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[13 Dec 2009|07:44pm] |
I feel my entire scalp tense up and the skin on my whole back doubles in temperature.
My brain can process information logically. But lately my emotions are going into hyperdrive. If this is what PMS feels like, then I understand why there's massive conspiracy to control it.
I'm not usually this susceptible to the whims of irrational feelings when they arise. I'm good at talking myself down from that proverbial ledge. Not this time. Not right now. Not lately, for whatever reason. The calm voice of reality and objectivity is no match for my hormones. I'm just going to assume it's my hormones anyway. It has to be. I must be pregnant or perhaps there's something in the water.
It feel like I'm going crazy at times.
I'm pretty sensitive as it is...imagine that times ten. Then multiply it by another ten. And another. And another and another...
That's what it feels like right now. I'm wary and tense about things I have no business getting worked up about (in addition to plenty of things I should be worked up about) and there's nothing I can do to control it. I just have to trust that it'll pass and I'll stop making an ass of myself.
That, and my shoulders, neck and back will stop hurting (since the tension will be gone). And my blood pressure will return to normal, too, perhaps.
In any case.
Examinations are taking place with little returned by way of potential triggers. I wish it hasn't affected me in the romantic arena, but it's seeming to lately. More in the way of embarrassment for how I'm presenting myself than anything, but it's there. Fear of abandoment? Fear of rejection? Fear of betrayal? Fear of fear?
The sins of his fathers are not his own, but I'd be a fool to think that history doesn't have the potential to repeat itself. I don't expect it to, and I really want to be able to just throw caution to the wind...which, honestly, I have for the most part. I'm not careful at all with revealing what I think or feel and what I would like by way of a future with him. It feels more like I'm prepared. I'm bracing for the hammer to come down. For that one phrase that'll change everything. That monkey wrench that just stops the entire machine.
But I don't need to brace for anything. Even when I knew I needed to prepare for big blows, I didn't. Because the anticipation of such things has more power to obliterate than the actual thing itself, whichever it may be. Our imaginations are dreadfully dangerous...but only to ourselves.
Yet, here I am. Muscles tight, cheeks and ears hot, ache in my chest and stomach, lack of restful sleep for wild dreams, and the usual distractionary measures aren't working and only serve to aggitate my mind.
I feel impulsive. I feel trapped. I feel feel far away from everything. Not alone...just far away. I feel behind. I feel like I've taken on too much.
But none of that is about anything in particular. It's the same feeling when you're in the middle of Target and you're on the phone with your mom and she's talking about your father or something she saw on TV and suddenly, without warning, you realize that you may or may not have left candles burning at home over two hours ago. There's a physical manifestation there.
That's what I feel like lately. That there may be something I've forgotten and my mind is working so hard at remembering what it is that everything bothers me. Everything's an interruption. Or I've wasted time somewhere. (Everywhere, actually...I enjoy wasting time, truth be told.)
But that's not true. Nothing bothers me. I just feel...off. Like I'm between things and I don't quite exist...or something.
sigh
This isn't a veiled attempt at communicating a specific want or hidden secret I can't say. It's just hard to put such an annoying and bothersome feeling into words.
If you think this is about you or has something to do with you...it definitely isn't/doesn't. It's only about me. I would tell you. I would. Chances are things are quite the contrary and you're probably a little patch of blue sky in between the rain clouds.
I promise.
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[08 Dec 2009|01:37am] |
I try hard not to be a high-maintenance person and hate when I feel like I am. Is there such a thing as a negative-maintenance person? A reverse-maintenance person? That's what I want to be. One of those.
I'm usually pretty even-keeled, too. Level-headed. Not always quick to make the best decisions (rather, quick to make ok decisions), but pretty predictable as far as demeanor goes.
I feel like a complete and total spaz lately. A whiny brat. A baby. For whatever reason, my fuse is short. I stay frustrated. I can't find the silver lining in certain situations. That's my friggin' signature move, that silver lining bit is. And for whatever reason, I can't even use it.
I need to start writing again. The exercise is there, but I really should be doing yoga every day. I need a room with a door, is what I need. Maybe I'll just start locking Newt in the bathroom and put Honey in her kennel. But then I'd worry about the cat obliterating everything in the bathroom and Honey tends to huff and puff when she's in 'her room'. I'll give it a whirl, though.
See? I'm all good...silver lining is that this is all just a gentle push. A friggin' annoying one, but a push. A really REALLY unnecessary one, but a push.
Writing and yoga. Two things I want to be good at, but I beat myself up over them instead.
I've said for years that 32 would be my best age. Let's see what I can do (besides love...and love, I intend to do).
I still have 2 months, but I think 32 can start now.
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| Wrapped in ribbons of gold |
[05 Dec 2009|11:00pm] |
for the whole world
Maps and patterns. Diagrams and figures. Charts, graphs, studies, polls, and analyses.
Yup. It's happening all over again. Always does. Always will, I think. Do I accept it? Or do I continue to lightly put my foot down when I've had enough? The passive-aggressive in me wants so badly to just pull back completely and only do the bare minimum. Keep up with the Joneses and nothing more. The savior complex pushes me to keep trying to be a positive example and to try to understand more. The child in me wants so desperately to please and to be pleasing.
