Merry Gentlemen

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Well, beginning probably isn't the right word. It's been looking like Christmas (without the snow) for awhile now, since the first day the Hallowe'en candy went on sale. This time of year makes me think about family. My family. Not that I wasn't already thinking about them before, good things and bad. It's just occurred to me how many closets I may be extricating myself from this coming holiday season.

Daydream Believer's Conundrum: To Un-Closet or Not To Un-Closet?

The Closets:

The Reigning Champ: Bisexuality
The Solid Second: Lefty Radical Libertarian Pseudo-Anarchist Communism
The Newcomer: Polyamory

We'll start with the reigning champ. When I first identified myself as bi, I had a very well reasoned two-pronged excuse for keeping my parents out of it. Prong 1: It was none of their business who I was sleeping with (more frequently, who I was having no luck trying to seduce, but that's another matter). Since then, I've opened up some. Including nearly giving dear old Dad a conniption one pleasant summer morning when he asked where I was going, and I said to get an STI check. Which is really a lot more tame, run of the mill, care-and-keeping-of-a-healthy-sexually-active-adult than he seemed to think it was. Prong 2: Unless I stand a reasonable chance of actually wanting to bring home a girlfriend for (insert holiday here), it's not terribly relevant to them, outside of the fact that they care about me, want me to be happy, and want a general understanding about what's going on in my life. Still true. My luck with women has not gotten any better. My prospects in that department are nil.

Which brings us to the solid second. I have always known I was (little-l for those north of the 49th) liberal. I've always believed (or in moments of existential crisis, at least wanted to believe) that people are basically good, and that people should be basically good to one another. All people. Any people. The homosexuals and the blacks and the asians and the mormons and the buddhists and the jains and the marxists and the anarchists and the prostitutes and the schoolteachers and the clergy and the businessfolk and the women and the men and the both and the neither. Everybody. As recently as a month or so ago, I've started to get involved. I've been writing letters, going to meetings, wearing buttons, debating issues, considering issues, and so on. I'm beginning to show signs of activism.
Don't get me wrong, I think that this is great. I'm not convinced that my family will think it's great too. I like what I'm doing, and I'm hoping that I'll change things. But I'm afraid that my internal compass will waver when confronted with the gigantic magnet known as my father. I'm afraid of the conflict between knowing that my Dad is neither evil nor stupid, and knowing the kinds of things he does for a living, and that generally, people who do those kinds of things disagree with me on a lot of things, at the most base of levels. I'm afraid that the way I see the world might waver when pressed against the hard-wired logic of "Dad's the boss". I'm afraid that I will start thinking that my Dad is either evil or stupid, which could make for a very awkward Christmas dinner indeed.

Last, but not least, the newcomer. This one's tricky. This one's the scariest of the lot, I think. This is the one that, if it should come to light, is likely to cause the most problems. It's new, well, sort of. I've been thinking about it for awhile, and am really only now considering the long-term practical applications of it. This makes it sound like scientific research, I know, and it's not. I'm blindly fumbling forward, trying to take steps away from what I know I don't want in the hopes that, at the polar opposite of what I don't want, I'll find what I do want. Whatever that is. But for now, I want to be left alone to figure it out. I don't want to talk about it with a counselor, with my mother, flying-spaghetti-monster forbid with my grandmother. I want to try the shoe on before I decide if it fits, or how it fits, and I don't want anyone to tell me they think it's ugly until I've decided if it fits or not.

None of these conundrums are terribly new. None of them are secrets, and I would tell the truth about all of them if directly asked, by just about anyone. However, I don't know when or if or how to start telling the people who are important to me and not frequently present in my day to day life. None of these things are making me lose sleep right now. It's just something that occurred to me when a Christmas Carol popped into my head this evening.

Keep dreaming.
Daydream Believer

Midnight Confessions

Do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell? Can I say all the things that I want to?

First: I am not the person I so desperately wish I was. I cannot be the confidante, the secret keeper, the person who always says the right thing at the right time to the right person. That person who makes it all seem better. I realize this listening to my sisters laughing and joking in the next room. About fifteen minutes ago, trying to make one feel better about something, I said what, while to me seemed like the right thing to say, obviously to her was not the right thing to say, and she started bawling after shouting at me to get out of her room. Apparently my other sister did know the right thing to say. I hate that I don't. I hate that I can't help.

