Women Study

Dear University:
If you expect me to give a profound and in-depth reflection on the interaction between the theories discussed in class and a personal relationship, that's just ducky. If you expect me to do so in less than 500 words, you're off your fucking rocker.

Regards,
DDB

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.

On Selling Yourself

Today I feel like myself again. My free-spirited, overthinking, big-dreaming, frustrated, open-minded, inspired, driven, joyous self. It's like flying on a rainy day, breaking through the cloud cover into the clear blue sky. It's what happened to Red just before she started laughing again. I alternate between "the world is my oyster" and "the world is an indiscriminate pile of shit" and today, it's all coming up oysters.

Again, today, I posit that dating and looking for a job are uncomfortably similar. Both involve me knowing that I am a fantastic girlfriend/significant other/employee, and trying to figure out how to convince dudes/ladies/employers of that. And trying really hard to ignore the fact that no matter how promising the beginning is, they're going to find out that I'm probably not what they signed on for, and eventually, I'm going to get bored.

Wish me luck.

Daydream Believer

P.S. Ever notice how when someone has two jobs in means they're driven, hardworking, motivated, self-sacrificing... Just a thought.

WTF Circles

I'm somewhere in limbo again. In a not-so-happy limbo I keep finding myself in between "Everything's going great" and "what the fuck?". Because I was thinking "Everything's going great" and he said "not so much" so now I'm "what the fuck?"

I don't know what I did wrong. I don't know if I did anything wrong. This happens to me all the time. I'm used to it. Or should be. Something about me triggers the "cut-and-run" impulse, and I don't know what it is. I seem to do it to the nicest guys. And the true jackasses, but that's another story. Maybe I turn nice guys into true jackasses.

I want to know why the light was on 5 hours later. It may seem a little creepy. It was very likely masochistic to walk by the house, just to see, I told myself, just to see. Entirely prepared and totally caught off guard by what I saw. In the absence of a truth, any truth, all lies seem cataclysmic. Like the reason the light was on. A question I'll never get an answer to, because to admit I noticed is to admit I walked past. A little torture never killed anyone, right? Most of all, I just want to know why. I've almost kicked the habit. It was a full two beats before I went to "I'm not pretty enough". There was enough time for a solid thought in there. The solid thoughts I've been working so hard to cultivate, which don't seem to come from the inside. At least not with any power.

Is this why Wednesday was too far away? I wonder if she gave the ultimatum. I wonder if that's why. If he's not as hardheaded as he seems. I wonder if he'll drift into obscurity just like the rest. Just friends. I wonder, sometimes, how many really mean it. God knows I meant "I'd rather never speak to you again, but that sounds so cruel" Who's tried to spare me the cruelty?

This time I'll do better. For myself. I won't run. I won't flinch. And he'll tell me why even if as soon as I leave I'm an emotional pile of mush, I'll listen to every goddamn word.  I won't have to chase him down for clarification in a week, or a month. And for the love of the flying spaghetti monster and all that is good and holy, I will learn to let it go, if and when it needs to be let go.

May you know when to give the signale. And never give it early.

Happy 2011

Things have changed. Lots of things. My writing style, certainly. And my writing habits. I've discovered in a quasi-archaeological dig through my posting history, a number of near-complete posts which I didn't publish. This is a stark contrast to my earlier writing, when I posted any random thought I had, without much editing, as fast as I could pour it out into cyberspace. I'm choosier with publishing my thoughts now, I think. As a result, I'm not posting as often, or as much when I do. Perhaps it's time to give the filters a bit of a break and let the flotsam and jetsam flow into the sea.

I think both in terms of monetary value and physical volume of stuff I received this year, it was at least close to the smallest Christmas I can remember. And that's fantastic! I received a few things that I really wanted (books, mostly), something I wanted but didn't realize I wanted (a teapot for flowering tea), and a goat. Some chocolate and a tea infuser, little lovely things. And of course the tarot card from Gold.

I was concerned, I admit, that this holiday would be tough. I was concerned that I would have gigantic piles of guilt. That my family and I would start to hate one another. That I would get a whole bunch of awesome things and feel guilty about it. That I wouldn't get very much stuff, and I'd feel hard done by. Even though I didn't want a lot of stuff. I have gotten a lot less materialistic, and I was concerned that, in one way or another, I'd find the whole gift-related experience of this delightful season unsatisfying.