Interesting thoughts, these.
At the moment, I'm just exhausted. Exhausted and frustrated. Annoyed at things people have no control over or things that shouldn't matter. At all. Fuel for the fire. I feel like I'm finished. Done. Over it. Past it. Beyond it. Above it. But really I'm just dragged under by it. How much longer? Who knows. Probably forever. And ever. It's what I do. It's who I am.
"Christmas," I keep telling myself. "Christmas." Finally an attempt at a real holiday again. I had my good ones in the past, but usually it's not so fun. It's tense. It's stressful. It's hard. And all for controllable factors. But this year...this year I'm being selfish. Easily so, since what I would've wanted is being brought to me only a few days before and staying for a few days after.
Move, move, move. I'll go ahead and say six months. At most. Sooner would be better. West. Along this horizontal line, shooting straight off the map. I'm ready for it. Have been. For years. Four years. (Yes, spellings intended.)
It's being on the inside of the outside of a window and looking inward only to see outward past yourself and into everything else.
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[27 Nov 2009|01:37pm] |
I always mean to throw an ultimatum out to all my acquaintances, if not just my close circle of friends. Black Friday. Seriously. Stop it. STOP it.
Black Friday for several reasons, indeed. Pick your own and "celebrate" it how you choose. I'm just glad to be out of the business of things and into the business of food. Food usually makes people happy. Usually. Of course we still have our Scrooges all year 'round, but for the most part...I'm happy doing what I'm doing right now.
How long have I worked in customer service? Retail's largely a tough and thankless business for those of us behind the counters and such. Even when I was in charge, I was the one standing there opening the doors on Christmas, Thanksgiving and New Years. People take for granted the fact that they've gotten to spend a large portion of the holidays actually holiday-ing. The glitz and glamour of these supposedly magical times has lost its luster for me over the past fifteen years. (Holy crap, I've been doing this for fifteen years.) I did get to spend a couple Christmases in Germany, so that was at least different. Something new. New traditions. Traditions that meant something. And maybe it's just because I wasn't there for the entire season, but it's most likely because I didn't understand the conversations that were happening around me...I just didn't feel that bloodlust that's replaced this "goodwill toward men" thing we're supposed to have.
Bloodlust is the only way to really describe that look in people's eyes...that change in their voice...the new, defensive pheremone they're spraying left and right. I think if people could run through an establishment and piss on things to claim them and then come back and pay for them later, it would go a lot better for everyone involved. "MINE!" *spray* And it's all for more stuff. STUFF. Who needs these things? There's only a small amount of leeway I'm willing to give for the people who "need" the things that are supposedly being sold at SUCH a great price for a few short hours. Oh, your apartment flooded and your computer isn't salvageable? Fine. Uncle Bobby's out of the coma now and his little black & white television can't pick up any channels without a converter box? Ok, you can go buy a flat panel TV to hang above the fireplace. Aside from that...quit buying shit. Just quit. Unless you're replacing something that's broken.
I could go on and on about the evils of people on a shopping spree between now and the end of the year, but that wasn't my initial intent. I'll save it for the "Retail Therapy" section of the book.
But real quick...do me a favor. Make me one promise IF you went out this morning, evaluate your behavior. Were you nice to the people around you? And were you especially nice to the people HELPING you? Even if they didn't seem to be much help at the time, promise me you'll do better next time and throughout this entire hunting shopping season. They'd probably already had a couple hundred people act pretty bratty/shitty to them before the sun was up. It was always hard to be a happy camper when that stuff was going on, and I've got a pretty high tolerance for pain.
So...back to MY stuff.
I've inherited a lot of things from my father. Probably the one I'm most thankful for is the storyteller gene. Words are important to me. I like stories. I like telling them. I like being asked to tell them. I'm also thankful that I got the "good" side of the gene. My mother calls me a storychanger because I'll embellish (isn't that was storytellers do?) or change words to make the story more interesting. The intent is still there. The meat of what happened hasn't changed...just some of the details. My dad, however, is all that plus a liar. He's always been good at lying. He's always been good at shirking anything that resembles honesty. It's the escapist in him. Reality really is just too hard for some people.
It's not something I've ever been able to understand. I wouldn't make a very good drug addict or alcoholic because I'm too much of a personal control freak. There's not that much to control (because I also like being lazy), but I have to schedule my "check-out" times. A couple glasses of wine after work or a cocktail at the end of the day is fine, but anything more and I need some serious planning.
Addicts make the best liars, I think. They have to. It takes a lot of denial in order to hide something long enough for it to develop into a serious problem. It also take a lot of desire not to exist for a bit. Even if the addiction isn't to a substance. I used to eat so much that I couldn't do anything but sleep afterward. That was a bit of a rough patch. My dad buys lottery tickets because the thrill of what "could" happen is too exciting. It'll fix all the problems that still reside in the real world. Supposedly, that is. It'll repair all the damage that's been done over the years. It'll provide a better life for us all. Except that his common fiscal sense must've been left out at some point when he was being constructed. To most people, they'd understand that spending a few thousand dollars on lottery tickets isn't going to necessarily yield a winner. And the gamble really isn't worth it when the thousands being spent are thousands that were supposed to go toward other things. Like, oh...homeowner's insurance and utilities. Nevermind that any extra money should probably go toward the mortgage payment. You'd think after living in the same place for 18 years that the remaining balance on said 30-year mortgage would be greatly reduced from when they bought the house. Nope. It's scary how much MORE money they owe on it currently. And they're only getting older as the house is falling into disrepair. My sister wants to buy it from them. I'm almost convinced they should sell it to her, even though the amount of work involved in getting it fixed up is going to be expensive.