Second: Here I am admitting, to anyone who will listen or cares to notice, that I am probably screwing up. In a wide variety of ways, but the most poignant to me at the moment is that for all my assertions that I don't need anyone, I do. And somehow my chase of adventure and excitement have taken me far enough away from the people who would have been here for me. So here I am, standing alone like the proverbial cheese. Even my sister, who may or may not be able to tell her own ass from a hole in the ground, can put it simply. "You went away and now none of your friends want to see you anymore."
Given this, I wonder, would it be better to give up on the adventures and go after the people, or keep up the adventures and lose track of the people? I'm beginning to seriously think I can't have both, and I may have already made my choice.

Third: I was looking forward to the dental surgery I had to undergo this morning so that I would have a reasonable excuse to take it easy for awhile. Some might argue that working as little as I am at the moment, I am already taking it easy. Externally, sure, but it's the internal stuff I needed to take a break from. For the next five days, I can't get into screaming matches, carry furniture up or down stairs, go to the gym, or panic about my future, past, or present. And I get to take narcotic painkillers which prevent me from driving, or even thinking with too much clarity, everything floats past in a gentle, warm, fuzzy fog, and rather than struggling to get to sleep, I sink quietly into a peaceful state of oblivion. I think I can see why people get addicted to this shit. It's not the drug, it's the holiday.
Consider me on vacation.

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Walk On the Moon

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go.

Holy fucking shit.

Pardon my french. Am I excited? Out of my mind. Am I scared? Out of my mind. Terrification. So terrified it's terrific. Why is it always so sunny in this rainy city when I'm on my way out?

This is my one small step. I'm flying solo and flying free. This is the part where I show everybody, myself included, just what kind of stuff I'm made of. What an adventure. This is what I'm in it for. This is going to be amazing.

I'm getting the heck out of dodge.

Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer

Roots

I'm defined not by what I am, but by what I'm not. What I'm not is getting to be a much shorter list. One small step. A few old songs. It's a little less like war paint now, even though I'm still picking up that shield and sword. All things to everyone. What am I gonna be? I'm wound up too tight. I need to get rid of my guilt complex. Complexes. My subscriptions. The dirty old river keeps rolling into the nightmares. Water under the bridge. No fear, no doubt. Last call, you can't stay here. Oh what can it mean? Now you know how happy I can be. What's next? When you can't walk anymore, you keep on crawling. You keep moving because there's nothing else to do. My contradictions are my trouble. That's how you get to be your own enemy. With a self like this. I can't fight it. Face the music. That's what I'm doing, facing the music.
Dancing in the moonlight.

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

Poison

Destructive behaviour is a funny thing. Funny peculiar, usually, although I have been laughing an awful lot lately. A means to an end. I wonder where the end will be. I know what will likely happen if I continue. I've seen the pictures. It isn't that I like it, it isn't that I need it. But oddly, it makes it all feel better. The willing intake of so many toxins, it makes me feel better, strangely. Like bringing the turmoil from the inside into something concrete, something of which I am the commander. Something that's between me and that little burning tube. Someone made the hypothesis that in order to do this kind of thing, one must hate oneself. I freely admit that I hate myself from time to time, but it is not at those times that I crave the toxins, not usually. Something to focus on, something to bring myself out of myself, something to make the rest of the world real again. Art on the edge, going not quite to the point where you lose control, but close.

And it makes it easier. Easier to forget. I already have that foul taste in my mouth, it lets me ignore it. Easier to act, not to think, not to wonder, not to compare. Easier to keep the secret. I once felt relief, a strange, twisted kind of relief that all I needed to trigger a sensory memory of that strangely comforting time was to smoke a couple of cigarettes and drink a case of cheap beer. It was that easy, and the taste in my mouth when I woke up the next morning was exactly the same. And here I am drawing parallels with that time again. Much as I say it's the same, it isn't. Fundamentally, it has this major, gigantic difference which I can only see being totally honest with myself. I won't call this a game, even if there is some play involved. I toy with the idea of opening up, of telling tales. If I did, the inherent betrayals aside, would it change the act, force me to change the qualities or quantities of it in the telling, in the reactions? Adjust the past in my memory based on the reactions of someone who wasn't there? Colour the experience with the eyes of the present? Force me to qualify and quantify my own reactions? I don't know. You have to be honest about what you want, and I don't know why that has always been so hard for me. But now I am honest about what I want. Both in the short term and the long term. At least to myself. At least as far as I can figure out what I want. That's all I can ask of myself.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried. I'm reasonably sure it's not a motorcycle accident, since it's supposed to be packed up for the winter by now, but I'm still a bit sketched out. It's unusual for it to be like this. Some people, you don't worry if they don't pick up the phone, some people, you do. With him, I do. I'm worried, I'm afraid. Not just about now. About later. About whens and wheres and what ifs. I'm pretty good at being realistic, but what happens when the thing you've tried to be most practical about becomes the thing which not only can, but must, defy rationality, the thing that makes everything else take a back seat, the thing everyone's looking for whether they think they are or not. The thing I thought I couldn't have, and so petulantly declared I didn't want. Maybe I still can't have it. That would be poetic, wouldn't it?