But it's okay. I spent time with friends and family. I enjoyed seeing people I don't see too often, I gritted my teeth and drank a little more wine when things got tense. I didn't run out of the room crying or stand, feet planted, hands on hips, shouting until anyone else ran out of the room crying. Maybe, just maybe, things are beginning to work out. Maybe, just maybe, Mom and Dad are beginning to realize that I'm, if not a grown woman, certainly closer to being one than I have been before.

I spent New Years with Loud, Gold, and Sphinx once again. It's become something of a tradition, even if we missed it last year. I may have overdone it a little, but I maintain that a hangover is my body's way of reminding me what a great time I had the night before.

Among the people I count as close friends, I have few boundaries. Every now and then, I remember why those boundaries are there. I remember why every single solitary detail of my new love interest shouldn't be divulged in excruciating, mind-numbing clarity. Largely, it's because someone is going to tell me that what I'm doing isn't right, that it's not safe or healthy or fair. I can grit my teeth and take those judgments. Have to, really, since I've been known to dole them out rather generously, when required.

But I'm not going to put much stock in "Well then that's not really a relationship, is it?" It's not your place to define me any more than it's my place to define you. I could come up with one heck of a dictionary, and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't like it.

I'm on a new road. One that I'd been mapping long before I got a car, so to speak. Who knows where the speed bumps are? But if I did, what would the fun be? I've never been conventional.

One thing I didn't bother much with this year was resolutions. I've been trying to work out the specifics and logistics of my goals for several months now and as expected did not come to a blazing epiphany hours before the clock struck midnight. I suppose the only coherent thing you could put into a simple phrase in terms of my goals would be keep on keepin' on. Which is what I'll be doing for the foreseeable future. 

Happy New Year
Keep Dreaming

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

Additions To The List

Yep, I've been inspired.
So, a couple of additions to The List:

Get to at least 50 on at least three separate "Best 100 ________ of All Time" lists.

Get to 100 on at least one.

Books to read, plays or movies to see, songs to hear, cities, art galleries, or GPS coordinates to visit, once in a lifetime experiences to have, sex positions to try, I haven't really narrowed it down yet. However, I do have one limit. I can't just make up my own list for the purpose of making this any less time-consuming or difficult. (i.e. picking 100 books I've already read. Ta-daaaah, I'm done! Checkmark!) No. That defeats the purpose. It has to start out as someone else's list. That said, I will allow myself to combine lists (have you got any idea how many Best 100 Books of All Time lists there are?) by some formula I haven't yet thought up, if I ever think up that formula. For instance, top ten from ten different lists, with repeats replaced by items further down the list. We'll see how it works out. This could be one that'll take years to finish.

Happy reading, working, and playing.
Daydream Believer

T-7 Days

The flying spaghetti monster only knows why I'm writing a post right now. When I'm in between classes, 3 hours away from a midterm, looking at 4 tests/papers/projects in the next 7 days, most of which are nowhere near done. One of which is barely started. I'm trying not to fall into full-on panic mode. It's tough.

Maybe that's why I'm writing this. Because it forces me to relax, to decompress, to take a single step back (because I don't have time to take 2 steps back) and realize that, by this time next week, I'll be pretty much home free. In spite of the fact that I'm running out of paper upon which to list the people I want to smack, including the people next to me who haven't quit jabbering in over an hour and have driven me to turn my headphones up to sanity-reducing levels in hopes of drowning them out. And I can still hear them. Maybe I'll take a walk before class. In spite of the fact that my train of thought has recently uncoupled and split into about 12 different directions, that it seems like focusing even for a short span of time is neither possible nor necessarily useful. In spite of the fact that I can hardly stay awake when I need to, and can hardly force myself to sleep when I need to. It will all be over soon. It'll be okay. This time next week, I'll be walking on fucking sunshine. I just need to remember that through the next seven days.

Now I'm off to get some peace, quiet, and red bull.

Keep Dreaming

Breathe In, Breathe Out

This is me not panicking. This is me not staring at my calendar, feeling hopelessly behind already and wondering why the hell I decided to do this in the first place. Honest. None of that's happening.