I love my dad. I feel bad for him not being able to get the support and help he needs from the people around him. I hate that he'd feel the need to lie his way through any program just to please everyone else. I hate the corners he's backed himself into over the years. I don't blame him for the things that've happened to our family and to each of us as a result, even though they're primarily his fault at the root of it. Maybe if my only memories of him as a kid weren't him coming home drunk after work every night, and then grumbling and moody on the weekends I'd feel closer to him. I feel more like I never had the chance to know him. He's in an untouchable spot...stuck somewhere between the reality where he struggles to make things better and his fantasy world where everything's fine. He'll never succeed at much because he can't reconcile the two.
But he's a good guy. He's someone people enjoy being around. He wants desperately to have those relationships that he can't seem to forge. It just so happens that he's not to be trusted. He isn't. Ever. But that doesn't mean he can't be loved. Most people could stand to learn not to give him any money. Or keys to your house. Or to wonder what he does with his free time. Or expect too much from him by way of responsibility. Or to think that he'll ever stop the things he does. I accepted it a long time ago as fact that no matter what, he'll always do what he does. He'll just get better at hiding it periodically.
He is who he is and I'm ok with that. I don't expect him to change. And even if by some miracle he did...I wouldn't believe it. 30+ years of lies and deception is a lot to just get past. I don't harbor any ill-feelings toward him or our history. I feel like I don't need to try to build a "Father" out of him. I've never had that and I've turned out ok.
I was going to go back and proofread, but...it was exhausting enough the first time. Apologies for gaps and typos.
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[17 Nov 2009|02:55am] |
Today was harder than yesterday. I'd forgotten that miles can manifest as a pressure and slight tearing in those muscles between your ribs. Last night I was exhausted by the end of the day. Any "bon voyage" is tiring...this one especially so. That face on the final approach to the airport...every image/smell/touch/sound blazing, still. Heartbreaking, but heart lightening.
Small adjustments here and there. A particular shirt to sleep in. A new desktop background on my computer. Plans for framing certain pictures. Random gifts planned over the next few weeks/months. Memories, memories, memories. And tickets. Soon...tickets. Another security checkpoint, a layover, and then Us. Together. Natural. Eternity in each instant.
In the meantime...late nights until exhaustion settles.
Cable internet will hopefully be connected on Thursday.
An Action Plan will be devised before the week is over.
Almost finished with Voyager.
I've a new book that came in the mail today.
I got a Wii. (It was supposed to be therapeutic, but thus far...fail.)
I finished Battlestar Galactica's initial miniseries.
A bottle of wine will be consumed at some point tomorrow.
My back misses yoga.
I could stand to be more organized.
Knit, crochet, knit, crochet, knit, crochet.
Etc, etc, etc.
And so on and so forth.
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| I want your love |
[15 Nov 2009|11:47pm] |
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I don't wanna be friends
So...I've been in love. For quite some time now, if I have to admit it.
It's one of those things that's been there since before I'd even considered confessed it to him. In some form or another, it's been there since day 1. I struggled with it for a long time since I'd moved out of the realms of relationships and relating. I'd built see-through walls so that I could still have those interactions where people see the real me, but I don't have to get intimiately involved. A few have been invited in and have free passes to come and go as they please, but for the most part it's a 'look, but don't touch' deal.
I have my reasons.
In any case, we've known each other for a bit of time...from afar for most of it. Combined, we've spent the equivalent of a week in each others' company. A three day tourist's trek through Chicago was our first face-to-face. It was hard to say goodbye after just a couple days and a lot of walking. Almost immediately, tickets were purchased for him to come here. Five days, this time. Again, not enough. Harder to say goodbye to something that feels so familiar this time. He feels like part of my daily routine already. He has for a long time. To spend that time together...to turn the lights off and see his face last...to wake up and see his face first...to close the door as he lays there when I take the dog out...to decide on food/events/television together...it feels like we've been doing it for years.
I feel like a human being again.
For the last few years, I've distanced myself. I've created a watchtower where I looked at people and studied them...but I haven't been a part of them. Everything to segregate and separate. Me vs. Them. But Phillip...he's pieces of me I've suppressed or gotten good at hiding. He's a piece of me, period. He brings me back to humanity. He brings breath and blood to the outer extremities. Cold parts are warm now because of him. Life begins again and this time it's with him.
I couldn't be happier, more excited, more inspired, more validated or more ready.
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| hominy |
[06 Nov 2009|11:52pm] |
get it on the plate, girl
I had a starch-heavy dinner planned. Picked up a cheap bottle of wine (big on the tongue with a nice, easy finish for $8). I had things that were chomping at the bit...waiting to get out.
Then my computer died some time before I got home.
