, as advanced as we the species might be, no matter how far we've come and how much we've built and done, each of us is still a creature of organ, blood, chemistry, metabolism, responding to the world around.  A NY Times magazine section article, The Importance of Not Being Ernest, by Amanda Fortini, October 24, concerning a new documentary about Mariel Hemingway reinforces the personal observations of a Type O.  It seems her dietary measures, gluten free, careful, her recognition of the need for fresh air and exercise and anti-inflammatories speak of someone listening to the feedback of her body.

Type Os, according to D'Adamo, seem to have dopamine issues.  Chemical imbalances in the brain can lead to the excessive verbosity and hyper thought of schizophrenia, or to depression, a lack of words that make sense.  Apparently, sitting down and writing is a good thing for Os, as it helps them manage, manage their thinking, their anger, their emotions.  Somehow, in the confusion of the world, it would seem to make sense that a Hemingway might like a bullfight, a war, a competition, a hunt, a fishing trip, something clear and dramatic to find the refreshing ability to write down how he really feels.  And perhaps we are backing up on why some people are writers and why they write.  Hemingway liked his uninterrupted five or six hours of time at it, even if he only wrote a paragraph.  His stories are almost a by-product of an inner process he adapted after seeing a good bit of the world and its customs, living in places and in ways that make him free, or freer, to make a choice.

And beyond that, there is the question of health, and, if you're a Hemingway, how to avoid going down a certain path, one involving excesses, mood shifts, drinking, drugs, dangerous behavior and suicide.  Os, I read, are subject to boredom and restlessness, thus the importance of aerobic exercise.  And of course, if you overdo one form of escape unhealthy for the body, there's trouble to pay.  The excessive drinking might have seemed like self-medication, a way of relieving boredom, loneliness, detachment, laziness, but it wreaks its havoc, in a way the straight and narrow does not.

Hemingway, in his writing mornings, would have found the buzzes and beeps of modern life and the internet age, a distraction, a way of getting at him when he needed to sort things out in his head.  He was, at times, an incredibly generous and big hearted person, at other times one who would cut people off as distraction, and probably not the best family man, such as he was.  Cagily circumspect, wary of interviews, he liked the company of salt of the earth humble fisherman, who, presumably, wouldn't present him with too many possibilities and needs.  Certain situations, perhaps, made him feel trapped.


And I guess I identify, having Type O blood, at the end of my week.  Something leaves my psyche very battered.  I don't want to fit into the world of the city and a Friday night after my week tending bar and closing four straight nights and coming home tired and medicating myself with wine and television.  And the phone ringing, or the email's pinging, just reminds me of a rather constant stream of people.  All I seem to want is a walk, out in nature, even though I'd like to rev it up, maybe a bike ride, but perhaps above all, calm and quiet.  As one might imagine, it's a bit jarring tending bar and being an agreeable provider and entertainer, and seeing everyone enjoy wine and its good taste, it's very hard not to take more than you need for the artificial calm it produces.  Perhaps one doesn't realize at the time how corrosive such can be.


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