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
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
London Calling
So I've been counting wrong all this time. I should've started at 16, not 15, which puts me at 12 tomorrow, rather than 11. But one may be cut off the end from my previous figuring. Which would put me in exactly the right place. Happy thoughts.
I started working out again today, even though I'm still sore from that yoga thing on Thursday. Ow. I'm bored. Although somehow this doesn't stop me from wanting to shirk my responsibilities. Even when I hardly have anything to do, doing the things I have to do sucks.
It's worst when I'm at home alone. I'm bored and want to go home. It always passes, but while it grips me, it's got me. I don't want to do anything but go to sleep and hope it's over when I wake up. I'm trying to keep myself busy, but I can't shake this feeling of stagnating, the holding pattern, waiting for the real thing. I really need to stop doing that to myself. Waiting. I'm not going to wait anymore, I'm going to do something. Maybe take a ferry ride to start. In three weeks, I'll be writing a book. I better have some material.
Dream On
Daydream Believer
I started working out again today, even though I'm still sore from that yoga thing on Thursday. Ow. I'm bored. Although somehow this doesn't stop me from wanting to shirk my responsibilities. Even when I hardly have anything to do, doing the things I have to do sucks.
It's worst when I'm at home alone. I'm bored and want to go home. It always passes, but while it grips me, it's got me. I don't want to do anything but go to sleep and hope it's over when I wake up. I'm trying to keep myself busy, but I can't shake this feeling of stagnating, the holding pattern, waiting for the real thing. I really need to stop doing that to myself. Waiting. I'm not going to wait anymore, I'm going to do something. Maybe take a ferry ride to start. In three weeks, I'll be writing a book. I better have some material.
Dream On
Daydream Believer
Thursday, October 01, 2009
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
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
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
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
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
Sunday, August 30, 2009
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
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
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
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
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
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Good Friends and BlueSkies That Never End
"If you two want to bruise your hearts on one another, who am I to tell you that you can't?"
That's simultaneously one of the most elegant and true ways I've heard young love described. That's what I'm doing, I'm bruising my heart. But I don't care. It's the kind of bruise that feels good happening, and is only a problem later. It's only after the fact that it starts to hurt. I'll worry about it then.
I can't explain to her that this is the way I wanted it, that it's not about not wanting to commit. It's not about how much I'll hurt later. It was supposed to be about freedom, about not hurting him. He's good to me. I'm happy right now. Regardless, nobody ever has hurt me the way she does frequently, so what business does she have worrying about me? I'm happy right now, when I can forget how much it hurts to be home.
Music and dancing and bright stars I couldn't see and firelight and hiding out in a tent when it rains. I think I'm finally starting to build up some of those iconic memories that most people have of their high school years. I wish I had more, but I can't do anything about it. Now I'm making up for lost time.
Smile, sunshine,
Life is good.
Dream On
Daydream Believer
That's simultaneously one of the most elegant and true ways I've heard young love described. That's what I'm doing, I'm bruising my heart. But I don't care. It's the kind of bruise that feels good happening, and is only a problem later. It's only after the fact that it starts to hurt. I'll worry about it then.
I can't explain to her that this is the way I wanted it, that it's not about not wanting to commit. It's not about how much I'll hurt later. It was supposed to be about freedom, about not hurting him. He's good to me. I'm happy right now. Regardless, nobody ever has hurt me the way she does frequently, so what business does she have worrying about me? I'm happy right now, when I can forget how much it hurts to be home.
Music and dancing and bright stars I couldn't see and firelight and hiding out in a tent when it rains. I think I'm finally starting to build up some of those iconic memories that most people have of their high school years. I wish I had more, but I can't do anything about it. Now I'm making up for lost time.
Smile, sunshine,
Life is good.
Dream On
Daydream Believer
Monday, July 13, 2009
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
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
Sunday, June 14, 2009
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.
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?
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...
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
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.
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.