I think it's been coming for quite some time. How old is it? 5 years old? Ancient in this day and age. But I think it had suffered too much. The same weekend of the downpour in my apartment (a day before the great waterpipe exodus of '09 in the entire back half of the building), I started having some issues. I can't say whether they were water-related or computer-related. I started tweaking like crazy, though. Fiddling with this setting or that setting.
No matter...it just up and quit today. There's electricity pumping into it, but no response. No communication with the monitor, even. A strange beeping, and no use for a boot disk.
I should've gotten a new one anyway. I think this one took a hit from the water pouring in that fateful morning.
So...laptop? Pc? And will there be enough money leftover for a wii? I think there might be...
Dare I?
Oh, I dare.
Phillip will be here wednesday. There's plenty of time, but not enough time. I got most of my 'to do' list completed without even trying. Now to finish the rest of it. And with a hair appointment for Elimy on Sunday after work.
Then there's the matter of what to do while he's here. But not rushing through it and making it last. Relishing.
Wasn't I supposed to be exorcising? Yeah. Nevermind. Quick pieces that mean nothing to no one, then.
A dream. THE dream. There you are. My sister next to you. After so long and i've no idea what to do or say, except 'thank you for the egg'. A hug. An awkward hug. Why does this bother me so much. After so long. It's comfortable. It's accepting. It's platonic. But it bothers me. Greatly. For the rest of the dream and then the rest of the day. A bit of a haunting, that one.
taptap* "Here I am."
But you're not. You're anywhere but here.
Suddenly I feel alone. Departed. Isolated. Not neglected, but neglected. Not abandoned, but abandoned. Not forgotten, but forgotten.
It's cellular. Mitochondrial. Adenosine Triphosphate. Suddenly atomic.
And I'd wanted to type and type and type...but I can only do so much on my phone.
sigh
I'm ok. Tortured. But ok.
Duh.
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[01 Nov 2009|01:27am] |
It wasn't much. A few words here, a few words there. Suddenly: my world is completely on its head.
But I wasn't.
It was quick. Painless. Without confusion. I understood and so did he. We nodded from across those many, many miles - only a few hours more than the distance between Chicago and Paris. We both acknowledged and left that book open. The pages moving back and forth in the wind.
But the words seemed wrong, on those pages. After our brief exchange, the words weren't fair anymore. They painted a different picture. The things I was reading from him didn't fit into the cracks I'd left for the previous handful of years. Forgive and forget seems nice...but finding out that the desire to forget hasn't been there...that's different. That changes everything. But changes nothing.
A sudden plunging is needed to clear the drains...pages and pages trying to funnel through so quickly...history rewritten. The story's still the same, but the motivations aren't.
Surprisingly, control let's go. Hidden hangups disappear. And the permission I didn't require gives me new fire and renews my passion. A blessing. An encouragement. An absolution. But at the same time, an understanding of cellular connections. Cosmic knowledge.
We are all made of stars so it's nice to run into some familiar dust in your lifetime. Imagine finding two stellar bodies and knowing them instantly.
Oh, to know this recent one better. Of the same mold, I believe we were made. Regardless of outcomes...we're familial and shall remain so.
Yes.
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| wrap me up |
[25 Oct 2009|01:23am] |
i am small
and needy
Reminders.
Stories.
Beacons.
It's that time of year. I never remember the exact date (but I'll go through the ol' LJ to find it at some point in the next few days, won't I?), but I know it's sometime around now. It happens like clockwork. A reminder here or there. Sharing a story. Perhaps a book titile. A mention of this or that.
Suddenly...there she is.
Bev.
Tall.
Red.
Loud.
Squeezing my arm. Pulling me closer. Wanting so much to be important. She was subtly important and fun to those of us who "got" her, but we never let it be known publicly. To everyone else, she was a bit much. To us...manageable. Someone who would've been something, without the heart condition. Without the threat of death. She held that over us whenever she could. "DO THIS OR IT'LL BE TOO LATE."
I'd met her before heading to Elizabethtown. A few months later...her supervisor. Every day she'd come in and put her glasses at a particular register. She was claiming her space. From New York Design Institute to Old Navy cashier...she held onto whatever clout she could. Old Navy Account queen, she was. Those glasses. Calling for help whenever she could...just to seem important. Not because she needed it. A key flick here. Clarification on a keying sequence here or there. Always the gratefulness afterward. A production. Hugs. Accolades.
She'd received a book in the mail and wanted me to come over. A glass of wine and the flip of a few pages later..."Come with me." Downstairs. Washer, dryer, tables..and boxes upon boxes upon boxes. She grabs a Sharpie and writes my name and phone number on all of the.
Congestive Heart Failure. For quite a number of years. Many years earlier she was given six months. That's why she moved in with her mother of almost 90 (who'd never wanted her) after closing her new age book store in Texas...after losing her job at a fashion firm in New York. Just the desire to seem important.
Together we rode to Bloomington, Indiana. Tibetan Cultural Center, run by the Dalai Lama's brother. A service of chanting...perhaps a try to come back for a kundalini service.
We never made it, though.
Instead, my name and phone number on boxes in the basement. Boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes. Posters. Dishes. Books. Cards. Slides.