Hell, who am I kidding? I may have felt totally and completely in control this time yesterday, but this shit is intimidating. I have 3 major papers, a group presentation, 4 midterms, 6 practical assignments (3 of which involve using software I encountered for the first time today, let alone all the microphones and wires associated with getting the material I need to edit). All of this by Christmas. While keeping myself fed, watered, exercised, and in clean clothes and a clean house with not too many dirty dishes in the sink. Oh, and sane. Sane is good too.

I know, in my head, that I can do this. I've handled this kind of thing before, in fact, so far, I've done almost exactly this four times. And it has all worked out fine. And I did not feel like I did nothing but work. I will be okay, I know this.






You're waiting for the "but", aren't you? I know I am. There's no "but".





...however, (which is not "but") the fact that I know I can handle this does not stop me from looking at the calendar I've just finished updating and feeling like there cannot possibly be enough time in the next 11 weeks to do everything on my task list, let alone keep up with the readings and all the things associated with being a grown-up, independent, living-on-her-own woman. Like laundry and grocery shopping. Roommates do have their uses. There's something to be said for only having to do a third of the chores.

So I now have some meditation recordings, the stuff to pack my lunches and chill out on campus reading/writing/'rithmetic-ing(...?) in between classes. I stared down a psychologist today. Repeatedly. Apparently I'm ballsier than I thought. But I already knew that.

I'm going to fight down this silly panic monster. I'm going to drink hot chocolate, eat ice cream, lift weights, and sleep well. I'm going to kill my own bugs, set my own mousetraps, and slay my own dragons. This is going to be my year.

Whether it likes it or not.
Daydream Believer

It's Easy Once You Know How It's Done

Don't tell anyone, but I've got everybody fooled. I know, it was news to me too. My ex boyfriend/best friend in town, my friends, my colleagues, my acquaintances, my professors, even a therapist who sat there patiently while I bawled my eyes out over nothing, they all agree that I'm put together, high-functioning, in control, attractive, fiercely independent, and generally healthy.

In other words: I am projecting the image I have always striven to. I'm not sure this one can be wholly attributed to mascara. (Eye makeup=confidence. Confidence=beauty. Beauty + Confidence = Power. therefore Eye makeup = beauty, confidence, and ultimately power, but that's another day's theory). Even though I generally feel like the world is crumbling in various concentrations from a few pebbles off the parapets to the entire keep collapsing, unless I come right out and say it, nobody seems to notice that I'm a panicked, stressed mess feeling entirely out of control and as though nothing will sort itself out and it's all just too much.

Fan-fucking-tastic. And I do mean that with all sincerity. This week alone, I ran for student government (elections next week, I'll keep you posted), schmoozed with a couple of different roomfuls of strangers, some of whom didn't share a language with me, some of whom hold power over whether or not I graduate as scheduled, I flirted (the fact that my most success was with gay men and other women's boyfriends be damned, I still count this a victory) and did the latter in heels, without stumbling, twisting my ankle, or falling (in fairness, my final victorious step out of the bar was truncated by my ass hitting the concrete as I missed the inch and a half step between one level of the patio and the other, but I'm counting it a flawless night regardless). I'm on fire. I didn't have to force a smile. I didn't stumble and mince around and have to make the "Sorry, could you slow down, I'm wearing heels" excuses. And just today, I auditioned for something I was pretty sure I wouldn't get. And you know what? I'm in. I signed the dotted line, and I'm going to get paid. That's right, Daydream Believer can now call herself a professional actor.
But it seems I was a pretty decent actor all along.

Daydream Believer

This One Goes Out To...

The ones who wrapped me up in a snuggy (one of those as-seen-on-TV blankets with sleeves) pushed a cup of tea into my hand and sat me down on their sofa before putting on Four Weddings and A Funeral, pointedly ignoring the fact that the parts I cried at weren't the sad ones.

The ones who kept up with me as I stormed across town, cursing and swearing, sometimes at myself, sometimes at someone else, sometimes at the world in general.

The one who sent me home at 2 am when I would have happily stayed.

The one who said he didn't regret it, didn't regret me.

The one who assured me I was a beauty, chips or no chips.

The one who said, "You look great. You stop eating again?"

The one who said "Well, can you blame me?"

The one who thought I was out of his league.

The one who paid for my taxi so I didn't have to walk.

The one who's going to hold my hand while I get my first tattoo.

The one who told me I was too good for that guy, even when I didn't believe it.

The one who handed me earplugs.

The one who asked all the right questions when nobody else would even listen to me.

The one who I never believed.

