Sleepy Jean

Gypsy soul? Check. Someone to rock it? erm...
More than you bargained for? Check. Someone to tell everything they want to hear? not really...
Sense of adventure? Check. Someone to hit the road with? well...
Dancing like a fool? Check. Someone to dance with me? erm...
Rock n roll heart? Check. Someone to promise the world to? you see...
Daydream Believer? Check. Homecoming queen? not so much...
Loving rock and roll? Check. Someone to say, "Can I take you home?" Disco.

Me being able to say, "That was fun, we should do that again sometime." No dice. I really should remember that thing I'm always telling Loud. KISS. Keep it simple, stupid. That was all I had to say. Instead, I asked if we were going to address the elephant in the room or if we were going to shove it into a corner. Oops. Apparently addressing the elephant in the room was not the best plan. I'm concerned that certain things, although being perfectly clear in my head, didn't quite get across. I'm trying really hard not to think all those unpleasant things I wrote about before. It's not good for me. I'm trying, once again, to be philosophical. He doesn't know what he's missing and all that. Going out on the town with Bear didn't necessarily help. I don't blame her, I really don't. It's the pheromones, I swear. She's not doing it on purpose, but it still hurts. I can't blame them. Here, at least, there's a clear answer. Novelty value.

Sometimes I get shiny mad sad. It can be easier to hide than when I'm just plain old sad. This is the kind of mood I get into when I can't decide whether I'm the enemy or not. My world turns black and white. Us against them. I just have to figure out whether I'm included in "us" or not. I adopt the fierce, twisted glee of a soldier. A little feeling of Kamikaze and a need to go down kicking and screaming. Because I always feel like I'm going down with the ship.

I remember longing for numbness. Wishing to shut down so that it would all go away. I try not to feel that way anymore, I try to find reasons to invest, things to hold onto. And then when they go awry I'm left with the pain that made me want to go numb in the first place.

So what's it gonna take, silver shadow believer?

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Every Form of Refuge Has Its Price

Sooooo... three cheers for the overly-optimistic nut. I like to think I'm not too picky, really, I like things to be mostly upfront. I mean a little mystery now and then is lovely, but sweeping things under the rug just isn't my style.

Apparently, it doesn't have to be, because I'm the one getting swept under the rug. Dandy. There are many tiny moments that corroborated my opinions, made me think I had a chance. Like how they played my song, him and his band, when I asked them to. How comforting he always was. How, when we went out on a proper piss-up, then had to take one girl home, which killed the mood a little and made a couple of people call it a night, he stayed out with me because I didn't want my night to be over yet. The things he said to me and the way he properly listened to the things I said. There was something so delightfully genuine and organic about the whole thing. It was lovely. Sometimes it's not hard for me to smile, to be giddily joyful for no apparent reason. I thought I was out of the woods, I thought I was free and clear from when he told me to put down my cup of tea. If it is true, that thing that he couldn't say without sounding like a prick, and I didn't make him say out loud (maybe I should have) then why did he tell me to put that cup of tea down? Something changed. Likely, he sobered up, realized what had happened, and kicked himself for it. It wouldn't be the first time.

But I'm back to being let down. Broken down because I'm not a good idea. I'm not worth my past. Well, at least I'm not beige in this one. Because the stupid things I've done in the past and the hurts I've caused myself and other people have caused me aren't enough in and of themselves, they now get re-validated as the reasons for more hurts. Maybe it's because he's afraid.

I've had a lot of late nights and early mornings this week, which perhaps accounts for my slightly warlike stance by 3 am. I am not one to take things sitting down. And when the person I most want to confront is, for one reason or another, impossible to confront, I tend to go on the warpath against the person or people I find most connected to the problem. Yesterday was unusual because my target, unexpectedly, was myself. There was a little bit of railing against the people in my romantic past, particularly the past year, but for the most part I was my own victim. Sometimes I say the words I'm most afraid someone else will say just to lessen the blow of it if they ever do say them. As though if I've already said it out loud, already acknowledged it, they're just restating things I already know, and it won't hurt as much. I aired a huge number of my insecurities, well, mostly just a couple many many times in the form of jokes at my own expense. Not particularly well-thought out or funny jokes, but jokes nevertheless. I am the girl who, even wearing the shirt I had on last night, can't get a guy to buy her a drink in a bar. I am the girl who is so much more attractive when you're drunk, and who you regret kissing the next morning, if you even remember her face. Perhaps this honorary man business isn't all it's cracked up to be.

As tempted as I was, I didn't do it. I wanted to, fairly desperately, but for some reason last night the toxins just didn't happen. Could have been a lot of reasons. It could have been Bear's presence, it could have been the little white plastic thing. It could have been because hurting myself emotionally is getting to be enough for me, I don't need to fuck with my body too. I'm not sure which reasons in what concentrations are responsible, but I didn't wake up with that familiar stale taste in my mouth, and I'm glad. The war paint is back on with a vengeance though.

Oh what can it mean?
Daydream Believer

Dosed

A two-part post today, at least unless I think of another topic, and then who knows how many parts might present themselves?

First, what started out as a comment on Loud's post here. But then it got too monstrously huge for a comment. On another note, go me, I learned how to hyperlink. You may laugh at this, but I'm not terribly computer-savvy in spite of my best intentions.
Of course people want to believe in something. They want to believe that someone has control. On a macro scale, God-Zeus-Flying Spaghetti Monster types, on the micro scale, doctors and parents. I sure remember thinking that my parents were totally in control of everything that happened to me, and when I found out that they weren't, and couldn't necessarily save me from anything and everything, I was absolutely petrified that horrible, catastrophic things would happen to me. In situations in which we cannot be in control, we desperately want to believe that someone is, because chaos is scary.

Evidently, motorcycles and leather coats do not bad boys make. And that code that guys talk about is a crock. Or there's a loophole. I don't care. I'm not fussed. I spent the evening stalling, trying to test the water, trying to work up the guts. It's different when it's someone you know you'll have to face the next day. And the day after that. Someone whose opinion still matters to you. All my worries, they were there. I mostly chickened out, but that's okay. Apparently I'm not as slick as I thought I was. Hopefully it doesn't become another unstoppable force and immovable object. This is good for me, healthy, happy. Even if it's bound to be short-lived. So happy that I grinned all the way home just after 7 this morning. It was a walk, definitely, but not of shame. It didn't even really look like one, except that, really, who smiles on their commute to work before 8 am?

Daydreaming again,
Daydream Believer