Her 90-year-old mother called my house one day. My father took the call, I believe. I returned the call, eventually. Asked if there was anything I could bring or do. A good loaf of rye bread was all she asked for. Rye bread, and a few minutes to listen. I loaded my car a few times...an hour each way. One loaf of bread. Some salad. A few minutes here and there. She couldn't see me. Her eyes not able to focus. She showed me Bev's room. Described how she found her. Her blind eyes able to see where the unresponsive body leaned between the bed and the floor. Her mouth crooked, pained. She obviously knew what was happening to her and was trying to get out of bed in order to stop it.
I always knew that when she said she was ready whenever it happened...she was full of shit.
I had her things and I still have a portion of them. She asked me to just be a bit of a distributor. She didn't want me to keep them all...so I didn't. Many of them went to work at different times. All claimed. Occasionally I got a few words of thanks because to certain people, these books were a pretty big deal...all that was left of the Bodhi Tree.
That drive home was the hardest...not the drive down. I had to replace her Tarot deck. She'd hidden it specifically and before I'd arrived...it was gone. Stories and specific instructions were in place for that deck of cards...but it was nowhere to be found. It was replaced of my own accord.
She always seems to make it back into these months. These months, when I happen across her wedding photo again. Never having told me she was married, it was in one of the boxes bearing my name and phone number.
What sorts of boxes and stories will I leave behind when I leave?
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[22 Oct 2009|12:19am] |
Even though it's miles and miles away...I've got more than I ever dreamed possible.
And I couldn't be more appreciative.
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[18 Oct 2009|12:04am] |
It's been years. Eternities, feels like, but really only a few handfuls of months. And now, there's this.
Strange how it was there for both of us and it appears to be the same thing. Strange how it evolved randomly and at the same pace. Strange how it's gotten this far in such a short time. Strange how the velocity isn't changing any time soon. Strange how none of this...is strange at all.
It's the last ten pieces of a puzzle and knowing where they all go...but not being able to move fast enough to get to the end result immediately. Time still has to pass.
It's knowing you're the only person with a perfect score (by a large margin) on a rather difficult test. You want to tell everyone in order to share that joy, but know everyone will have an opinion about it...most likely an opinion that'll dampen the mood.
It's coming over that first hill on a roller coaster.
It's that feeling halfway through a Thanksgiving meal.
It's a good nap.
It's a wagging tail.
It's landing safely.
Safe landings. The anxiety and buildup of just stepping off a plane. Of watching someone else step off a plane. And I didn't think I'd ever stop shaking. I vomited rapid questions, not knowing if I needed or would have even recognized an answer if one was given. But moments later, we were back to eternities, and the tremors subsided.
Soon he'll step off of another plane. This time without ceaseless questions immediately.This time not in a foreign city. This time without consulting some navigational tool every ten minutes. This time with days to spare. This time...will just be different.
For all of it...this time will just be different. Promises were broken. Room was made. Opportunities are being scannedd.
Eh. There was more to say. So much more. But perhaps a little liquid courage would be required in order to get down into the layer of skin where those words hide.
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[05 Oct 2009|09:39am] |
The conversations between strangers amuse me. I'm generally pretty agreeable and seem to be approachable. I just don't feel the need to talk to everyone around me and make friends while being herded through tensa-barriers and removing every external article of clothing at 6:45 in the morning.
We're all inching forward and one of the airport rent-a-cops decides to strike up a conversation with the guy behind me. It's obvious the guy in line is just being polite, but the uniform keeps rambling about nothing. As much as I'm puzzled by some guy who drove from Atlanta to Birmingham yesterday to make an international flight only to have a layover in Atlanta...I just don't care as I'm shuffling forward with tingling fingers from heavy bags.
And I wanted to ask where he came up with this $298 figure that it cost the guy to drive two hours due west to Birmingham...but I just couldn't get my mouth to open, unfortunately.
Now I'm sitting in St Louis listening to two women who obviously don't know each other. They were near each other on the plane here and one of the women is resigning herself to the fact that the other isn't going to let her fly to Chicago in peace. Awkward laughter. Probing questions about her 5-month-old. More awkward laughter and for the third time, they exchange names as the creepy woman keeps mentioning that she's in charge of her church's directory.
Thank heavens for books and mobile facebook is all I have to say.
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| all my bones start to shake |
[04 Oct 2009|11:44pm] |
and my eyes fly open
It's not a big deal, really. Not at all. He's right. We'll go. We'll have a good time. We'll talk. We'll laugh. We'll walk. We'll eat. We'll shop. We'll tour. We'll...see.
We'll see. That's all we really can do. There's a definite chance for the possibility of a few footsteps of the forward persuasion, but no chance for any backward ones. If anything, perhaps a step sideways, if it comes to that. Changing lanes. Reducing speed and rolling down the windows to sing loudly. But not a step backward. Still having fun and eating and touring and laughing.
It's that whole potential energy thing. Christmas. The unknown keeps me awake at night. So do little wet footprints on the floor. But mostly Christmas. I can nap when it's all over and everything's been unwrapped, but in the meantime...the excitement and the endless possibilities running and rolling over and over in my head in their perpetual wrestling match are going to make dreaming difficult.
Perhaps if this wasn't practically the Gaultier Bustier of Chicago trips, it wouldn't weigh so heavily on me. But here we have an opportunity to revolutionize the entire world and change the way people relate to each other.