The one I always believed.

Everybody whose moment I'm forgetting at this particular juncture. Everybody who did good things for me. Everybody I forget about on the bad days. Just like how on the good days I forget about the bad things and bad people, it's even easier to forget all the good on the bad days.

Everybody who's still listening.

Everybody who's still dreaming.

Daydream Believer

For Now

I'm trying to write this as quickly as possible before the feeling fades again. It's fleeting, that feeling of freedom. Joan Jett half singing half screaming through the speakers, the wicked smile twisting my mouth as I tear out of the parking lot past the beer-league hockey players loitering around minivan tailgates. Waiting for the light to change and release me from my icy prison, zipping down a deserted road, nothing behind me but the past, everything else before me, there for the taking. Life goes on long after the thrill of living is gone, according to John Cougar Mellencamp, and I laugh at his foolishness. Turning the stereo up to be heard over the rush of air as the on-ramp disappears behind me and I get up to speed. The thoughts from my quiet, brightly lit prison fading slowly, their highlights still marking moments. Space, mountains, tropical islands, pictures and words from the bright glossy pages reminding me how much there is left to see. Grinning as a little red sports car overtakes me on the left, in contrast with the daytime frustrations of the person in too big a hurry the night finds kindred spirits, someone who can push their limits just a little more than me tonight, and I wish them well for it. The damp, cool air which only hours before had made the day unbearably muggy after midnight blasting through the windows, the four-by-sixty doing its glorious work even though really it's a little more like four-by-one hundred twenty, (shh don't tell anyone). The artificial wind whipping around my head, tugging and teasing my hair out of the severe ponytail reserved for those days when I can't quite be bothered to wash my hair, even though it's looking a little stringy. My left foot tapping out rhythms with the music, my right motionless on the gas pedal. No time for brakes tonight.
I have spent a lot of time sad lately. It has been a long time since I did not want to live, but even recently, the wanting to live was for later, for sometime in the future, after the responsibilities are sorted out, after there's more money, after I'm independent, after, after, after. Tonight, though, it's for right now. It's for the gas gauge dipping towards empty, for the ponytail my hair is sliding out of, for Joan Jett and to prove Mellencamp wrong, for the fall I can already taste on the air, for the stars I can hardly see any of because of the cloud cover. It's for me. For now.

More Confessions

These are things I know. Things a part of me has likely always known. Things I've thought, and hinted. Some things I've said implicitly. Some things I refused to. 

Given the choice, I'd rather be a Brick House than a Playboy Bunny. I want to be strong, solid.

Fuck. The second makes me angry. It shouldn't, I should be happy for everyone, but I'm not. I'm pissed off on my own behalf. I know more and more people who are doing it. Doing the thing that they love to do and makes them feel happy, fulfilled, and worthwhile. Some of them are even paid to do it, or will be once people start buying. The most attentive of my observers (that's anyone I talk to repeatedly about myself... so a fair number of people) might say, "But DDB, you don't know what will make you happy, fulfilled, and worthwhile. If you don't know what does it for you, how can you do it?" That, while a very good question, doesn't make me feel any better. I know professional musicians, professional actors, people volunteering building schools, wells, etc. in impoverished African villages. People who have decided what their walk is going to be, and are walking it. I don't know what my walk is, and until I find out, I can't walk it. Which brings me to #3.

I'm fucking bored! I'm stuck in limbo and feel like I have been since puberty. I'm not a kid, I'm not a grown up. I'm not a tomboy. I'm not overly feminine in a high-maintenance kind of way. I'm not a gifted athlete, artist, or academic, my path isn't clear to me. I'm free, but stuck. I can't move forward and I don't want to move back. What I'm left with is side-wiggling. Things I try to adjust, my relationships, my appearance (finally lost 5 pounds, which it has taken me nearly 3 years to drop, FYI. Maybe this is the first step) my behaviours in the short term. As though if I can figure out what kind of image I want to project, who I want to represent myself as, that will help me figure out who I am.

I want romance. Some part of me still wants to be swept off my feet. In spite of all logic and all the things that through conditioning and deduction I have established that I want and that I am, I want to hear someone tell me I'm unlike anyone they've ever met before, I'm different, I'm somehow perfect. That it was me they were always looking for, whether they knew it or not.

I don't have substance addictions, but I firmly believe it's only because I've never found one that's good enough to me to make me need it. I'm that way with people, not pills.

