Piss and Vinegar, Sugar and Spice: What Girls Are Made Of

Ah, the joys of procrastination. This time, it's entirely justified. The girl who lives upstairs is shouting at someone, I assume the boyfriend. Moments ago, I could hear what they were saying very clearly. So I turned up my music, something with some bass, to drown them out. Unfortunately, in spite of being able to sleep in a brightly-lit room while someone is listening to metal and atrocious volumes, I can't read academic journals while listening to anything sufficiently loud to drown out an argument in the next apartment. So instead, I'm writing.

I keep thinking that I should write more. A long time ago, I wrote off writing as a profession (pun intended). However, twice in the past week, separate people who know me have suggested that I should give it a try. Both times I immediately laughed, shuddered, and said not a chance. Both times the person who suggested it asked why I'd responded so vehemently in the negative. Then I actually had to think about the reasons why, which I hadn't done since I'd decided it.

The major reasons include that I didn't think I was good enough at it or disciplined enough to make a career out of writing. The other major factor, which I'll get to in a moment, is that I doubted I had anything to write about that anybody except those close to me would want to read.

Now, don't get me wrong, I think I'm an okay writer. Actually, I think I'm a pretty good writer. That said, I've seen and heard people ripping pieces of creative work (some of which I thought were pretty good) to shreds. The idea of having to listen to someone ripping my creative work to shreds absolutely terrifies me. That is a huge part of the reason that this blog started out, and to a great extent remains, anonymous. If nobody could connect this blog and the ideas I write about to me, nobody had to know I actually thought them. Because that could be unseemly. Perhaps as a result of that anonymity, the blog wound up containing a lot more whiny childish drivel than I originally strove for. I don't begrudge myself this, considering that the whining child who wrote the drivel is still in there somewhere, and by golly, she does come out from time to time. In order to make any money off writing, the childish drivel will have to go. This goes with the third major factor.

What I have never done, and have never even made a concerted effort towards, is posting on any sort of schedule, indeed, writing on any sort of schedule. I never applied that level of discipline to writing when I was writing for myself. Writing academic papers: sure, cover letters for job applications: absolutely, my own personal form of catharsis and processing: no freaking way. I write for myself, and to a huge extent, that allows me to write whatever I bloody well like. All the writing I've done for myself has followed that pattern, and it's a decidedly different feeling than writing a script for something I'll perform for a class, or an academic paper someone with a doctorate will critique. The things I write for myself are only partially meant to be read.

Like I said, twice in the past week, people who know of my impending panic regarding what the heck I'm going to do in six months have suggested that I write. This is far from a declaration of intention, but it's definitely something I'm giving some thought to.

Writing as a profession would mean writing for other people. So I'm curious, what do you want to read? I've given some thought to topics, but I'd love to hear thoughts from outside the little glass house.

Facelift

So I can't paint my room. (Well, I don't even really have a room to paint.) I can't pick out throw pillows, curtains, or storage devices. But it's time for a change. It's time to do something, change something, shake things up a little bit. So I've given my blog a little facelift. Maybe I'll change the colour of my hair tomorrow. The dye's already bought, I just need to do it.
Every now and then I need to change the way things look so that I can change the way I look at them. My blog was once all pink. That was a long time ago. Some of the things I wrote then aren't true anymore, and some of them still are. I still like to rattle the bars of my cage.

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Closer To The Heart

I have tried to write a post at least three times since my last one. I know it's at least three because of the little stumpy beginnings of posts on my drafts list. Since my last post, stuff has happened. Some of it pretty big. Some of it only seems that way. I'm always looking for moments, things I can stash away for later when I don't have adventures anymore (I hope that day never comes) so I can look back on it. I'm finally getting somewhere with that quest.

And if I had the choice,
Yeah, I'd always wanna be there.
Those were the best days of my life.

I drank a lot of ale one night. That was pretty fun. I may have met my match, alcoholically speaking. It's ale. I simply can't drink enough of it to get a solid buzz going, let alone further inebriation. It's the chosen drink of a few of my far-far-away friends, including Dose. The one with the band and the leather coat. The one who interrupted my cup of tea. Things were pretty awkward for a bit, though nowhere near as awkward as they might have been, nor for as long. By the time the ale was pouring, everything was alright again, and I was glad of it. Then he asked me why I'd felt like such a tool when I found out about Blondie. (They're always blonde, by the way.) I told him, he apologized, I apologized, and then he made a joke about Geddy Lee that only I got. It was a good night. A good last night with a lot of the far-far-away folks. Then Dose sent me home with the bassist. Let's review this quickly, and you'll see why one of the far-far-away folks was calling me a groupie. Three man band, I've gotten with two of them, and the guy who sometimes techs their sound. I'm okay with that, really. I'm the good time girl and I'm okay with that too. I'm not really ready to be anything else.

We bury our fears
In the drinks and these tears
For the days we believed we could fly.

So I ended it. I'm not sure if it hurts or not. As always, and I do mean every time, I wonder if I made a big mistake. I'm this way with most decisions. I'm a horrible waffler, even when I've made up my mind. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. It may be a long time before I'm actually comfortable with any given decision.

Some people, it's a pity,
They go all their lives and never know,
How to love, how to let love go.

That's why things got so different near the end of that overseas adventure. I finally felt like I was making choices because they were the choices I wanted to make. I didn't feel like someone was pulling my strings. I was free. And I was happy, chuffed to bits. Then I got surprised. I hadn't gone in with a plan, with any expectations at all. It was a whim, an impulse. Not a power play, not a negotiation, not a transaction. Just an event. Just a moment. A great moment, but just a moment. Oh, like that. Just like that. That simple. And then that thing I'd been looking for all year happened. Too late, yes, and I proved to be yet another disappointment to yet another person. But it's the thought that counts, right?

I got dosed by you,
Closer than most to you,
What am I supposed to do?
Take it away, I never had it anyway.

I finally did get the closure I was looking for. I'm not really sure how. I think it actually came from Dose, which was rather unexpected. Probably when we were sitting outside talking about what had turned out to be a big misunderstanding. When he said he didn't regret it. That was ridiculously important to me. All of a sudden, it was all okay again. Everybody wants to be worth the trouble, and I'd be a liar if I said I was any different. It's all well and good to say you refuse to regret anything, which is what I try for. But I don't always take into account other people's regrets, and the effects that they'll have on me.