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Without Ever Knowing The Way

The scariest part was how quickly I started to go into defense mode. It's all better now, but my shopping list for today worries even me. It started out innocently enough. I've never had sherry before, and I needed some more pens. The shopping list wouldn't be worrying at all if not for context. Everything's about context.
Friendships are funny things, and they can come in such a vast array of shapes and sizes. This kind of friend is the kind of friend I always wanted. I think I wanted it before because it was a little strange, a bit unusual, and because I was missing something. It's been a long time since I vocalized needing that kind of friend, never totally sure what the logistics of actually having one would be. Then, all of a sudden, once I wasn't looking for it... But isn't that always the way it goes? I wonder if it's always like that with him. Whether it's something about him, or something about me, or something about the two of us together. Whether I could have that in another context. Whether I'd want or need it in another context.
I've never before felt like that. The parts were familiar, certainly, but all of them hitting me at once bowled me right over. I'm not trying to make anyone feel guilty, I just need to analyze the things that happen to me. And this is one of them. Over the hump, really not so long to go. That's the bit that gave me all those ironic chuckles last night. I was starting to see the Christmas lights at the end of this tunnel, and were they ever gorgeous. I was starting to have everything sorted out. From here on in I'll have to be a little more careful. I never meant to hurt anyone. Usually the only one who I hurt is myself, and that's okay with me. When you play with fire, after all. I can take a couple of burns. Nobody else asked for this though. When you don't understand the backstory, it's hard to understand the action.
Nobody was supposed to know who I am. I'm getting braver, letting people see a little more of what's behind the mask. Connecting the mind and the body, so to speak. Telling real truths, in unadulterated and undiluted form. It feels good in a crazy terrifying roller coaster kind of way. Maybe I am an adrenaline junkie after all.
The decade shift is getting a little bit closer. As always, I'm finding that I don't have it nearly as figured out as I thought I would by now. Sometimes I catch myself out at it, reading an article about someone a few years younger than me and thinking that they're my age. Or worse, sometimes I catch myself thinking something like, what an immature brat.
The age thing came up today during the talk. I normally don't think about it so much. It's less noticeable when I don't see his sister, who's got a decade on me, when I don't remember that he was my age when I was my littlest sister's age. The more time goes on, the less it matters, the less it will matter, but at the moment it has become a bit of an issue. When we don't want the same things. But we do. We want the same things when it counts, and I think it'll be okay that way. It won't be long.
Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Have You Any Dreams You'd Like to Sell?

So counting down, again. If I had a penny for everything I've counted down to. Right now, with only a bit over a week until NaNoWriMo begins again, I think it's totally fine for me to be looking forward to it, stocking the fridge with food I eat when stressed and exhausted, and yes, panicking about lack of plot. Unfortunately, I've been watching far too many Joss Whedon TV shows to feel confident in the originality of my ideas. Erp. Oh well, as usual, jump in and see. There may well be vampires involved. Because I loved them before Stephanie Meyer brought them into the spotlight.

Oh dear, I just looked at the calendar, guess what's exactly two months away today. Oh dear. And the crisis begins... now? More like continues. It's not like I haven't been wondering what I'm doing with my life for the past, oh, let's just say several years. And really, I've never felt more secure in the knowledge that it'll all work out. And it's not like I'm the first of my friends to cross this threshold, in fact, close to the last. So why does this feeling of dread fall on me like so many bricks?

On the other hand, that means I only have about 2 months until my sunny warm Christmas. There's something strangely appealing about wearing shorts (shut up, Loud, I mean comfortably and not for the purpose of jumping into snowbanks) around Christmastime.

I got off the ground today!!!! Even if I was partially lifted. Progress!

Keep Dreaming
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

As The Leaves Began To Change

I woke up a few days ago, and it was still dark. The last time I had to wake up that early, it was daylight by the time I'd ditched my pj's. No longer so. It's not summer anymore, kids. I love fall, always have. Even when it meant the end of summer freedom and the beginning of seemingly endless schoolwork. I just love it, the smell of it, the weather (I hardly ever get tired of telling people, during the dog days of summer, that I'm only sweating like a pig because my genetic makeup isn't built to withstand temperatures of more that about 20 degrees) but most of all, the feeling of opportunity and excitement. Naturally, spring symbolizes rebirth, the beginning of life. That's not the case for me. For me, all that stuff goes with fall.