I hate to be caged. I hate to be trapped. The men and boys I've been in relationships with have always tried to cage me in one way or another. I don't like it, I can't handle it. It may be a velvet rope, but to me it's still a chain, a leash, a tether. I'm at my best cut loose. Ironically, I sleep most comfortably when cocooned, twisted up in a tangle of sheets, limbs, or both, so that every time I turn over in my sleep, which I do frequently, I'm further restrained, further tucked in, wrapped up cozy and safe, as though a handful of blankets can save me from the world.

I'm sometimes a speed demon. I'm sometimes a control freak. I'm sometimes a neat freak. I'm more often a bit of a slob, in the method in the madness kind of way. I know where everything is, even if it looks like a tornado just hit my room.

I want to go out with a bang. Every now and then when I'm driving, I think to myself "You know, if I swung the steering wheel to the left right now I could probably get square in front of that transport truck before it had time to stop. What a bang that would make." I'm not convinced this counts as a thought of suicide, though a psychiatrist might tell me differently.

I'm petrified that I'm crazy. I know that's not the politically correct term for the broad spectrum of things that might be wrong with me, but I prefer it. It's concise and there's no bones about it. I'm not sure whether I'm more afraid that something's wrong or that nothing is. I'm afraid that there's something wrong that could progress or change, or upon closer inspection might be discovered to be something along the lines of "You need to be locked up, it's remarkable that you've been functional up until this point". Whether something's wrong or not, I need to continue to be high-functioning. I can't spend any more time being bored. I have dreams, things I want to see, do, and accomplish, and I can't do any of those things if I'm stuck in a sanitarium. If nothing's wrong, I want to know why it feels like something is. Because the more I think about it, the more I think that something is wrong.

I'm bored, I'm lonely, and those are the two things I most desperately want not to be. At the moment I'm profoundly unhappy, disturbed, angry, depressed, afraid, paranoid, panicked, and probably several other kinds of upset, but I don't know it on the good days, and you wouldn't either if I didn't tell you. Unfortunately the bad days aren't easy to predict, and although so far I've kept them out of work and other responsibilities, I don't know how long I can keep that up. The tiniest things set me off, make me feel like nothing in the world could ever be right ever again. And that's petrifying on its own.

I have a thing for musicians. This time, it's a bass player. The undercurrents of the drummer and the last few guitarists are still in my blood like booze, even though it's been some time since my last sip. But I'm thirsty. I don't know for sure why it is that I'm so attracted to musicians, or whether in fact the correlation has anything to do with the attraction. Yes, I'm attracted to a lot of musicians, but is that why I'm attracted to them. Who knows.

I'm pining. On the surface, it's for the bass player and what he could have been and now, will not be. Dig a little deeper and it's for the place I met him. Deeper still, and it's not about him, nor is it about the place, it's about me. I miss the me that I was when I was with him in that place. I miss the independent, a little reckless, more confident, less angry, not bored, not stuck, grabbing life by the balls woman that I had worked so hard to become. I don't know if I can continue to be her. It's possible that I'll snap back once I'm on my own again. That these few months haven't been enough to stifle me for good.

What do all these songs have in common: Remedy, Telephone, Bad Romance, Tik Tok, Le Disko, Dangerous, Lollipop, Heartbreaker, Down With The Sickness, Disturbia, Jerk It Out.

The answer: While this is by no means an exhaustive list, these are songs that I crave when I'm in a certain mood, songs that have, at one time or another been "my song" the one that I feel something in me clicks with. Sometimes it's because it reminds me of a certain feeling or person, often both, a person and how they make me feel. Sometimes it's because I need to shake my hair, twist and writhe and fling my limbs until something, whatever it is, clears itself up, and that was the song that happened to be on at the time. Nobody can keep up with me on the dance floor. Well, nobody but Bluten. But it's been a long time since then. And I've mostly given up on heels since then, so I stay on the floor even longer now. Most importantly, these songs remind me of times when I felt the way Bluten said I looked, "some glowing, gorgeous, extraordinary figurehead of what it was to be young and powerful; something dark, delicious, alive". She sees me as what I crave being seen as. So how do I convince everyone else to see me like that too? I have this hunch that it comes down to seeing myself that way. And I completely and entirely don't know how to do that.