When that foghorn blows,
I wanna hear it,
I don't wanna fear it.

I'm back in the castle, which is a little aggravating, but nothing I haven't lived through before. Who knows, maybe the king and queen will grow up a little bit. Three years later and once again, I want to nest. I'm still looking for home, trying to build my own space. Somewhere I can live. Rolling stones gather no moss though. A house is definitely a step up from moss. Being a free spirit is harder than it looks.

Never Quit 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

A Smile On My Face

You learn new things every day. I'm going to keep learning things, even things I don't necessarily want to know. All knowledge is worth having.

I am getting stronger and braver after all. Life is a lot like lifting weights. The only way you get stronger is by doing things you're not strong enough for. You have to keep pushing, otherwise you stagnate. I refuse to stagnate. I will continue to do what I should, do what I have to, and do what I want to, even though sometimes when I do those things it doesn't work out the way I think it should. I'll worry about breaking down when it gets a little closer, and I won't shy away just because I've been burned.

Right now, I feel invincible. The sun is shining in this rainy old town and it seems like the world is falling back into place. I'm not walking into a wall anymore, there's a warren of routes ahead of me, rather than a single dead end. I made it this far. I found out what kind of stuff I'm made of, and it's pretty sturdy.

I won't be ashamed to laugh or cry, if that's what I feel like doing.
I'll learn from my mistakes, but not so much that I paint with a broad brush. Every situation is different, whatever parallels may exist.
I will face my past and future with hope and a pinch of realism.
I will jump off the bridge, not because everyone else is, but because nobody else has the guts to.
I won't be afraid to be alone, but I also won't be afraid to be in company.

If I let my hair down, would that be such a crime? It's not wrong to be young. I may just step off the edge again, worrying about the fall all the way, but to get up and walk off afterwards. I can strike the balance between feeling alive and staying alive. I can, I can... I can.

Oh yes, she's back.

Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer

Out Of Step While They All Get In Line

She's baaaaaaack. Ladies and gentlemen this is how it starts. A little eyeliner, some music from a byegone age, and I'm back in the darkest moments of my life. It's in the past for a reason. It's easier to be angry than hurt. It's easy to scream along with the music and hide behind thick makeup and a baleful stare. I'm going nowhere fast that's what they say. But it's been an awfully long time since someone said that about me. There's a little bit more breadth here now, more than just the thinly veiled pain disguised as anger. I'm so much stronger now than I was. Then, I was exactly as strong as I had to be. Now, the blows are a little heavier now. Pain is fleeting, blows are glancing, when you're dancing through life. I might take that advice, if I could, if I knew how. Hopefully tomorrow's train will stay on the rails, even if I've been a little derailed lately. She knew what you were thinking before you thought it... and that's a good thing? When you do it to me, it leaves me feeling stupid. You leave me feeling stupid a lot. You bastard. It's the wrongs that make the words come to life. It's always cloudy except for when you look into the past. Sometimes even then. Why? Why? Why? According to the rule of three, this is where the resolution happens. Bullshit. Get me out of my mind. Don't let me get me. Come fly with me, let's go real high. Pull me down hard. Don't push me. Don't fuck with me. Drowning's an awful way to go. If it's not worth it, why bother? If it's worth doing, there's some meaning in it. Life goes on long after the thrill of living is gone, or does it? You say it's wrong but it's right for me. Is it? Am I doing the right thing here? Shouldn't I know? And the reason that she loved him is the reason I loved him too. Put out the fire and don't look past my shoulder. Nothing's as real as our old reckless ways. Was I ever reckless? Did I ever really want to be? Definitely wanted to be. Did it ever happen? The things I thought I'd do. And you know none of them would ever have the strength. Keeping up. Keep on keeping on. If it doesn't hurt it's not worth doing. Admit. Admission. Let someone in. Letting someone in. Find out games you don't wanna play. Just another regret. No regrets. Wasn't that what this was supposed to be about? Who has to know? Those thoughts I can't deny. No more Nile. What a pretty poison, what a lovely lie. Like a hole in the head, I know that I'll soon be better off. Come on, roll me over Romeo. Is this as good as it gets? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Like a needle in a haystack. Listen to your lies. Put on your pretty lies. I feel like a monster. Me myself and I. Let's hash it out. Set her free. A strange duet, your power can go fuck itself. I can handle it. Brave like soldiers. A woman who acts like a man. I couldn't tell you but I'm telling you now. Call on me. Stand by me. Twenty fucking five to one, my gambling days are done. Looks like the holy ghost is gone. I'll wait till you fall from grace. It's not like you to say sorry. But then again I don't really know. Are we having fun yet? Fun, that's what this was supposed to be. I dreamed that I knew the secret code. Your face betrays you. That'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. Drinking whiskey and rye. Back when we mattered. Fueling up on whiskey. I wonder if I'll ever change my ways. Or if I need to. I'm not giving up. I'm not slacking off or backing out or cracking up. Or backing down. I won't back down. This is how I'm supposed to be. Tell me, who should I be? You know you're not the only one. All our lives, we've been waiting. Once a good girl goes bad. Is she ever coming back? She's never coming home. They won't make it home and they really don't care. You better go, you know the fire's out anyway. Another dance another way another chance, another day. I don't know what I've done, or if I like what I've become. I'm my own worst enemy. You can't hurt me, you don't need to. I do it well enough myself. All I know is that I should. So what if it's Californication. I am just as torn inside. It's true, we're all a little insane, but it's so clear now that I'm unchained. I thought by now you'd realize, honey you can't hide your lyin eyes. My morals got me on my knees, I'm begging please. I'm under your spell. Mercy. What'll you do when you get lonely? You been running and hiding much too long. I was only having fun, wasn't hurting anyone. Except myself, but that's nothing new. So you say that only proves that I'm insane. Don't try to save me. Stop me. Keep me here. That's great, it starts with an earthquake. It's my responsibility, you owe nothing to me. You promised me nothing. It was just my imagination running away with me. I took your words and I believed. Out, damn spot. I'm trying to wash it away, but it's all over me in marker. I am so high I can hear heaven, but heaven don't hear me. You could have offered me some dignity. Choose the devil you know or the devil you don't, their horns are the same colour. This truth is stranger than fiction. Don't file me under categories, you're deceived. Genius is in the mistakes. Preaching the gospel according to Johnnie Walker Red. I tell myself I'm gonna be alright, but it's still not clear. What follows. Too young to die and too old to believe in promises. Maybe not too old. Trust me, trust you. How can I trust you, I know you. Now I know what you are. What you do. What you do to me. I know by the look that I see in your eye. Why does this happen to me? Hard to believe that it's not over tonight. Who is the monster and who is the man? I'm open, you're closed. You bleed just to know you're alive. Shouldn't let you conquer me completely. Don't want to forget how it feels without. You can't talk to a man when he don't want to understand. I want to understand and you won't let me. You don't want me, which is more than your right, but couldn't you have figured that out a little earlier? This world if you let it will drive you into the ground. They'll hurt you and desert you, and take your soul if you let them. Break me. Take me over. I'm all shook up. Is it worth the pain with no one to blame. I'm waking up to say I tried instead of waking up to another TV guide. The shit I hear you say just blows my mind. Never seen a sky so blue. Lost like I could not be found. I must be out of my head. I hate everything about you, most of all what you make me feel. Are you aware of what you make me feel? I need to break free from your lies, you're so self-satisfied. If I could make you believe. I'm not kind if you betray me. Gonna be okay. Got to be a joker he just do what he please. We all wanna change the world. I thought I chose the surest road, but that road led me here. You'll never know the way your words have haunted me. I don't fit into this world. I hope that doesn't sound too weird. I try to believe you, but I don't. Tomorrow's a different day. I don't know who you think I am. And for some reason, it matters. We know the game, we played it, and now you want to cry uncle. I'll pay for my sins, the heartache begins. Drinking wine and thinking bliss is on the other side of this. I've felt that fire oh and I've been burned, but I wouldn't trade the pain for what I've learned. Would I? It really makes me wonder if I ever gave a fuck about you. That's a lie. Bloodshot eyes. It felt good to be bad, and was it worth the aftermath? Only time will tell. These changes ain't changing me. This was never the way I planned, not my intention. Dutch courage. Half-finished bottles of inspiration. Curiosity killed the cat. Tell me what I'll never be, make me feel broken. I don't feel like I am strong enough. Are you strong enough? I quit crying long enough. Motivate me, captivate me, I wanna get your face out of my head. Whisper what it is you want. Go on. Go on. Gone going everything gone give a damn. Make up your mind or I will. Walking to the beat of another drummer. Another fucking musician. I'm wishing my life away with these things I'll never say. Now here we are, and I'm suddenly standing at the beginning with you.
I beg to dream and differ.