It's difficult, the things one has to do in order to save humanity.
sigh
But I'll allow myself to suffer for the greater good.
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| save my money |
[28 Sep 2009|10:44pm] |
for that plane ride
I've been staring through the eye of a needle for what seems like ages now. It appears simple enough, but threading that needle really isn't. I don't take stabs at it unless I'm certain of success. Moisten, twist, trim, then somehow calm my shaking hands enough to get through on the first try...maybe the second. There've only been a small handful of attempts made, none of them sticking.
More often than not, I sit there staring. Peering through, knowing instinctively what that needle will feel like dangling from these threads, knotted at the end. The weightlessness of it, the security of it.
My first time I didn't tie the knot big enough so I had to go back and clean things up repeatedly. I gave up when nothing would hold. The time after that could be described as an attempt at recreating the first, but the same issues were still there. The next time my stitches were uniform, but I didn't use enough thread. I could see that I wasn't going to be able to complete it, so I just laid it aside until the piece dissolved itself. This last time I realized it was the wrong thread altogether and ripped the whole thing apart myself. Other than that, I've only dug around in the sewing box a few times to fiddle with some coarse threads, some pretty threads, some threads that couldn't stay out of other boxes.
I gave up sewing for a while, but always held that needle so i could see through it to the other side whenever I felt the need.
Recently I came across another spool I'd acquired quite by accident, but perfectly so. I'd always imagined using it for my last piece ever, as nothing else I'd be able to make could possibly be better. The end is already trimmed and twisted, no coaxing or fixing required. And it's such a universal shade, catching pieces of the entire spectrum and making it more brilliant. Will it be enough? Will the knots hold? For whatever reason, I don't even care. This is the thread that I'm needing to sew with right now. To create with. And I have a sneaking suspicion that when it's all said and done that I can look back and be proud of what I've made with this thread, no matter the end result.
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| on my giant trampoline |
[26 Sep 2009|08:42am] |
i go bounce bounce
makes ya fall in love
with every ounce ounce
The good thing about having started sunrise yoga this week is that I'm up and moving again, she's gently kicking my butt so I can see and feel a difference, I'm in less pain already, and hey...look, I did something.
The bad thing about having started sunrise yoga this week is that I just seem to be up all the time now. Perhaps I'm having one of those "opposite reactions" to the cough medicine she gave me, or the anti-fungal that goes along with the antibiotic (which I finally started taking yestersday). It would make sense. The only time I ever took zoloft, my mom was trying to help me sleep. What resulted was watery diarrhea and absolutely no rest whatsoever for two days. For her, she's struggling to keep her eyes open with half-a-pill.
Things don't always work for me the way they're supposed to. The first drink I ever got from a Starbucks was when they finally opened one at the base of the escalators in the Oxmoor Mall in Louisville. Mint Brownie Frappuccino. I didn't sleep for two nights then, either. But ever since then, caffeine can't touch me. My body now sends out all sorts of caffeine-killing antibodies, apparently. A bottle of wine and then a nap? No, thank you. I'll clean like crazy. Beer still works, though. If I drink a beer or two and I haven't picked up the pace any...I'll be lolling my head from side to side before long.
I laid in bed reading (and talking) until close to 4am. At least that's the last time I looked at the time. Having had maybe four or five hours of sleep each of the previous two nights, you'd think I'd either pass out after the first paragraph of reading, or would at least still be asleep come 8am.
Well, that's what you get for thinking.
Of course I woke up at 8am on this perfectly overcast, nappable day and can't seem to get back to sleep. I have things I wanted to do, but if I get up and start doing them, will I crash mid-morning? There IS driving involved, after all. The warning on my non-narcotic cough medicine (which they HAD to write on the outside of the bottle so I wouldn't get busted, apparently...I couldn't just get some 'tussin?) says to be careful operarting vehicles and heavy machinery. That means I should probably avoid giving the dog a bath, too.
Anyway. I'm rambling to pass time and hopefully get sleepy again, but it doesn't appear to be working.
Chicago's less than ten days away. I couldn't be more excited about a trip, but strangely calm about the whole thing. I'm not nervous in the least. No anxiety. Just...excitement. We've been friends for years, so actually meeting and having the same molecules and atoms bouncing off of both of us doesn't feel very new. But it'll all be very much new.
What to do, where to go, when to go there, how to get there, what're we missing (besides Kathy Griffin). I don't even really worry about any of that. We could eat at Rock'n'Roll McDonald's (scoping out Wesley Willis fans) and maybe watch a movie and I'd grant the entire trip a Successful rating. There are plans though. Exhibits. Tea. Food. Maybe we'll avoid the heights bit. Walking. There's so much to see, we'll probably just end up walking for most of it and pop in here and there.
Oh, god...I should start packing. And I need to find that form where Honey had her last Kennel Cough shot. And laundry, I should really change the sheets today. Oh, and tsa regulations to see if I can manage just a carry-on. Cat litter...almost out.
sigh
I guess I'll just read again. And count down the days...(until I switch to hours and minutes).