So I'm really fucked up. Right now, I'm talking to the last guy I slept with about the guy I'd like to be sleeping with. Who's not calling me for some unknown reason, and is doing the same thing to me again. That thing guys do where they kiss me and then decide I'm not a good idea. This is not good for me. The feeling that this is giving me is not good for me.

I forget to eat. Well, not exactly, more like I think "I should eat" and even though I know I should be hungry, I'm nauseous when I actually look at food. Depends on the food. Popcorn and ice cream produce no reaction. Silly.

And there's a Plymouth-shaped hole inside me that no amount of sunshine can fill. As melodramatic as that sounds, it's quite accurate.

Keep Dreaming

Boredom-Fuelled Agitation

I'm bored. Yep, that's right. Somehow working twice a week and seeing my friends once in a blue moon just isn't enough for me anymore. Shucks. I guess I'll have to get a hobby, having already nearly exhausted my mother's collection of 1 hour TV dramas on DVD, bookmarked more recipes I can't wait to try than I'll get through in a month of Sundays, begun crocheting an afghan (which is a blanket, for anyone who doesn't know, and it will be fabulous once it's done) taken up learning Japanese again, and created an ever-increasing list of books, blogs, news articles, and serial web comics to read and/or catch up on. I'm still bored.

I don't suffer from a lack of tasks, to-do list items to cross off, things to occupy my hands, mind, or eyes. I suffer from a lack of social interaction, which is caused by a variety of things. One, my job (cleaning bathrooms, if you weren't aware) isn't exactly the most social of professions, particularly since I spend the bulk of my day inside women's washrooms and change rooms, where my coworkers (generally all make except me) can't go. Two, being a cosmopolitan and worldly global citizen, having lived and studied in a number of cities across three countries and two continents, where I am and where my friends are don't tend to coincide. I'm all for Skype, MSN, Yahoo, e-mail, cell phones, blackberries, portable internet, netbooks, which are all supposed to make it easier to connect with the people around you, or perhaps more accurately, not around you. There's only so much it can do though, really. I can log in and wait for the friend I haven't seen in ages to do the same, but there's always the outside possibility of them actually having a life, an occupation, friends in a similar locality that they might be hanging out with outside the vicinity of their computer. And I'm still stuck sitting here waiting.

Keep Dreaming

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

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

Sleepy Jean

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

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

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

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

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

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Every Form of Refuge Has Its Price

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

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

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

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

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

Oh what can it mean?
Daydream Believer

Dosed

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

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

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

Daydreaming again,
Daydream Believer

Buttercup

I don't know why it takes so much less effort to break me down than it does to build me up. One comment, probably a joke, about my company making him sick, and all of a sudden it doesn't seem like we can get along after all. Maybe he should have thought of that before... well, before. Sooner or later I'm likely to actually hit him. I've already started the verbal assault. I've already taken one low blow. I doubt I'll ever land the one that could drop him to the floor. The one that's a little kamikaze, because it would drop me too. Let everyone know what I'm capable of.

Why is it that while I have no problem logically dealing with the way people are on a large scale, once you get to the small scale, the microhumanity, I have a seemingly endless supply of good will and benefit of the doubt. I know that people aren't the way I wish they were, I know communism or anarchy won't work because people mostly suck. So why is it that I can still with complete confidence pin huge amounts of emotional capital on people being the way I wish they could be on the small scale? Possible theories include being an overly optimistic nut, being too stupid for my own good, not being able to learn my lesson, or some combination of the previous possibilities.

Dreaming of amazing wonderful people.
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

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

Chomp the Spy

I didn't mean to read it, honest. But there they were, the words from the deep dark place, laid out in blue ink on paper. It gave me a good shake, enough to make my lips come loose and confess my fears. Sooner or later the smoke cleared. Cleverer and callous, once everything seemed sorted suddenly it all went sordid didn't you hear?
I would be the worst of liars if I said I wasn't concerned. I am. But for a change I'm not sure why. As usual, I don't know what I want. There's some spite there that I'm not quite sure what I want to do about. It would be nice to get a couple of choice words in, but now that things are heading in a square-one-wardly direction, I'm not sure I mean them anymore. If I ever meant them in the first place. Now that chomp the spy is cleared out, who knows what's next. I can't believe it was a coincidence, the timing was just too clean-cut. But there could be a number of reasons for that. Most of them having to do with power. That moment of what if isn't this interesting testing the water waiting wishing wondering daring challenge me again. Another game. Do I want to play? Are the takes going to be the same as last time? If it's just another instant replay, I'll pass. But if we are a little older and wiser, smarter and tougher, and more mature to boot, this could just be a very pleasant game. There's precedent.
Once burned...
Daydream Believer

What Goes Around...