Daydream Believer

Pitter Patter

Five matches later. I won't be lighting up much else for awhile. Not until I'm sure. Burned an entire pack one by one yesterday. Was that yesterday? Maybe the day before. It's all running together a little bit.

And if it is the scary thing?

If I don't get some support, people are gonna think I'm nuts. Maybe I am bonkers. Even if I pay very dearly for my thrills. Some of which are more thrilling than others.

I need a hug. I don't want to hear 'try not to worry'. As if I could do anything else. I'm a professional worrier. I want to have a conversation, and I want some honesty. It's all well and good to be nonchalant, but I'd like some indication that you know this isn't funny, that you're worried too. I tend to define my relationships physically, and this one lacks some serious hugs, it lacks connection and comfort zones. Suddenly it's not a very funny joke, though I'm sure you laughed pretty hard at the time.

I finally bought a mousetrap. One of the sissy humane ones, but I really don't want to have to dispose of dead mice. I'd much rather carry live ones in a box a couple of miles away from my house and set them free, hoping they don't come back.

Dreaming and Wishing and Hoping and Praying
Daydream Believer

Grip

What you don't have you don't need it now,
what you don't know you can feel somehow.

I found her. I realized I found her yesterday. That lady, that someone dark and delicious and lit from within. That person that I sometimes forget is always there. She's choosy, sometimes hard to find. It takes a lot to get her out sometimes. I have needed a lot of things from a lot of people for a lot of different reasons in the past. I reread the letter you wrote me. Kept in the same folder with bank statements, pay stubs, all my important documents, to remind me that I'm more than a pile of numbers and plastic cards. To remind me to work on being as amazing as someone thinks I am.

My world's on fire, how 'bout yours?
That's the way I like it and I'll never get bored.

Good deeds. Kind words. Closed eyes and clenched fists. The lies are tempting. A siren song of finding the understanding I so crave. But am I the one to do it? I try to ignore the scraping scratching skittering chewing gnawing that threatens me with sleeplessness. That was a tangent. Is honesty something I'm willing to deceive for? I could do it, mention the schedule, the timing, press my lips into the fine line that tells everyone I'm about to crack, stare into his eyes and let the pain and anger he caused me show, letting him take it for fear and apprehension. Lie. I could. Let him sweat, watch him squirm. Find out if the whole thing feels a little familiar to him. And then... what? Reveal the truth? I'm not sure there are enough tums in the world. I want to though. Close to compulsion at this point, I want to know what happens. Mostly, yes, I regret the risks I didn't take, but I'm not sure where the ripples of this one will break, and I'm not sure I want to bring that in.

I won't keep this secret any longer. I liked it for a time, but its time has passed. I suddenly doubt the sheep will judge. Because I'm no longer ashamed. I made my choices, and, let's face it, I wanted to do it. Perhaps honesty would have been better all along. Shoulda woulda coulda. But I'm okay. And not just because of someone's excellent advice, along the smile at your enemies because it drives them nuts line. I want to believe he didn't want to hurt me. I really do. But I also want to believe that I wasn't invested enough to be hurt, and you can see how well that worked out. I'm not sure whether the intent or the result is the important part. I do know I'm okay. I know I haven't been crippled. I want to talk, but I've already confessed enough. Knowledge is power, and he already has too much of it over me.

Pain is fleeting,
Blows are glancing,
When you're dancing
Through life.