Another thing that goes with fall is hibernation. Making a nest in which to hide out over the winter. Nesting, that's something I've been wanting to do a whole lot lately. I want to paint, pick out furniture and paintings, decorate. A big part of it is that I've never really had my own space. Sure, when I was thirteen my parents let me pick the colour for the walls in the room I was sleeping in, but it's not quite the same. Even when I moved out, it was temporary, again, not really my space, and then back into the castle, into the extra room that for the rest of the year is a glorified closet. I want my own place, yet another trapping of adulthood I've always wanted but right now am feeling a mammoth push towards.

My baby sister starts high school tomorrow. I wish I could talk to her, tell her that her whole life won't suck as bad as high school will, that it does eventually get better, that it's not as serious as it seems. But even if she'd listen to me, I have a hunch these are lessons she'll have to learn on her own the same way I did.

Looking at it objectively, it's not as bad as some have led me to believe, and not as good as others have. I've always hated the sound of my voice recorded, but like so much else, I'm going to have to learn to live with it, learn to be proud of it. It's a start. I wish the Siren would help me.

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Ave Mary A

Drinkin' wine and thinkin' bliss
is on the other side of this,
I just need a compass,
And a willing accomplice...

A willing accomplice is the big thing. Hashing all this out with Bear, it kinda makes sense again. I'm not going crazy, not yet anyways. And I can want the picket fence one day, but not right now, and the fact that I don't want it now doesn't mean I don't want it. Nor does the fact that I won't give up the rest just to have it.

I've been looking for something,
Something I've never seen
We're all looking for something to be.

I felt bad for flip-flopping. Changing my mind again. But the more I think about it, and lord knows I talk about it enough, to enough people, the more I think that the two aren't mutually exclusive. I'm not flip-flopping then, but tweaking, shifting, working out the balances. Figuring it all out. I don't feel that heavy dread, the despair, the loneliness, at least not right now. I wonder where the natural end would be.

Stay tuned for the next episode.

Dream on

Grow Your Own Dope- Plant a Man!

Funny that I never really believed him until now. You're beautiful. It's just one of those things guys say to girls whose beds they're trying to get into. Now that he isn't anymore, or maybe he is, who could say, I do. I believe it because I've seen it with my own two eyes. I didn't believe her when she said it either, just something friends say to other friends to make them smile. I never thought about how every time I'd ever said it, it had been absolutely true. That's only just occured to me now. Regardless, it's not something you can believe through proof you can see, you just have to feel it, and right now, I do. "I hope he tells you you're beautiful, babe, because you never seem to believe it when I do." Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder, but the mind of the beheld. Thank you.

The makeup and jewelry are more like a shield than an adornment today. The shield I keep telling myself I don't need. It's really a confidence thing. A friend once put it very simply for me, "Eyeliner equals confidence." I can't be afraid anymore. I've been seeing a lot of the clear light of morning lately, from both sides. I think maybe that's when I do my best thinking. I wonder if I'll still think getting up before seven was a good idea at midnight.

Oh, I managed to cross one off the list.

Forewarned is forearmed. I'm definitely armed. Hopefully I won't need to be. I seek no enemies. Occasionally they fall into my lap. Hopefully I'll run into the good one today, and this will be a moot point. Or it'll be worse. I'll let you know how it shakes out.

Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer

Lucid

In order to grasp true lucidity, one must rely on their own perceptions, unfettered by the constraints of common thought. It is only once we go a little bit mad that we experience the clarity of sanity.

Maybe we all sound as crazy to him as he sounds to us.

One of the most beautiful, confident, self-assured women I have ever met felt threatened by my presence (read: hopeless girlish crush on her boyfriend) when I felt myself to be a socially and physically awkward 15 year old. Maybe there's something to this. I'm not sure whether her perception or mine was closer to the truth. Either I came off a lot better than I felt, or she was a lot less confident on the inside than on that cucumber-cool exterior.

Oh promised land, what a wicked ground.
Build a dream, watch it all come down.

People squirm when I smile at them on the bus. At first I was doing it to be friendly, now, I'll admit, I'm kinda doing it to see them squirm. And to see if I can find someone who doesn't.

Oh god, he looks exactly the same. He still won't talk to me, but now I can't hope to walk past him without knowing he's there. Hell in a handbasket.

If you want games, I'll play. Games are fun, but don't do me any favours. I don't want your pity.

Bloody hell if you'd just eat a few more vegetables! I know that it's more complicated than that, but part of me just wants my good old friend back. I want to be the more damaged one again, but it's only partially so you won't have to be. How silly a hat do I have to wear before you'll notice me again?

But the half-finished bottles of inspiration lie like ghosts in my room.