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| so please be careful with me |
[23 Sep 2009|10:39pm] |
i'm sensitive
and I'd like to stay that way
It comes up a lot, about me being sensitive. Sometimes I get told that I'm too sensitive. But I like being that way. I feel like someone needs to be. I interact with people all day, every day. I witness firsthand the insensitivity of the general population. I see how desensitized people are to the wrong things. I see how that lack of sensitivity goes a long way and creeps over into other people and spreads like a plague on the most basic of emotions. It makes us selfish. It makes us uncaring. It makes us unsympathetic. It makes us happy with the way things are instead of realizing, "Hey...this crap we're fighting so hard to keep from changing could be a WHOLE lot better."
It's sickening, really. My gut hurts when I start to think about it. Sue me if I try to pick up some of that slack. I like doing a bit more, hoping that someone takes the hint and gets a little more sensitive themselves. It's not hard. Open your eyes and try to see things from someone else's perspective. Be open to the fact that you are not the center of the universe. That other people have feelings and opinions and thoughts that are just as valid and true for them as yours are for you. No one's right all the time. If anything, most people are wrong all the time. Get over it. It's going to happen. The things people do aren't necessarily done TO you, but FOR themselves. But we all take it so personally and get calloused as a result.
I just wish it were different.
I'm no saint, mind you. I drop an n-bomb and every homosexually-related epithet on occasion. I tell dead baby jokes. I laugh at horrible, wicked, gross things. I even, much to the dismay of my parents, chalked the campus sidewalks for The VAGINA Monologues!!! Can you believe it?! That's another story for another time, though. In any case, the things I choose to lampoon and laugh at and remain desensitized to are things that I don't want to have power over me or anyone else.
When you're called a name probably a million times over the course of the first 18 years of your life, I think you're allowed to own it. You're allowed to grab it by the throat and make it yours. It no longer has any sort of power over you. It can't hurt you. It's something that's spoken out of ignorance and vitriol...but neither of those affect you anymore. I refer to myself as a faggot. I'm a queer. Homo. Fudgepacker. Sissy. Fairy. Pansy. Polesmoker. Bugger. Puff. Poofter. And so on. None of those words means anything to me. There's no callous for these things. They just don't mean anything. At all. And if I can get one person who's younger than me to laugh at these words instead of being scared of them, too...then I've done my job. I don't care when people say "that's gay." I know that it hurts a lot of people, but those people need to learn that if we just shrug it off and don't care in the least...it will only make the offender look ignorant when it's all said and done.
There will always be people who're insensitive and ignorant. I even try to be sensitive to these folks. Maybe it is their fault...maybe it isn't. Sure, they have a choice in the matter, but any number of biological, familial or environmental stimuli has influenced their decision at that moment.
Eh. I lost this a long time ago. But the meat's there.
I'm sensitive and I like it. I think the world would be a better place if there were more people who were more sensitive.
i have this theory that if we're told we're bad
then that's the only idea we'll ever have
but maybe if we are surrounded in beauty
some day we will become what we see
'cause anyone can start a conflict
it's harder yet to disregard it
i'd rather see the world from another angle
we are everyday angels
be careful with me
'cause I'd like to stay that way
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| if you are a number |
[19 Sep 2009|12:00am] |
you're infinite plus one
and if I am four words
then I am "needing of your love"
My dad used to help my sister with her math homework when she was in elementary school. He'd come home from the bar every weeknight pretty hammered and she hated math. His answers were wrong, but she liked the attention and could blame someone else for not getting it right. Word problems were the worst for him. I don't think he meant to, but he used to make fun of me for enjoying math as I started to progress beyond basic arithmetic.
He'd make a sloppy comment about how math was supposed to just be numbers, and not letters. I'd attempt to explain how the letter is just a placeholder...it represents a number, just like the blank at the end of a simple addition problem. He'd just scoff and repeat himself. Math should be numbers, and not letters.
Insult. Scoff. Repeat.
But everything is math and unknowns. Are we to walk around with a bunch of blanks for everything we don't readily know? Perhaps it's the wordsmith in me, but I have no trouble putting letters into empty spaces.
As far as math goes, in personal matters I prefer geometry over calculus.
Two points. They might be on a graph, a map, a plane or just out in imaginary space, but there are two points. The shortest distance between them is a straight line. They form a segment, suddenly - something to measure and quantify. Throw another random point out there and connect the first two to the new point with lines as well...eventually they meet at that third point. Somewhere else.
With calculus, there's the matter of limits and infinitely approaching something, but never meeting it. The incriments get smaller and smaller until they've split the smallest atom in half. But you can always just cut that half in half. And then that half in half. And so on, never actually reaching the destination.
With geometry, there's a convergence. A joining. A complete object. Enclosed space. There's a definite answer. The distance between these two points will get smaller and smaller until eventually there is no space between them whatsoever.
No space, just two points meeting at a third point.
the blue?
there are no boundaries
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| we're holding time in our hands |
[15 Sep 2009|09:06am] |
and it stops when we say
when we say
The wedding was as close to perfection as anyone could get (THANKS A LOT FOR THE TISSUES, ASSHOLES). The trip only had a few snags - one of which was how short it was, another was Bert going after Honey and Honey attempting to annihilate Bert as a result. The car was gassed and returned to the airport without incident (hopefully Julia's deposit has been returned by now). In a short while (I'm attempting to be lazy, but getting up at 7 to take the dog out and not getting right back in bed doesn't really help me attain that goal), I'm walking to go pick up my car finally. I left them a voicemail on Friday asking for an estimate on an oil change and two new tires. They'd had the car for two days and I hadn't heard anything at that point. Yesterday I was still in KY and missed the call that the car was ready, but I wouldn't be back until after they closed anyway. I called back, but it went to their voicemail again. Oh well. So...walking in a bit, but I'll have my car back.