I danced. I thrashed around like a maniac and nobody even looked at me sideways. Well, there were a couple of long-haired, bare-chested boys looking at me sideways, but not because I was dancing like a maniac. I love clubs like that. I drank, I danced. I did what I wanted to and I didn't feel guilty about it at all. I crave complications and seek them out, but sometimes it just has to be simple. Two days later, I look for the complications. I wonder about occupations, I question if I should have done things a little differently. But I had a good night, a night that soothed a part of me I hadn't realized had gone raw. Fortunately I craved the right kind of relief without realizing why. I'll give you a good cuddle.

He wants to talk. He wasn't any use when I needed to talk to him though. Really, I shouldn't have been surprised, since I was the one who did it. I was the one who hurt him, so it shouldn't have surprised me that he stopped being there when I needed him after I pushed him away.

Just a city boy,
Born and raised in South Detroit.

Age is a funny thing. I remember thinking how old they seemed. How wise. How distant and unconnected from me. I remember thinking I couldn't possibly relate, couldn't possibly understand. One more 'so why don't you have a boyfriend?' and I was going to lose it. Now I look at the year in her birthday, and it's one later than his. She's a year younger, this woman who was so much a woman when I was still such a child. This woman who couldn't possibly relate to me, she was simply too old. And he's older than her. It makes me wonder about the perceptions we have of age, the hangups. Old souls.

I'm here. I have this project to work on. I'm not quite sure how to deal with the actual doing bit, but I have the ideas. My nationality is my definition at the moment, and I plan to embrace it. Confessional, performing the wound, two, two, two things in one. I'm thinking of the woman with the once-profound ideas again.

Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer

Harm and Foul

I hate sleeping through alarms. I've lost my moral high ground. Maybe that's just as well. Maybe it'll be better without the antagonism. Or maybe it won't. Who knows. I've thought about it, I've wondered and considered and chosen a course of action. I'm feeling a little Frost-y at the moment. I spent part of the evening with a friend. A good friend, better than I generally have any right to expect. An inversion of friends I've had before. Not to say that I don't expect and hope constantly, because that's just my nature, and I'm bound to do it. But I have those expectations, those hopes, and when they don't manifest, or manifest a little differently, it's okay. An inversion, it doesn't have to be a fight, a test of wills, it's honest. It feels good. Safe in a backwards way. We're not making it any harder than it needs to be. I usually make things more difficult than they should be.

The damaged attract the damaged, and it's a little like the blind leading the blind. I want to make it better, I always want to fix people. I'm not sure why. Has to do with want and need, and probably daddy issues too. I always worry. I worry and I overthink and I can never use the excuse of not having thought it through because I always do. I do the things that people make excuses for. They say they were drunk, or punch-drunk, seeing red or looking at the world through rose-coloured glasses. They say they didn't know what they were doing, what would happen, that they can't think, that they don't think. I don't have those excuses. I think it all through, calmly, rationally, and still do it. Knowing the consequences, knowing what can or might or will happen, I do it anyways. After careful consideration, I make the conscious decisions that people tend to blame on their unconscious minds, on the id, on their reptilian brains. I don't get to cover my ass, I've just made choices and then have to live with them. Some have been the least of evils, certainly, but by no means all of them. I sometimes wonder if I am really some sort of monster, or if I'm damaged beyond repair. If either is the case, how can I justify wanting to fix people? Maybe I first need to fix me. Only thing is I'm not sure how.

Dance With Me?
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. I play with fire. I like it. I may be an adrenaline junkie, but I'm picky about my triggers. I'm drawn to the darkness, convinced, perhaps, that the light lies at the end of the tunnel, or that once my eyes adjust the best things are the ones once obscured by darkness. Crazy, but that's how it goes. The closer you get to the light, the bigger a shadow you cast. I want to see what the shadows hide. I want to know. I want to understand. And if you want these kind of dreams, it's Californication. I need to connect to something, connect to someone. I let myself get drawn in and it's never enough. Feeling as good as love, you could, you can. I like duality. I like the underdog. I'm drawn to the damage, like a rubbernecker on the highway. I don't have guilty pleasures, or at least I try not to. I make my choices and I deal with the fallout. No harm, no foul. Either way I don't want to wake up from this, sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare. I have an overactive imagination, I spend too much time living in "if" land. If only, If I, what If? Sometimes I play with fire and it warms me right to the core. Sometimes all I get is burned fingers, and sometimes the odd welt on my thumb. I've always liked games of chance. I'm steady but I'm starting to shake, and I don't know how much more I can take. I've never really been one for games of skill, mostly because skills can come and go so easily. My bets are usually with the green lady. One or the other. You're the right kind of sinner. I'm not. Sin is a tricky concept. If it's bad, why do we want it? If it's good, why would we be punished for it? More ifs. Ifs ands and buts. There are always exceptions. What you feel is what you are. I wish I could sing like Pat Benatar. I forget how much I love to sing, how much I need to sing. That's the way, though, isn't it. Sometimes you forget what you need until you have it. I think I thought I saw you try. Nothing's going to stop me from trying. Nothing ever does stop me from trying, at least nothing external. I'm stubborn as anything. I got it from my mother. Well, she jokes that I didn't because she still has all hers. But you get the idea. I want these words to make things right, but it's the wrongs that make the words come to life. I want what I want, and half the time you'll never know what it is. Because I'm afraid. I was surrounded by enough cruel, vindictive, competitive people in the past that I learned not to share my goals, because once someone knew about them, they became an obstacle to them. Guess I'm really on my own. As though if I say it out loud it's true, and I have to really deal with it when I fail, rather than just saying I didn't care anyways. I care too much, but I have to. I have to care about something, about someone, it's a compulsion. I am falling, and if I let myself go, I'm the only one to blame. I have to care, I want to care, and that's what usually hurts me. I like the duality of it, to be honest, the contradictions, the paradoxes. I like paradoxes. Paradoxes and balance. Both hydrogen and oxygen burn, but together they'll put a fire out. I don't want to put the fire out. I like it, it's warm and it makes everything else go. Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him? I've never been one for Pascal's Wager, but strangely that doesn't stop me from believing in something. We always wind up talking philosophy. Not that that's a complain by any means. I wish I could make that pattern expand. People need more hugs. Take a backseat, hitchhike, take a long ride on a motorbike. My scars are mostly on the inside, lining my lungs, my stomach, filling the spaces between the muscles and the fat, stretching between the tendons. Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse. The ones on the outside are nothing special. Chicken pox, a couple of childhood scrapes. I've never broken a bone, even twisted or sprained a joint. This world if you let it will drive you into the ground. I won't let it. I can beat this. I have to be able to. I have to believe that I haven't been set up to fail. If I don't, if I can't, there's nothing else I can do. Well, there's always one thing I can do, but that would require a trip to the chemist. You're no problem at all.

