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

Harm and Foul

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

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

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

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

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

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Poison

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

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

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

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Being Vewwy Vewwy Quiet, Huntin' Wabbits

Secrets can be fun. When I say I'm not surprised it happened, it means I thought it probably would, although I would not have been surprised if it hadn't happened either. In spite of my sometimes overwhelming urge to confide, I'm keeping my trap shut this time. Secrets have a way of wiggling out even through pursed lips. There's nothing to confide. It's not like it's anything I can't handle. Secrets still give me that lovely glowy feeling though, that feeling of knowing something. It makes each joke a little funnier, keeps a slightly sardonic smile on my face throughout the day. Maybe I'm really keeping it quiet because I still haven't shaken that need for the approval of all the other sheep. Especially here and now. Which implies that I'm not sure the other sheep would approve, and it's true. As much as I like to bandy about my I-don't-give-a-shit-about-the-masses attitude, when push comes to shove, I'm as much of a coward as the next person. When the masses are made up of people you've come to know and care about, it's a little harder to flout what they think. As long as I don't get any direct questions, I'm alright. I don't lie well. And sometimes "It's none of your business" just won't fly. I would so hate to take away their punching bag. Largely because I would likely replace it. I've spent a fair amount of time the last few days cringing over the jokes I've laughed at, the jokes I've made. In a new context, they're still funny, but I really don't like having to eat my words. These ones might not go down so easy.

I may have started out as a fox, but I was always hunting something. Even when I tried to pretend I wasn't.

Inevitability. That's what's sometimes lacking, this peculiar feeling of not being able to stop it even if you wanted to. It feels good, fun, not stressful or worrying. As much as I hesitate to tempt the fates of contact between shit and fans, things are pretty good right now. Into the home stretch and on my way. Adventures are good.

Dream On
Daydream Believer

Dirty Little Secret

I got home just a few moments ago. Just after half past two in the morning, totally sober. I'm on a little hiatus for the moment, hoping that my favourite form of toxin will regain its power.

So it wasn't the quiet, relaxed, even intimate evening in I had been planning on. It was probably just as well. That's the great thing about shows on DVD, you can watch them another time. Haven't picked up my fiver yet, and though it's gone to double or nothing now, I'm not sure it's a fair contest anymore. Is it bad if I kind of want to lose this bet?

It's all about the little moments. Most of the time, I just want to go back to those moments of excitement and intrigue, and in the pursuit of them, I find more moments, until I wind up sitting confused and alone trying to rationalize actions, both my own and those of others. This is the problem with not knowing anyone very well.

If it wasn't crazy, I'd be bored. I prefer the craziness, as much as I might bitch and complain. I think I have a balance for a moment or two.

And I'm only 16000 words away from December.

Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer

Without Ever Knowing The Way

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

Risk and Reward

Awareness and risk, we didn't crash into one another. I don't know why he annoys me so much. Just the general frustration of fascination, I'm sure. At least he's talking to me again. Only in theatre.

As always, the toughest bit is getting out of bed in the morning. Every tough time is like that. Once I'm out of bed and moving, and occasionally this translates to properly dressed and no longer rocking my PJ's around the living room, I have some momentum. As much as I hate to imply that physics may actually have some bearing on my life, I feel I'm a victim of inertia. In the same vein, getting to sleep is tough too. I don't want to rely on the pills on the bedside table to stop the charge of circular thoughts around the inside of my skull, to dull the heartache and let me drift off. Morpheus is only sometimes my friend. He didn't want to let go of me this morning, and I suspect that tomorrow will be no different. The lines are crisscrossing each other, and I don't know where they turn into boundaries. I'm still intrigued, though I'm sure it's a bad idea. Just the same as before, right down to cigarette smoke. It's human nature to want what you can't or shouldn't have. Though if I get what I want, will I fall into the same trap again? The one I unwillingly lure someone into as we speak. Maybe it is to do with the exoticism. That which is rare is always prized.

I like to shelter, I like to protect, I like to nurture, but I also like to deal with independent self-sufficient people. That sounds like I'm a lot angrier than I am. I'm not angry really, it's just that nobody else is quite enough, and I'm frustrated in more ways than one. The fact that it doesn't feel quite right doesn't quell the cravings, just keeps me from satisfying them. The fact that I don't know who to trust, who I can trust, especially given my recent bouts of tongue wagging, doesn't help at all. And I should be writing for NaNoWriMo rather than doing this. But for some reason I'm not.
I might be taking up Japanese again, but not until December.
Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Don't Stop

I really hope he was the one texting me back at 2 am. It seems just like before, right down to the cigarette smoke taste in my mouth and the funny feelings about dancing. Still, I think everything's going to be alright. I think everything's back to normal. Maybe. I wish he hadn't bailed out on me so early. Would it have made a difference if I said so? It's okay not to be normal right now. It's okay not to be okay, that's what friends are for. Am I going to regret not forgetting tomorrow?
And trying and trying again.
I laugh because I know exactly what's going on, and have a new insight into the world of a fascinating person. Fascination. I am easily fascinated. The tattoos and the deviance. I would love to be stronger and smarter than I am.
Bedtime.
Daydream Believer

Sweet

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

Have You Any Dreams You'd Like to Sell?

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

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

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

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

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

London Calling

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

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

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

Dream On
Daydream Believer

Touchdown 0094

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

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

Dreaming of home (a little).
Daydream Believer

101 Dalmations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As The Leaves Began To Change

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

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

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

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

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Ave Mary A

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

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

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

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

Stay tuned for the next episode.

Dream on