I don't know how it's so easy for them. These things don't come easily to me.

Today's what, the 14th? I miscounted, it's coming up on nine weeks now. Hell.

Hyenas laugh when they're agitated.

Maybe a little rampage is what I need...

Another Saturday night, and I ain't got nobody,
I got some money 'cause I just got paid.
How I wish I had someone to talk to, I'm in an awful way.

Why do I already know everything I read in Cosmo this month? Well, except for that trick with the... never mind. But how come I'm so much more sure of what I already know because now I've read it in Cosmo?

Poor brokenhearted baby. I'm having a hard time mustering sympathy and stifling I-told-you-so's. I'm lonely too, I've been lonely longer, and you weren't going to do a damn thing about it, so why should I?

Good night and good luck.
Don't worry, you can have mine. I'm sure not using it.
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

Baby Write This Down

This post is completely unabridged and uncensored. Kanpai is Japanese for cheers.

So here I am, writing it down. Because somebody said I should. A parable? Maybe.

I once knew this woman, a university professor, who had all sorts of things to say, about all kinds of things. Art, theatre, liminality, juxtaposition, the importance of the live event. Every word out of her mouth was profound, a revelation, brilliance. She knew so much about these topics, and had so much to say about them, that she began to sound like a broken record. The repetition of themes, words, and phrases grew so distinct that someone made a bingo card out of them. All of a sudden, rather than quotable, she was mockable. Did she get less brilliant? Did we get more jaded? Does why it happened matter? Maybe if she hadn't had to get us through a set of exams and projects, she could have branched out a little more, brought in more new ideas, given us more profundity. Or maybe that's all there was, she was so specialized that she'd said her profound piece, and that's all there was to it.

It was profound to you, but I got it out of an Amanda Marshall song. I said everybody wants to believe that they're special, God's chosen people. She said "every soldier in the war's got God on his side, and that's why we can't stop the slaughter".

It's entirely possible that in every relationship, romantic, friendly, platonic, adversarial, you run out of things to talk about. Eventually you know what they think about religion, politics, themself, you, the future, the way the world works and whatever else is important to the both of you. And unless something drastic changes with one of you, there's no more to say. Maybe that's simply a symptom of growing apart, or maybe it just happens to everyone.

Somewhere there's a line between wanting to see them every day and seeing them every day out of habit. Usually just this side of that line there's another one, the line between seeing someone because you have something to do with them and seeing someone because you have nothing to do with anyone else. The line where the default option changes from "alone" to "with them". The line where you become their appendage, or they become yours. Where the world is small and insular, and every decision has them as a factor. You enjoy that for awhile, and then you hit another line, the one where you begin to resent all of the above.

A flutter somewhere around the solar plexus, a flock of thousand-pound butterflies, a flush, a slight sheen of sweat, a stammer, and standing there saying to yourself "Did I seriously just say that?" That place where a "Hi" can have you on a high all day, where anything is possible and it's absolutely brilliant and you swear they'll hear your heart thudding in your chest if you don't faint from the blood rushing to your head first.

Maybe I'm crazy to miss that. I know a lot of people who have said "Yeah, all that stuff is great, but I'd never in a million years trade it for what I've got." Maybe when I'm sitting here thinking that maybe I would, that's the beginning of the end. At the very least, it's probably the way I know that the decision I've already made is the right one. Not the only way, I guess, but at least one. Someone once told me that there's no such thing as a wrong choice, it's just the ones we make, and the ones we don't. That has made all the difference, according to Frost.

Sometimes I think I'm asking for too much. Maybe it is too much to ask for a job that doesn't make me cry before or after nearly every shift I work. Maybe it's too much to ask for freedom. Maybe the truth is too much to ask for in Kindergarten, when they tell you it doesn't matter what you look like, only what you do. Maybe a dual-axis spectrum is too much to ask for. Maybe a spectrum at all is too much to ask for, a middle ground. Maybe there can be no compromise. Maybe a secret is too much to ask for. Maybe being alone is too much to ask for.

Be careful what you wish for, I suppose.

A List Update:
Know/understand all the references in the musical Rent, particularly those in the song La Vie Boheme.
Sontag, Sondheim, Maya Angelou, Ginsberg, Dylan, Cunningham, Cage, Lenny Bruce, Langston Hughes, Uta, Buddha, Pablo Neruda, Pee Wee Herman, Gertrude Stein, Antonioni, Burtolucci, Kurosawa, Carmina Burana, Vaclav Havel, The Sex Pistols, 8BC, Musetta's Waltz, Heidegger.

Stay tuned for my discoveries.

Dream On.
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