Mistakes can only happen with the benefit of hindsight. Unless we're speaking empirically, of course. But empirical really isn't my style. Mistakes are just risks you wish you hadn't taken. Sometimes you can only see things from the outside. Sometimes beauty is in the mind of the beheld. There should be more love. The stigma shouldn't be in having done it. The celebration should be in having recovered. Everyone needs more hugs.

I've been more introspective than usual, which is saying something. I must be making up for the extraversion of the last little while. That's right, I'm an extrovert. Shy as I am. Another paradox. No wonder I've got such an affinity for them. I'm full of them.

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Sweet

Oh my stars, the number of song lines I cycled through trying to come up with an opening for this post. Nothing seems to fit.
I'm in a good mood today, despite coming altogether too close to coughing up my lungs for my liking. I'm managing. I really feel like things are under control, which I have to admit, is a feeling I really enjoy. Two months is nothing. I'm not quite over the hump, but close. I can make it to Christmas, and once I've made it that far, the rest will fall into place. I've fallen into place here. I feel like I fit. It's good. I feel like I'm on top of my responsibilities, not getting crushed under them, and having a little fun too. Just tethered enough. Maybe this time I'll be able to manage the avoidance of strings.
It's not about peace, it's like martial arts, to be still without being still. I feel like that right now, and right now everything seems okay. But that could be the sniffles talking.
Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

London Calling

So I've been counting wrong all this time. I should've started at 16, not 15, which puts me at 12 tomorrow, rather than 11. But one may be cut off the end from my previous figuring. Which would put me in exactly the right place. Happy thoughts.

I started working out again today, even though I'm still sore from that yoga thing on Thursday. Ow. I'm bored. Although somehow this doesn't stop me from wanting to shirk my responsibilities. Even when I hardly have anything to do, doing the things I have to do sucks.

It's worst when I'm at home alone. I'm bored and want to go home. It always passes, but while it grips me, it's got me. I don't want to do anything but go to sleep and hope it's over when I wake up. I'm trying to keep myself busy, but I can't shake this feeling of stagnating, the holding pattern, waiting for the real thing. I really need to stop doing that to myself. Waiting. I'm not going to wait anymore, I'm going to do something. Maybe take a ferry ride to start. In three weeks, I'll be writing a book. I better have some material.

Dream On
Daydream Believer

Touchdown 0094

Well, I have space. At least at home. And I do feel at home here, even if everything's different, even if everything's wrong. Even if my room's too big, my bed's too big, the streets are too small, the clothes in the shops are too small, and I had to work way too hard to find a bottle of salad dressing. I'm happy. I'm adjusting. There's a lot to adjust to, the greatest of which is that he's not here. 3 down, 12 to go. I'm gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay. I just don't know what I'll do if this trial proves to be too much.
I don't know why those guys put me in such a foul mood. Maybe it's because I know that if I lose him, that's all I'll have left. It's a depressing thought. That and I suppose my fight or flight instincts are changing gears a bit. Here, I'm a fighter. I have to be. I have to fight for everything. I have to fight my way into an already established group. I have to fight for myself, my work, my sanity. Yes to cream teas. Sometimes it's hard to figure out what's important. Sometimes it's crystal clear. It's easier to fight for what you believe in when you know what you believe in. I've been to defensive, too tired, too hungry. I'm homesick. With varying degrees of literalism. Maybe I will become one of those beauties, but I'd probably have to give up chips to do it.
I love the post-bar food, and the fact that I can go for a night out for about half what I used to pay. I love the view from the end of my street. I love that my accent is sexy here. That which is rare is prized. I love that picture.
I wish I'd brought more posters, my walls feel oppressively beige. There have been lots of things I've wanted to say, and I can't remember most of them.

I'm here, I better get used to it.

Dreaming of home (a little).
Daydream Believer

101 Dalmations

Well, colour me a little sheepish. I meant to do something big, important, special (relatively speaking of course, I have it on decent account that there are only about two people who still read this) for my 100th post. It seemed like an important milestone, one deserving commemoration. Then I checked the handy dashboard button that lets me see how many posts I've actually published, rather than just all the ones I started and let auto-save, many of them blank pages, and discovered that I'm actually past that delightful milestone. Tarnation! Here I was hoping to take the chance to reflect upon how much has changed in one hundred posts, spanning three of the more interesting and tumultuous years of my life. Oh well, knowing myself, I probably would never have gotten anything on the page, I'd be too concerned about being profound and reflective, and generating something for posterity. I love to look at those beautiful notebooks they sell in the classy bookstores with the five-dollar-a-pop coffee shops in them. You know, the ones with artistic designs on magnetically or elastic closing covers and pages that are some interesting shade of off-white, maybe boasting of their composition, recycled organic acid-free paper, or just plain pretty to look at. I never buy them because I know I won't write in them. I always feel like nothing I can write can do the book justice, like it's so beautiful it has to have profound things written in it. The right message for the medium. No, it doesn't help to know that somebody else is going to buy that notebook and use it for shopping lists. But now I feel almost in the right state of mind. I worked 8 hours and meant to go to sleep when I got home, but it's been a couple of hours since then. Long enough that the tea I made is cold. Well, tried to make. Silly me, I followed the directions on the package and am left with a veritable boat (because of course when you screw something up it's never the time you're making a reasonable portion) of lukewarm milk which, while providing all the aroma of a cup of Chai, has nearly none of the expected taste. So while I'm waiting for that to disappear, and the overnight (read: will hopefully put me to sleep) sinus medicine to kick in, I suppose I'll keep tapping away on this keyboard and see where I end up.

I made a long-distance, pond-hopping phone call today. At first, it was rather panicked. The voice on the other end, however, reassured me that my plans hadn't just come to a grinding halt as a result of a minor postal delay. The first thing I felt was relief, and then, for a moment before getting once again swept up into the whirlwind of that which must be accomplished before Monday, I considered that for the duration of this next chapter, nearly every voice I hear is going to sound like that. That accent is going to permeate my consciousness. The language will be almost the same. And I've been told that that can be the worst part.

