I recognized Ginger, I had seen her act in more than one time in others, and even myself. She was my ego, and my Bunsen burner of vanity, she was the fat kid growing up who never could take off the mental fat-suit even when thinned out. To thyself be true, another one hundred mini fourth, and fifth steps in a manner of speaking. The passengers and crew on this island were going to have to get over some resentments again, on an internal level, about each other. The INFJ multipliers require their own versions of cleaning, scrubbing out their individual bunks and trying to find why Ginger had Gilligan’s comic books, and Gilligan had a pair of her high heels.
Ginger is the actor, the extrovert, the waiter that puts on the show, the public speaker at times and the not too much attention seeker at others. It is her desire to be recognized, but not necessarily seen, others may remember her more embarrassing roles and lines flubbed and she was not about those times. She was a potential Oscar winner in her mind, a nominee already made in some cases, but in reality a little of both, and she only got that because she was helped out quite a bit. She is the one that is still learning to appreciate someone else’s compliments of her, learning to trust that some will tell her the truth about her talents. It is the balance between esteem and ego that she carries the most weight as far as outer appearances go. She is fickle and it has nothing to do with the sex I deemed to give this cast member. I have fickle traits in all of my cast, thus the purpose for examination, to find the fickle and the needed, the must haves and the wants.
In my searching through the information available, it appears I wasn’t too far off in my machine description. While it doesn’t look exactly like mine, the idea is still roughly the same. So, am I smart for figuring this out? Or dumb for not knowing about it to begin with? The more I know, the less I know.
By Anna Tunikova for peats.de and wikipedia – https://peats.de/article/big-five-die-personlichkeit-in-funf-dimensionen, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=66464543
One of my favorite lines an older sober was known for is, “I can’t wait to see what I believe in next year?!” That is something that recovery has given me freely, the ability to not only have a toolbox, but use those tools to build these kinds of machines that I can use in other, less public, aspects of my development that did not come with a user manual either. I have no idea if it is part of the natural development of sobriety, or peace of mind, that next level of serenity, that I put these things together. It is reflection, and therapy, and selfishness, all at the same time it is the air for me to breathe, another angle for light to refract, and the continuing examination and growth that is stipulated in my readings, not only from the big book, but well… most everywhere. I meet up with my sponsor later this morning, we are doing a book study on Sermon on The Mount. It is not for the religious teachings that are engraved in its pages, but the ways of life that have been laid bare by recovery, and the practices that can be learned, if willing enough, it says it in that book too.
Ginger came about early as I was growing up as the youngest of nine, I was around mostly my five sisters and their friends, and my mother, since my father worked swing shift. I know where I get my connections to the feminine and those things deemed to have a sex associated with them. I know the reasons I sew, and know how to knit and still look out for style. I was the cook at the camp outs because my curiosity in the kitchen had me going to the emergency room when I was four or five; I had pulled a large pot of boiling hot dog water down on myself. I also loved food, so was instructed in the basics as soon as I was tall enough to see the top of the stove. So none of that kind of stuff ever bugged me growing up, I was a big kid, nobody liked to see me upset, I was dramatic even then. My emotional swings back then were wide and usually not helped out by those… Just trying to help me. The entire part was that I knew what was tripping my switches, but nobody that was “just trying to help,” ever took the time to listen to me. My problems were complex even then and the time it took for me to explain it properly frustrated the folks that wanted an instant answer, a left right, black and white, while I tried my best to describe North by Northwest and gray. 
Ginger could never land the best of parts or had to be replaced because she was drama, she was a bit of that social sophistication to offset the Mary Ann and Gilligan. She did comedy, but she sucked at it with a Gilligan running around doing it naturally. That is why she had his comic books, maybe she could pick up something goofy from them to apply to her appearing so fake when she tried it. So as much as she/that aspect of the whole, was trying to become more genuine, Gilligan and Mary Ann were trying to become more sophisticated?… It would explain Gilligan’s misplaced attempts at walking around in heels to try to pick up something more elegant and balanced about himself. But they all remember what the Professor says about feeling different, once you accept that everyone is exactly the same, different, then you will begin to feel the same. But this isn’t a population, it is a INFJ/ENFJ in recovery, a Gemini on top of that, who is examining why life goes overboard even after all the work put in should say otherwise.
Yes, there is a medication issue at the moment, that much is measurable enough as I come off of it. The reflections gained in the process though should be examined. I will probably return to each piece as this unfolds more and more. They each have a fourth step process and a ninth step to go through. There is a saying that goes something like lose yourself, to find yourself. This is one of those times where it is find yourself, to lose parts of yourself, to make it possible to truly escape that last bit of hopelessness that shouldn’t be there. That fear that was mislabeled as a responsibility, or duty, hidden in the chimpanzee dance. It doesn’t feel like a grow up kind of selfishness, or a easy thing to take apart and rebuild, but there is always work to do and this is the work that I am being directed at as the next indicated right action. A personality with a multitude within a whole, and a hole in the boat that we are passengers and crew on.
Being the introvert over the years, too fearful to do many things on this day, or that on that day. When I was younger the passengers and crew would all fight about their time at the helm, and the more they jumped around it seemed the more other people were entertained. I learned that very early in life, if I wanted to be heard, I had to write it out to be understood better; Because who knew who would take the helm when I tried to say something about it? I had paper and pencils and a bunch of books to turn to. People wonder why I write, why I draw, and why I seem so informed… They wonder where I get my creativity, and my songs, and my woodworking ideas. They wonder where the scientific comes from for such an uneducated Gilligan that is usually the first of the crew people meet. The abilities that are also called talents are numerous, and not a master am I at one. Yet, the connections to each other in the big scheme of my little mind need to whittled down, I don’t have the time left to do what I have set aside now, nonetheless pick up something new. The unforgiving echo of time is not kind on these ears of mine, the heart is wilting, and the air can only come for so long.
I get to do these things today, not from a jail or institution, although I may be if someone reads this wrong. But from a sense of freedom and empowerment that sobriety and working with my new tools have done over these last few years. I can build machines and even better tools, and I am overwhelmingly grateful for that ability most of all. The cast and crew of this little ship will continue to be examined under the coconuts, and palm trees that come with their little introvert island. They will continue to try to find a resonance that will all let them leave together, either as a whole, or part of a part of a part. Ginger will realize she doesn’t really look like the Skipper, and the Skipper will realize that his body image is horribly out of date. She will continue to want the bit parts, but not the lead roles, because her confidence doesn’t fit as well as her dresses do, here on my Gilligan’s Island, with the little dots that make up the big screen.
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