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
Saturday, June 13, 2009
That Damn Kid
I've been lots of damn kids. Recently too. That damn kid who made the burger wrong. That damn kid who ate ice cream for dinner one night. That damn kid who came home drunk and disorderly, and spent the next day complaining about various hangover-related symptoms. That damn kid who mixed up the orders at the restaurant and put caramel syrup on the apple pie, even though the man who ordered the pie was watching his sugar and didn't want the syrup. So that damned kid ate it after the man sent it back. I've been all these damn kids, and that fact doesn't make me a bad person, doesn't make me a criminal. I'm half inclined to ask what kind of damn kid this lady once was, although she'd have to dig a lot deeper in her memory to find out. Maybe those damn kids are different, but I doubt it. Those damn kids that sit across the street on the porch drinking beer on weekend nights probably aren't any more dangerous than the damn kid who's writing this. I'm not sure whether to be more offended on their behalf or my own. In her defence, they probably call her the batty old lady across the road. Maybe that gives her the right to call them those damn kids.
I wish it didn't have to be this way.
Daydream Believer
I wish it didn't have to be this way.
Daydream Believer
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Smile
I did it. I had an adventure. By myself, with no one else's prodding. As adventures go, it was fairly tame, but it was a step, hopefully the first of many. And for now, the events of my evening are my very own little secret. I haven't had a good one in awhile. I don't have to tell anyone about it, and that feels amazing, like I've got an ace in the hole. Better, even, because I don't have to reveal it to use its power. I went out and did something just for me, just because I wanted to. I broke down one more wall. I have the strangest smile all over my face, every time I think about it. I laugh out loud. I'm not all the way free yet, but I've taken a big step in that direction.
I have another secret too, but that's only kept from the one person. It's got some power to it too. I mirror her insecurities. I didn't realize how many of her there were. I should have known. We're doing this less for ourselves than each other. This idea that women are always so mean to one another is complete bullshit. The best defense seems to be a good offense. And a shared secret, after so many kept from us.
Sweet Dreams
I have another secret too, but that's only kept from the one person. It's got some power to it too. I mirror her insecurities. I didn't realize how many of her there were. I should have known. We're doing this less for ourselves than each other. This idea that women are always so mean to one another is complete bullshit. The best defense seems to be a good offense. And a shared secret, after so many kept from us.
Sweet Dreams
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
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
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
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Walking On Broken Glass
Home is an interesting concept. Some hold that home is defined as where you went to high school, where you lived while growing up, wherever you hang your hat. I'm not sure it counts as home after I've been bumped for a sewing machine. So here I am, in a place that once was home, but is no longer, having left behind what may well be the best thing that ever happened to me, possibly forever, only to try to unpack my life into a space and a world that doesn't fit anymore. Doesn't fit here. All those things that drove me so crazy, with distance suddenly seem endearing. It really is human nature to want what you can't have. The greener grass and all that. Well, as is usually the case, this grass that seemed so green is exactly the same early-spring, half-dead brown as everywhere else. I don't know what's lying in wait for me over the next couple of months, what kind of traps there'll be to trigger the waterworks. I might even be through the worst. It could well be that the first 24 hours were the hardest. Maybe, maybe not.
So here I am where I hoped to be. Now I just need to make happen what I hoped would happen.
Daydream Believer
So here I am where I hoped to be. Now I just need to make happen what I hoped would happen.
Daydream Believer
Monday, March 30, 2009
Beige
I have spent a lot of time being beige. Nondescript, goes with everything, nothing really flashy to it, you can't have too much or you'll die of ennui. I'm not a lot less beige now than I was then, I can name three different people in the last two years who have had to be introduced to me anywhere from four to nine times before it stuck. Not randoms, people I interacted with anywhere from once to five or six times a week for three months at a time, and it wasn't like they were drunk the first few times either.
The thing is, I'm not all that beige on the inside. Unfortunately on the outside, at first glance, I am. Even more unfortunately, our kindergarten teachers were lying to us, because it does matter what we look like, what we sound like, our appearances, the impressions we give. I suppose I should say me, since it is conceivable that nobody else got this crock from their kindergarten teachers, or that they simply didn't believe them. My disillusionment aside, I'm really not all that beige. There's all kinds of interesting stuff going on, but it's not on the surface, you have to be looking for it.