Ace isn't sleeping again, we stay up talking and it's good to touch base again, to have another contact point with the outside world, so to speak. He helps remind me that there are an awful lot of things going on out there, and sometimes I think he does it by reflecting back to me some of those qualities I wish I could purge myself of. He can be abrasive and hard to deal with, but I grit my teeth and manage because he also reflects back to me some of my favourite qualities, and I keep hoping that exposure will make them stronger.

I wonder if the refresh button gets sore when I press it this many times. I'd stop if it would just show me what I want to see. Time marches on, and soon I'll have to call it a night, but I keep hoping.

The tune is the same, change the faces and names.

I can't help the way I feel, which right now is totally reckless, ass-over-teakettle hoping with every fibre of my being that this will work. It wasn't like this before, I know what I said, what I had to say, to protect the both of us. Now it's different. People change, nobody knows that better than me. Once again my practicality takes over, only this time I don't want it to. Love isn't all you need. Love can't pay the bills. Even though this is as grown up as it's ever been, is it really grown up enough? I don't know how to make this real. I just feel it. I can't explain why it's different, why the words I said before are really true now, why you should trust that it won't end up the same. I don't know. I don't even know if you should. But I do know that if it doesn't work out that way, that you won't miss me. You'll find someone who really is what I try sometimes to be.
Because. Maybe this is that feeling they were talking about, that magical, elusive "you just know".

I think the medicine's starting to kick in. My sinuses don't feel any better, but my limbs feel a little leaden.
Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer

Summer Sunshine

And the scary thing is, I think I'm okay. My usual gnawing worries have been drastically reduced, and most of the temporary concerns are alleviated. It could just be the drugs, but I'm feeling pretty good right now. My most concerning worries are behind me, and now I can focus on what's ahead of me.

Still working on that whole "no more beige" thing, but making progress. Still working on going after what I want, which is so much easier knowing I can have it. Maybe. On that note, I have to work on suppressing that ugly green thing that likes to rear its head at any and all mention of her name. It doesn't have to be him, it might be, but could easily be someone else.

I finally have so much that I want. Freedom, opportunity. And I'm happy this way. I finally feel like I can.

I'm pretty sure it was a Red Hot Chili Peppers song, and I don't remember the exact lyrics, but they were something like I could take you away and then everything would be great. Everything seems profound and memorable at 4 am.

Heavily drugged and very mellow,
Daydream Believer

Visitation

I refuse to get my hopes up. I'll believe he's coming when he shows up on my doorstep. Probably just as well, my hopes are so bloody high about everything else lately, and here I am pretending they're not. Well, not really pretending, just highlighting the part that's not so hopeful. Aggravating and emphasizing the parts of me that are sad, stressed, scared, and hurt. Maybe that's the reason for all the tears, the longing looks at those little pill bottles in the drug stores. Suppression isn't really so healthy. Which is why I'm not so sure that not getting my hopes up about this is a good thing. I don't even know what to expect, really. If he shows up (he'll show up, when it's important, he's a good guy). I don't know what will happen (and will I want it to? Am I really as important to him as he says I am?). Maybe (hopefully?) he'll be as out of place here as he wasn't there. Two different worlds I live in, shouting across the divide. This is my world, and this one isn't his. Maybe he'll have no control here, it'll be my turn with some power. A shit disturber, what'll he pull this time? And what will it mean in a month's time? And was this maybe the worst idea yet?


I don't want him to arrive, but once he's here, I don't want him to leave. Be careful what you wish for much? He's upset, I'm upset, and I feel like I'm in a holding pattern, like I'm waiting to land, to actually get on with my journey. Sometimes I wish it didn't hurt so much to hurt him. I could've made this like ripping a band-aid off, but I didn't. I thought I did it for him, but maybe I really did it for me. Is this easier? I don't even know. I probably couldn't have done it anyways, I'm a terrible liar. Yesterday was so fantastic, but maybe that kind of thing is just making the whole thing worse. He wishes, I wish. We all scream for ice cream.

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Friends With Complications

Her: "So, uh, are you two, uh...?"
Me: Nervous laughter
Him: Nervous laughter
Me: "No, we're, uh, friends..."
Her: Raised eyebrows "With benefits?"
Him: "Um..."
Me: "More like complications."

An old conversation. Out of date by several months. but leave it to me to remember the random things, some good memories, some bad, a few regrets wrapped up in the scent of Old Spice and Irish Spring, flowers, swamp goo, and the not-quite-clean of a boy/man's apartment. We had our share of complications, mostly my fault, but I asked the questions and he answered honestly. It wasn't really his fault, although I blame him for it sometimes. A lot of the time. I wished for him to do things, say things, and now I wish I could remember them, so I could do them or say them, to make this better. But I can't. "Why do you have to be so attractive?" If I only had a nickel for every time I said that to someone. Right along with "What does she have that I don't?" and the inevitable answer of "tits". But in all seriousness, powerlessness just sucks, in all its forms, no matter which side of the equation you're on. Which kinda makes me wonder where the power in these situations is. I was so sure he had it, but now in a different position, maybe I was wrong about that. Maybe I was wrong about a lot. I guess it's complicated.

I'm surprised I'm not grinning like an idiot. I love hearing that people think well of me. No surprise, who doesn't? But it's best when it's completely brutally honest, and still favourable. I like to hear the brutally honest, no-holds-barred, I-swear-I-didn't-know-you-were-listening opinions people have of me. It's probably narcissistic, and it's probably not very good for me, especially because it's not always a glowing review. But I can't help it, something in me wants to know how I appear to the outside world, because everything looks different depending on the eyes you're using. And every now and then, what people think of you has an effect. Sometimes you can teach yourself to see what they see.
I love the sound of the words she wrote as they roll around in my skull, staving off, at least for a couple of hours, that irritating voice full of derision and foul mood. Lit from within, all red lipstick and dark eyes, young and powerful, something dark, delicious, and alive.