Okay, so I have to get my jollies somehow. I'm only slightly panicked about the whole performance to-do, the fact that we're supposed to pull a show of this level out of thin air in a matter of days while not neglecting our other responsibilities, although, let's face it, we have anyhow.
I'm trying not to be cynical, trying to remind myself that square one is just where I can to be. But at the same time, I can't help it. When someone's only civil to you when they've got one thing on their mind, and after a stretch of extreme unpleasantry returns to civility within 24 hours of a breakup, the alarm bells start to ring.
But I can still laugh. My laughter has taken a slightly psychotic turn of late, mostly because it stops me from crying. And after the fifth 12 or 14 hour day, you start to find the strangest things funny. Apparently I'm an honorary man. I'm taking it as a compliment. I wonder if this gives me license to belch? No one can say there weren't warning signs. Pneumonia. No one can say I'm the crazy one now. Well, except me, but that's because I'm the only one inside my head. I'm the only one who knows just how crazy I might be. This time, I'm the one in control. I'm learning to speak up, I'm learning to stand up and be counted. Practice makes perfect. Raising my voice, raising my fists.
I'm full of pipe dreams. Ideas that will never work in practice. But they're nice to think about.
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

Afraid

What happens now? What can happen, really? What do you do, what can you do, when you realize that you are everything that you hate about the world, about people. There isn’t much to do at that point. When you realize your own capabilities and rather than being exhilarated and invigorated, you’re petrified, afraid to move, afraid to further complete the transformation. But then there hasn’t been a transformation, you were the beast all along, the thing you despised and feared. I conjure up the thought of being gone. I couldn’t. I can’t. Actually, I can. It wouldn’t be too hard, at least logistically. But the thing is that all those things I thought I couldn’t do, that I couldn’t bring myself to do, I can. Only problem is it goes both ways. The good and the bad. I can tell those lies, say those words that will do what my fists and fingernails cannot, only from the inside out. Someone stop me? Can they? I’m not sure I should be allowed to keep up like this. Maybe it’s just the worry, the anxiety. Maybe the drugs help. They’ve got a pill for that. And a pill for when the first pill works too well. And a pill for the nausea brought on by the combination of the first two pills. I’m not sure I want to be doped into humanity. Or out of it. I’m not sure. I feel like I should just have to suck it up and deal with what and who I am, but on the other hand, what if it is more than my mind chasing its tail? What then? Every thought and plan shattered and shut off. A scary thought. If the darkest hour comes before the light, where is the light? I could use some light right now. The scariest bit is that I don’t know which bits are real, which bits are reactionary, which bits I just made up somewhere inside my head. I want to be brave. I want to be free. Can I do that without being uncaring, cold, unconnected. I know now that I can disconnect, I’m just not sure that I want to.

My wild times aren’t over yet. I have so many thrills to taste, so much adrenaline waiting for a rush. Sometimes that means doing stupid things. Things that a part of me will regret. Maybe the whole unanimous decision thing isn’t the best plan. Let’s try quorum instead. Perhaps my wild time has begun. A couple of days ago, someone told me that something I’d done was something they’d be too scared to risk. All of a sudden, I’m back on the road. The wagon can wait.

I can make it. I can smile at him. For some reason that was hard before. Every time I looked at him the words he said rose unbidden into my head and somewhere inside me something crumpled and all I could do was stare. Wrathful. Wrath born of hurt. We keep getting thrown together. By the images, we want to be the same, but then maybe we didn’t see the same thing in the picture. I have to put it aside. I have to prove how strong I am. I wanted to be stronger before. Gaining strength takes time and patience. I tried to rush it and got another blow. Keep breathing. Keep the rhythm section steady. Our homes and our rights. Ignore the invasion. Stop asking why it’s this way. It is. Trust that you’ll get through it. You will. Let it become a dance. She’s stronger than she looks. It was never about beauty. It was always about control. Everything connects. It’s all about power. Was I more powerless in being deceived or in choosing knowingly? It’s okay not to be okay for awhile. Maybe a little more bass, a little more thrash. Look out the window and remember why you’re doing this. What’s the place of secrets in this? Smile at the stranger. Become a stranger perhaps? Change takes effort, it takes control, discipline. Push your limits. Where is that line, is it better to forgive or not? Eventually this won’t matter. Do I have to act while it does? What does she want from this? Beautiful but deadly, strong and free. Maybe my nationality defines me more than I thought it did. Does it take more strength to strike the blow or to stay it? You’re doing better on your own. What am I buying in to? Selling out or buying in? What happens when the things I want to badly to believe are true aren’t?