This is what I get for walking the lines. The line between extraversion and introspection. I take my energy from people, but I love to hide out somewhere inside myself and just think. The line between selling out and buying in. The line between being what and who I want to be and what and who I have to be. Instead of keeping to the razor-sharp edges of liminality, the boundaries all went blurry.
The problem with education is that it's about answers, even though learning is about questions.
I'm not as beige as I once was. Maybe I'm turning a little dusty rose, a touch of periwinkle. Maybe a lovely cafe latte shade.
I hope to get less beige in the future. Rather, I hope to appear less beige. To act less beige, to speak less beige.
Still Dreaming
Daydream Believer
The thing is, I'm not all that beige on the inside. Unfortunately on the outside, at first glance, I am. Even more unfortunately, our kindergarten teachers were lying to us, because it does matter what we look like, what we sound like, our appearances, the impressions we give. I suppose I should say me, since it is conceivable that nobody else got this crock from their kindergarten teachers, or that they simply didn't believe them. My disillusionment aside, I'm really not all that beige. There's all kinds of interesting stuff going on, but it's not on the surface, you have to be looking for it.
This is what I get for walking the lines. The line between extraversion and introspection. I take my energy from people, but I love to hide out somewhere inside myself and just think. The line between selling out and buying in. The line between being what and who I want to be and what and who I have to be. Instead of keeping to the razor-sharp edges of liminality, the boundaries all went blurry.
The problem with education is that it's about answers, even though learning is about questions.
I'm not as beige as I once was. Maybe I'm turning a little dusty rose, a touch of periwinkle. Maybe a lovely cafe latte shade.
I hope to get less beige in the future. Rather, I hope to appear less beige. To act less beige, to speak less beige.
Still Dreaming
Daydream Believer
Sunday, March 22, 2009
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
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
Monday, March 16, 2009
Ad Astra Per Aspera
I was talking to Ace the other day and without really meaning to, I kinda crystallized what I'm trying to do here. Here as in this particular blog, and here as in during my life and work. Kinda trippy stuff. All because I was defending myself from an in all likelihood imagined verbal assault on my value and worth. Because I blog... yeah... I'm still sorting it out myself. Anyhow, Ace said that he wouldn't want to have his thoughts on the internet, because someone might read them. I kinda see this kind of thing as a microcosm* of The Golden Record. In August and September 1977 respectively, NASA launched Voyager 2 and Voyager 1 (Yes, Voyager 2 was launched before Voyager 1). Each one has a 12-inch gold-plated copper disk with a greeting intended for any life form either Voyager might encounter. This (1977) state-of-the-art technology contains a number of sounds and images meant to portray earth and give anyone or anything that might find it an idea of where the machine containing it came from. Similarly purposed plaques were placed inside Pioneer 10 and 11, which were the first two human artifacts to escape the solar system. Each of these spacecraft had a scientific purpose, which throws off the allegory slightly. The idea behind the plaques and later The Golden Record, was to throw something of ourselves out as far as we can just in case maybe, someday, someone will find it and find something they can understand in it. Is it a little bit out there? Absolutely. But there isn't much that makes more sense to me than the drive to connect, to communicate, to reach out. Even if in forty thousand years by some strange turn of fate or physics, one of the Voyagers comes hurtling back to Earth in a twisted mass of flaming metal, there's still a time capsule in there that maybe someone will understand.
*for some reason, my favourite word lately
Sondheim, Uta, and Kurosawa
Sondheim- Stephen Sondheim, American composer and lyricist. Born March 22, 1930. Known for the lyrics to Leonard Bernstein's West Side Story, and composing the music for A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum. Also Sweeney Todd, Into The Woods, and A Little Night Music.
Uta- Uta Hagen, German-born American actor and acting teacher. June 12, 1919-January 14, 2004. Author of Respect for Acting and A Challenge for the Actor. Notable for training, among others: Matthew Broderick, Al Pacino, Whoopi Goldberg, Sigourney Weaver and Liza Minelli.
Kurosawa- Akira Kurosawa, Japanese filmmaker. March 23, 1910- September 6, 1998. Best-known works: Seven Samurai (七人の侍, Shichinin no samurai), Yojimbo (用心棒) aka The Bodyguard.
Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer
This is a present from a small, distant world,
a token of our sounds, our science, our images, our music,
our thoughts and our feelings.
We are attempting to survive our time so we may live into yours.
a token of our sounds, our science, our images, our music,
our thoughts and our feelings.
We are attempting to survive our time so we may live into yours.
U.S. President Jimmy Carter
*for some reason, my favourite word lately
Sondheim, Uta, and Kurosawa
Sondheim- Stephen Sondheim, American composer and lyricist. Born March 22, 1930. Known for the lyrics to Leonard Bernstein's West Side Story, and composing the music for A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum. Also Sweeney Todd, Into The Woods, and A Little Night Music.
Uta- Uta Hagen, German-born American actor and acting teacher. June 12, 1919-January 14, 2004. Author of Respect for Acting and A Challenge for the Actor. Notable for training, among others: Matthew Broderick, Al Pacino, Whoopi Goldberg, Sigourney Weaver and Liza Minelli.
Kurosawa- Akira Kurosawa, Japanese filmmaker. March 23, 1910- September 6, 1998. Best-known works: Seven Samurai (七人の侍, Shichinin no samurai), Yojimbo (用心棒) aka The Bodyguard.
Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
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
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
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
On Bread Alone
Considering my utter lack of aspirations in that direction, I'm a fucking domestic goddess. I probably got it from my mom, kitchen maven and PTA parent extraordinaire. I clean when I'm freaked out, I find washing dishes oddly soothing, I love to cook, even if I'm usually not motivated to do it for myself, and today I baked bread. That's right, bread, not brownies, cookies, cake, pie, or any other sugary confection. Bread, sustaining, simple, wholesome bread. At least it has cheese on it.
Some people say that a person can't live on bread alone. I'm kind of banking on it, in fact, considering my prospective career choices. But sometimes you need bread too. And it's even better when you bake it yourself.
Daydream Believer
Some people say that a person can't live on bread alone. I'm kind of banking on it, in fact, considering my prospective career choices. But sometimes you need bread too. And it's even better when you bake it yourself.
Daydream Believer
Saturday, March 07, 2009
'Festo
There are a lot of little things that make it up. It's nowhere near complete, but then again, neither am I. There'll be some additions along the way, and probably some subtractions as well.
Hopefully I'll get a chance to prove John Cougar Mellencamp wrong. The first time I remember hearing that song and noticing the lyrics, I think I was twelve or thirteen. I was singing along with the abandon of childhood, then I realized what words my mouth was unthinkingly forming, and I couldn't help but think:
Hopefully I'll get a chance to prove John Cougar Mellencamp wrong. The first time I remember hearing that song and noticing the lyrics, I think I was twelve or thirteen. I was singing along with the abandon of childhood, then I realized what words my mouth was unthinkingly forming, and I couldn't help but think:
If it's true that "life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone", then what's the point?
Since then, that's been the cornerstone of my many varied answers to the inevitable, often aggravating question of "So what are you planning to do with your life?" I figure it's less important to try to set the answers in stone than the reasons for them. This is one reason I doubt will change anytime soon. I never want to sit there looking back at my life and say, "Well, those were the best days, and there's nothing that good coming my way ever again." I never want the feeling of just waiting for the clock to run out, for the last grain to drop through the hourglass. I don't want to run out of adventures, things to look forward to, experiences I want to have. Which is why I keep the lovely list on your right, to help me remember the whims, the crazy ideas, help me have something to shoot for.
It's funny, I always had a hard time coming up with goals on those annoying sheets they gave me after every report card in high school. I always insisted that I didn't have goals. What I really meant was that I didn't have goals that had to do with high school, beyond "get the hell out". Once I was, I was suddenly full to bursting with goals, missions, aspirations, dreams.
Especially dreams.
Keep Dreaming.
Daydream Believer
It's funny, I always had a hard time coming up with goals on those annoying sheets they gave me after every report card in high school. I always insisted that I didn't have goals. What I really meant was that I didn't have goals that had to do with high school, beyond "get the hell out". Once I was, I was suddenly full to bursting with goals, missions, aspirations, dreams.
Especially dreams.
Keep Dreaming.
Daydream Believer
Saturday, February 28, 2009
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
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
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