I can't shake the guilt though. I'm not mad, not at her, though I don't think she believes it. It's the guilt that was bound to come back ever since I said "I wish I was a little more like him". Well, now I am a little bit, and I wish I wasn't. He revels in this, having the means to manipulate, to hurt. I just want to make all the hurt go away, and I don't know how.

The older I get, the shakier the foundations of my friendships seem, the old as well as the new. My closest oldest friend I didn't meet all that long ago. Next on the list is the one who I can barely quantify any more, all magnetism, memories, and Irish Spring. Most of the rest don't even seem like my friends, more like friends once removed, I wonder how many of them would still be around if I wasn't around him. I've never had good luck with making friends, I'm a little on the beige side, people don't tend to remember me. At least as far as I know. Every now and then the tables turn, the tide shifts, and I get to deal with the fallout. Sometimes it's more fun than others. Sometimes complications are my only real friends.

Maybe I can widen that circle a little bit.
Dream On
Daydream Believer

Live and Alive

Odd that I can only do this while I'm alone. I guess because in some sense it's still my dirty little secret. I publish my own thoughts on the internet. Even now it's a little taboo. Really though, anyone could find these words and thoughts, which is terrifying and exciting at the same time. Maybe someone I've never met will find a connection, maybe that's why people write books. Unfortunately I don't have the attention span for writing a book. Maybe one day I will. But anyone finding them doesn't know who I am, couldn't know who I am. General things, yes, and some very personal things, but they wouldn't be able to pick me out of a lineup, recognize me walking past on the street, and that's a kind of protection.

Which brings me to why I haven't done this in awhile. Despite the very public nature of the finished product, the process of writing is very personal for me, and very private, and I haven't had much in the way of alone time in the last little while. Not that I haven't been alone at times, but never for a very long stretch and usually alone in the sense of being surrounded by strangers. At the risk of sounding like the temperamental artist I try so hard not to be, I can't work like that. I also prefer to write when I'm fairly certain I won't be disturbed before I can finish at least the thread I'm working on at the time.

I've always been intrigued by intrigue. Oddly enough. But the drama of people interacting with one another and the system fascinates me. In another life, with another personality, I'm convinced I would have loved to be a spy or anarchist, knee deep in all the shit surrounding people, power, love, and money. Why not this life? Well, to start with, I'm a terrible liar. I tend to giggle in the most unseemly and unsubtle way when I try to misdirect people. That's not to say that I can't keep a secret, I can, and like to think I do a pretty damn good job of it. But my favourite tactic for doing so, changing the subject, really wouldn't hold up against someone who knew I was keeping something from them. For another thing, I don't like to hurt people. Even collaterally... usually, in fact, the collateral damage of any situation in which I'm involved is me. I'm resilient, the joke I've made is that I'm actually a superball in human form. Y'know, those ridiculously bouncy things that you can throw against a concrete wall, but then you better duck because it's coming back, and hard. Most of the time I figure that I'm better equipped to deal with any pain I've caused than anyone else. But I let things get to me, usually more than I should, occasionally more than is healthy. But in the real world, I'm not good at the games people play with each other. I don't know if it's possible to be when you don't like to hurt people. I'm getting quite good at getting kicked around though. I've been wondering why I'm not bitter... y'know, that bite the hand that feeds thing... the part they don't tell you is that before that hand fed, it slapped. I've been wondering why I'm not more cynical, more broken, more prone to anger, less trusting. I mean I am all those things, I'm probably more bitter and cynical that I've got any right to be, but not all the time. I have my moments where it all just piles up on me, usually late at night when I'm by myself, but I'll cry, go to sleep, and in the morning it's not so bad.

I don't have too many illusions left. I know that the odds of my making a decent living doing something I truly love are slim, and it's far more likely that I'm going to end up doing something soul-crushing and only being paid minimum wage in exchange for it. I know that the way I'd like to live my life isn't realistic, despite my conviction that it's a good way to live. But I know that none of that is going to stop me from trying. I once read a quote that said "Courage is loving without expecting anything in return" and maybe that's true. Maybe I'm not more bitter because that's not my role. Maybe it's my job to be the one who refuses to stay down. Not necessarily an optimist, but a boomerang at the very least. Perhaps I have an overactive second chance gland or my blood is too high in forgiveness humour. Maybe have too many bad ideas or I'm just too damn trusting, but I really don't care.

Still Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Resolve

Is the title the first or last thing you think up when you write something? A poem, an essay, a blog post, a story, a novel, an encyclopedia, whatever you write. I'm torn. Usually, it's the last thing I think up, because I tend to try to relate it somehow to everything I've written, and I don't plan writing the same way that Loud evidently does. (Where's that post now, huh?) So I don't know what a good title will be, normally, until whatever I've written is done. Every now and then I go the opposite way though, I take a word or a phrase that means something, even if only to me, and make sure whatever I write has some sort of connection. Occasionally the connection is totally organic, like today. It's New Years, a time when people make resolutions, the noun form of the verb to resolve. Resolve has a couple of meanings as a verb, lots actually. But this isn't really a vocabulary lesson, I promise. There are lots of ways the word resolve is used, but it mostly boils down to two overarching definitions, either decide or fix. As a noun it can mean strength or determination. All in all not bad thoughts to start the New Year on, if I may say so.

My own resolve is going to be tested. This coming year as well as in the years ahead. Everybody has a "they", something outside themself that has a hold on them, an effect on their decisions. Everybody occasionally at least does something for "them" instead of for themself. For some, it's God (Goddess, Gods, Goddesses, etc. God as a concept not an entity), for some, it's family, friends, strangers, society, various belief systems with varying degrees of arbitrariness and practicality. Assuming things don't change drastically in the ol' noggin in the near future, I'm going to have to tread lightly around "them" for a variety of reasons involving how I intend to defy convention. I grew up in a different world than my mother did, or her mother. Then again, maybe the apple doesn't fall so far from the tree after all. In my grandmother's generation, it was simply expected that she would get married and raise a gaggle of children. True to form, she didn't finish high school, got married at 16, and hauled the gaggle of kids all over the world following her Air Force husband. I usually forget that my grandmother recieved less formal education than I had by the time I was halfway through high school. I sometimes wonder what she might have done if things had worked out differently. Nobody's ever told me what the circumstances of her marriage were, but since her first child was born within the year, I can only assume that due to social convention she had to get married. It's entirely possible that that life was really and truly what she wanted for herself. I know someone who looks no further. Which makes me wonder if that particular dream is the "natural" one. Some would argue that it is "natural" or "normal" for people to want to fill their convential social roles. Wife, mother, grandmother, homemaker, caretaker. Of course, those are usually the people who also believe that homosexuality is "unnatural" but that's an issue for another day. I cannot fathom never wanting something else. Something more. I can't fathom being content in that life.
Part of it is power, and dependence. A huge part of that dream is the idea not necessarily of being rescued, but of being provided for. Maybe it's pragmatism that drives me away from that dream, the sheer impracticality of depending on someone else to take care of me for the rest of my, or their life. Even assuming there would be someone willing, what would happen to me if something happened to them? Besides, if someone has the power to give you something, they have the power to withold it. I sense there's more to it than practicality though. I want to do more. Social roles are changing. It is now more or less expected that a woman has a career in addition to her family. Or, like my mother, as a predecessor. Maybe it is natural to want a family, carreer or no.