I 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

Betting on the Wrong Dark Horse

New Years is a good time for introspection. It's not exactly New Years anymore, rather getting into the next decade. I have resolutions, as usual, but they just keep getting less concrete. Less with the lose 15 pounds (or just over a stone) and quit spending so much money, and a little more with the trying to work out where I'm going and how I'm getting there.

I'm trying not to worry, which is difficult for me, very difficult. I'm thinking the words he said, even though I refuse to say them aloud. But I think I'm okay. Sometimes my curiosity is destructive. I want to know even though I know he doesn't want to tell me, and I'm not sure I want the image to get any more vivid. Just like that riddle. Two children come in from playing outside, one has dirt all over her face, one has none. Why does the child without dirt go running to wash her face? They each, having looked at the other, assume they should be the same. No regrets. I stand by my choices, but perhaps with a new perspective, should similar opportunities arise, I'll make different choices.

Playing the role of someone in control.

In 2009 I moved to another continent, a different country. I did some things I always wanted to, some I never expected to (hello headstands!) Six months ago a lot of things were different, and some are exactly the same. That's right, New Years Day makes six months. On another count entirely, three months down, six to go. It's hard to believe I got through the first three, and it's harder not to feel like it's all downhill from here. I just have to remember the reasons for it, why I'm there. All those things I have to work so hard to remember when it feels like I've made a big mistake.

Unrelated note: Cadillac makes hearses. Go figure. I shouldn't watch the news. I notice the weirdest things, like the car company that made the hearse carrying the body of a suspected mobster.

Let me know that I've done wrong, when I've known this all along.

Good morning. I'm sitting in a globally known chain coffee shop recently well known for its wireless internet access. I'll get to why in a minute. But first, time to air the New Year's first dirty laundry. I try not to regret. In my head, I know it's a waste of energy, since I can't take it back, and even given the chance, I probably wouldn't. I've just done something I have to work really hard at not regretting. I could unravel all the complex and intertwined reasons why I did it, but it all boils down to I wanted to. And if I hadn't, on some level, I would still want to. I asked myself what the worst that could happen was, and I didn't imagine it hurting too much. Truth be told, this is one of the possible outcomes I had thought of. But everyone likes to think of themself as better than all that. Still I was surprised by the cold. I thought I was playing with fire, I expected to get burned. This doesn't quite feel like a burn. Regardless, I have to get used to it, because it's there, and it can't be undone. There is an awfully high temptation to find the nearest Louisville slugger, but on the whole it would be unwise, and probably wouldn't make me feel any better anyways. It's true though, could be the only true thing he said the whole time, but I did know what me, him, and a bottle of liquor meant. I still have most of the liquor, which is good, since I might need it in the next little while.
I didn't hit him. He said he knew he was being horrible, and that he'd understand if I wanted to hit him, he even took his glasses off and stood still. I wanted to hit him, badly, but I didn't. This wasn't supposed to hurt, but I willingly accepted the risk that it might anyways.

Am I supposed to be happy when all I ever wanted, it comes with a price?

I slept surprisingly peacefully last night, all things considered. Oh, talking myself down enough to go to sleep wasn't easy, and I have Bear to thank for the words that finally got me to lie down long enough for sleep to catch me. I slept peacefully until shortly before 8 anyways, because that's when I heard the skittering behind my bed. At first I wasn't sure what it was, then I hoped it was just one of the postcards scraping its way down the wall. Then it squeaked, and I freaked. Only one in the house, naturally, I panicked slightly. I grabbed clothes and my bag and practically ran out the door. Which brings me to why I'm sitting in a coffee shop before ten on a Saturday morning, listening to the piped-in music and trying to fight down the things that are making my stomach churn.

Good morning. Hope the day turns out a little better, but it's sunny.
Daydream Believer