All the stressors have melted away for a bit, then, I think. I have another trip to plan, but that's actually the furthest from being something that's stressing me out. Denver's calling. Phillip'll be there. Nina Flowers might be involved. I shan't say anymore. :-x Except that it'll probably be the best trip ever. Like, in all of history.
I'm kidding. European Vacation may have been a better trip. Maybe. Wait, I hated that movie. Nevermind. Best trip ever.
It's fun having people that you've 'known' for years and then to suddenly learn a whole lot more about them. At that point, it's almost like having a double friend. A mirror of themselves. But you two were already emotional mirrors of each other with lots of unspoken understandings and similarities...add that new mirror and voila you have a funhouse full of screams and laughter and everyone's trying to guess which way is out without actually having a desire to leave. That, or you've got Stacy and Clinton making fun of your favorite polka-dotted culottes.
Just sayin'.
No matter what kind of weird crap life might toss my way, I've got things pretty darn good. Especially right now.
Naptime, I guess.
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[07 Sep 2009|07:09pm] |
It's just a patience game now. Nothing to be done at the moment except await prognosis. It always seems to fall that way. I'll wait for a while with some minor car issue because I hate going to mechanics and as soon as it gets fixed...something else unrelated happens.
I finally went to get new tires since I had that one with an incredibly slow leak. The week I decided I was going to get new tires, the leak sped up. No biggie. Two new tires and a renewed lease on life. No matter how minor that leak, I always drove (even home a few times) with a nagging little fear waaaaay in the back of my mind that I'd have a blowout while barrelling through a curve going 80mph.
The tension lifted as soon as those two tires made their way on. I even enjoyed my ride home and almost went back out again. Good thing I didn't.
The next day I went to go suit shopping. (It was a weekend to drop a lot of money for various reasons, which also always makes me nervous.) The car was a dream out to the Galleria. I parked in the garage without issue and spent a couple hours grappling with not overspending, broken a/c, and hating the way my body looks in clothes (it's even worse out of clothes, mind you).
When it was all over, I felt good. The tires had been fixed, I spent way less than I'd originally thought I would on the clothes, and certain personal, social aspects of my life have been a lot better lately.
As soon as I started to back out of the parking spot, however, it sounded like I'd run over something. I didn't feel anything, so...I had no idea what it might be. I went ahead and finished pulling out (because someone was waiting for my spot, oddly enough) and went down a level tgo get out and see what I could find. Nothing. But when I turn the wheel, the noise is there again. When I'm up to any normal driving speed, I don't hear it. I can do corners and sharp curves without a sound, but if I'm going less than 15mph, there it is again.
Interweb research time. CV joints? Coil spring? Loose tire well? sigh Could be anything, really. And of course it appears to be worse last night on the drive home so I start freaking out even more. Research research research. Worry worry worry. Sleep was punctuated and restless. Dreams dreams dreams.
And of course this starts friday afternoon and appears to go away so that I would either have to be without a car for the entire weekend (which I'm scheduled to work), or wait until TUESDAY because Monday's a holiday. TODAY's a holiday. Great. And I open the next two days. I had planned on heading home either Wednesday when I left work or first thing Thursday morning, but...now I just have no idea.
I have no idea exactly what's wrong, if it's been detrimental driving on it for these past few days, if what's wrong will be covered by some supposed magical extended warranty for this exact problem, and if not, how much is it going to cost, and if it's a ridiculous amount, how am I getting home for this wedding on sunday and then getting back and what about the dog and then everything and all of it. sigh
I'm fine.
Just exhausted.
It'll all work out.
I could use a couch session/snuggles/britcoms/pot of tea/blanket/dog on my feet/etc...but it's all good.
I feel better getting it out of my head for a few minutes.
And this is an incentive for us to movie into a cheap place up the hill behind the store.
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[07 Sep 2009|02:55am] |
I was looking for something, but instead found lots of somethings.
There was a very particular event I wanted to find, but had no clue when it happened...except that it happened at some point after January 2004 (the inception of my livejournal). Having lived it the first time, it's hard to pinpoint the list of emotions and thoughts that surfaces when one reads an entire year's worth of thoughts over the course of a couple hours.
I tried skimming just to find this one event, but even just glancing at every third word reminded me that there's a part of me still alive in these entries and on this timeline. I relived and was reminded of countless events, even ones that weren't mentioned specifically...I was back in that cluster of moments, living it all over again.
I really wish I could put into words what I'm feeling, but...eh. Even then, it wouldn't be enough. I need a little time to digest what I read...to reevaluate what I've dealth with and what I haven't. To plug these figures back into the equation and make sure I come up with the same answer.
It's nice to look back and see that I've moved on from so much...but at the same time I want to curl up in the middle of the floor, away from walls and doors, and let those memories fall wet from the corners of my eyes and into the cracks of the hardwood.
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