I suppose I'm a touch unnatural then. My theory is that I'm wired a little differently. I expect to be mostly alone because of it. Which doesn't distress me much as soon as I let go of a particular heap of social conditioning surrounding family and relationships. That said, it isn't that I expect to be truly, stranded-on-a-desert-island alone, nor do I expect to be celibate or unfulfilled in any way. I just don't expect to have "that someone" that people tend to talk about. The reason for this (going back to those crossed wires) is that I seem to be a little different. As much as I can't fathom being a housewife and being happy with it, I can't really even see myself married in the future with any clarity. Ironically, the rationale behind that one is very much grounded in social conditioning and convention. I don't ever want to get divorced, and can't see myself ever being truly content with one individual and never wanting anyone else. Therefore I can't get married. Bear was aghast at this revelation. I'm pretty sure Loud was intrigued, particularly with the conversation that ensued. And in answer to the comment he made, navigating the future alone is both my intention and prediction. Assuming nothing major changes, I expect to navigate the future alone based on the reasoning above. Although the assumption is less that I'll be alone and more that there will always be people, just not a "special someone". But I think that I will enjoy doing so. You play the hand you're dealt, and I don't see any reason not to enjoy the game.

It seems odd to me that so many of the songs I've been listening to lately have themes of moving on. Because I can't seem to. Perhaps because it feels like unfinished business, curiosity, or just becuase I'm reluctant, as always, to say goodbye. I'm the same way with knicknacks. I'm a horrible packrat, both physically and emotionally. It takes a lot of strength to say goodbye, to walk away, but I figure it also takes strength to fight the battle you know you're going to lose. It takes guts to keep trusting someone, keep believing them, even when they give you no reason to. It takes guts to love knowing you won't be loved back, or won't be loved back the way you want. Years ago I was strong enough to walk away and never look back, and I'm proud of myself for that. This time it's different. Different situation, different people, even different me. I've recieved advice to walk two different ways, a prediction of the future, and lots of heartaches. As I've said so many times, I'm fine now, and I know I'll be fine, I'm just not sure what's going to happen between now and then. Hopefully all that will be fine too.

Maybe the decision will be made for me, but soon I'll have to decide stay or go. Who am I kidding? It's not the decision I'm dreading, it's breaking the news of it. The decision's as good as made. There, I said it, what he's been saying all along. Will seeing it coming make it hurt less? Doubtful.

Once again, I rung in the New Year with Loud, Gold, and Sphinx. It's becoming something of a tradition, I suppose. Not one I mind in the least.

Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking
Can't we give ourselves one more chance
Why can't we give love that one more chance
Why can't we give love give love give love give love
give love give love give love give love give love
'Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the night
And loves dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves

Under pressure

Can we play that game your way?
Can I really lose control?

Shouldn't let you torture me so sweetly.
Now I can't let go of this dream.
I can't breathe but I feel...
Good enough,
I feel good enough for you.
Drink up sweet decadence.
I can't say no to you,
And I've completely lost myself, and I don't mind.
I can't say no to you.
Shouldn't let you conquer me completely.
Now I can't let go of this dream.
Can't believe that I feel...
Good enough,
I feel good enough.
It's been such a long time coming, but I feel good.
And I'm still waiting for the rain to fall.
Pour real life down on me.
'Cause I can't hold on to anything this good enough.
Am I good enough for you to love me too?
So take care what you ask of me,
'cause I can't say no.


My resolve has not yet been tested. I have never faced a real question. I haven't had to make that decision, and I don't know what I'll do if/when I do. Everyone has boundaries, right now it's not mine that are protecting me. I don't know where mine are. But I'll find out.

Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer

Merry Merry

I keep going to bed with too much on my mind. That or it's too early, and I don't have the effective sedative of sheer exhaustion to knock me out before my what ifs can keep me awake. Having been exiled from the tree-room while the final preparations are made, I sit up here, cramped, in one of the few places in the house I can have any privacy, and believe me, there were points today where I considered announcing I was going to have a bath just so I could have half an hour's peace.

My wish list gets less material every year. And this year it's full of things no one can give me. Lately I've been the kind of person who'd be thrilled to get a coupon book full of coupons like "one hour of free kvetching without even having to buy me a coffee to do it" and "one get out of dishes free card". This year they're a little less optimistic, a little more cynical.

I want to not be ditched. Maybe it doesn't really count if there were no definite plans, so maybe you don't think you ditched me, but I feel ditched, and it's starting to piss me off because it's a recurring event.

I want to be important to those who are important to me. This is me being selfish again, but I think it neither unreasonable nor entirely unexpected.

I want to be powerful. I want to understand why people do things. The definition of leadership is getting people to do what you want them to do because they want to do it. I want to be a leader, rather than be manipulated by them.

If I don't get any of the above, I want to be able to let them go so that one or a combination don't make me cry anymore. I don't really care why. Desensitization, greater strength, or just no longer caring, any of them would do the trick.

Thanks for listening Santa... hope you've got a computer on that sleigh... since I'm pretty sure you're scheduled to be on the roof at the moment. But then, it's pretty windy out there, maybe you're a little delayed.

Merry Christmachannukwanzikas/Non-denominational, non-exclusive, non-offensive, politically correct consumerist materialist gift-giving day
Daydream Believer