Useless

I told Mr. Blond a little of how I felt. Now I have to get up the courage to ask some more. Oh, and to ask his reaction to a few things I wrote about him. It still makes me feel useless. And I know damn well that all good things come to an end. I know it will happen...but I am impatient and I want to know when. Oh, well...

Some Wisdom

Another day, another beer, and how would it feel, if you weren't there anymore?

I feel like screaming in an echo chamber. I feel like crying so hard I barf. I feel like hiding in the forest. I feel like running away. And it's all for you...all for the pain that I drive myself to when I think of how I feel about you...or maybe I'm just thinking of myself in relation to your soul. I have a million and one questions to ask and a million and one statements to make and I just can't muster up the courage to tell you how I feel about anything. Didn't you know that's reserved for those few who've earned the privilege to hear me speak my mind? It's too soon for flowers and hopes, and never for me, this I am sure of. You speak of things that confuse you and cause conflict but those are things that I've mulled over and forgotten years ago. How can this be? It's the wisdom I tell you. So I will drive you to distraction, I will point the pretty girls your way, until you don't notice me anymore. This is how I have to be for I deserve nothing. Oh, I can love but I'm not one to be loved...it depends on how many hoops you want to jump through. Ten, twenty, thirty? A thousand? I am patient and I can wait forever for you to leave my presence, I will encourage it, I will throw nails in the road to puncture the tires. To know what it is to love me is to know the feeling of being hit in the chest with a truck. I do not put up walls; I carefully construct mazes that twist and wind and ultimately lead you back to point A. To love me is to be in a race of endurance...I will never give up this or miss an opportunity to disappoint, dismay, cause dislike. If you don't love me then I want you to hate me. A little sad, a little confused, but mostly bitter and dramatic. This is how I am. This is why. I must keep my distance lest I fall in love and think we mean something. So I will always drink up unhappy until I am alone, utterly alone, and there's no more hoops left in the closet.

Of Crack Whores And Other Things

I feel kind of flattered. The crack whore visited Mr. Blond the other day and he tried getting ahold of me to shoo her away. Maybe it's not all in my head after all.

I saw John at the Hipster Bar the other night. I actually talked to him. I hate full moons.

I had a beer with the Artist. It was sooo nice to talk to him seriously again. We had the best serious conversation last night. I miss him. He is a good friend and I love him to peices. I hope his life gets straightened out.

I found out something interesting about Beady Eyes. Heehhehehe. I'm going to call her bluff about something. Hehehehehe. I'm good at what I do.

Just a Four AM Thought

I was reading the back of a tampon box. Right underneath the dire warnings about Toxic Shock Syndrome was a list of what a tampon was made out of (rolled cotton/polyester, cotton/polyester string, plastic). What did they choose to call this section? INGREDIENTS, of course. I am amused....

What to realize...

I have just realized the hopelessness of my situation with Mr. Blond. Not that I didn't know it before or suspected that it would come to this, but I never dared to let myself think it.

I think I'm falling in love with him. I'm going to cry.

One
I don't say that "L" word lightly. Mostly my affection for anyone can be considered on the "like" level. That means I enjoy their company...and in the case of guys, I'd occasionally sleep with them. "Like" is a very comfortable place for me to be with someone; there are no strong emotional attachments, no real and binding obligations to that person. It's more of a friendship term. The Big "L", however, is a whole different story. It's "like", it's jealousy, it's being so comfortable it makes me nervous, it's insecurity, it's security, it's craziness, it's dreams, it's nightmares...it's everything. Because I don't just have emotions...I completely and intensely feel and live them. So to even express that the "L" word is a possibility takes a whole lot of courage. To actually say or think it requires the courage and trust that I don't readily give to myself, much less another human being.

Two
I'm trying to completely and totally convince myself that I'm not contemplating the "L" word. There's a funny thing that happens with me when that word comes up...I can find faults with people. Breezy infatuation doesn't lend itself to the time it takes to realize that someone is just a person with faults. But because this is me we're talking about, the "L" word only magnifies it. I refuse to think it. I can't think it: He's not my boyfriend...We're not dating...I'm not as interesting/intelligent as he is.... Because of these things, I have to stop myself from ever using that word to describe how I feel about him. He most likely does not feel the same way about me so I must remain silent so as not to look foolish and simple. It's also too intense to think about. I have to play calm and cool lest I do something so stupid that we couldn't be friends. It's happened before...twice. The first was my fault and I will suffer in silence because I don't have the courage to admit to my stupidity. The second wasn't my fault because one can't help how they feel about someone and it's only natural to warn them of what emotion is occurring. That was John. But John also figures into the first stupid thing I did. I don't just hate John; I hate myself for ever liking John. But it was more than "like". I refuse to go there...I should just stop thinking about it...which is hard, because once that "L" word appears, the torture begins anew.

Three
The "L" word makes me feel uncomfortable. I want to run and hide. My first reaction to this is to never speak to Mr. Blond again...to learn to ignore his presence (sound familiar?). It's not that I want to pretend he doesn't exist; I want him to pretend that I don't exist. No one in their right minds would love a crazy gargoyle like me. I'm downright ugly, mean, and cruel. (Yeah, that fault thing? I get that way about myself....) And the bitch of it is that this has absolutely nothing to do with the other person. It's all me and my horrible negative feelings. I feel so stupid when I get the feeling that the "L" word is possible...like I should know better than that or something. (Soundgarden: "Love's for everyone who isn't me".) I don't want to do this though. I don't want to run and hide. I don't want to feel stupid. ("So, what'cha thinking?" -- If you only knew.) I don't want to be frozen in fear over the Big "L". But I am. I am scared, petrified, terrified...and I can't seem to shake it. I can't even discuss it with anyone because I get that scared. I feel like running. I feel like doing something that would force a total rejection. At least then I'd be able to deal with that...rejection. That's more comforting...that's the thing I know best and would rather deal with than the Big "L". But it's way too late to pretend to be trivial. I've gone too far to pretend to be the charming Bar Mouse. And I also hate myself for that...for putting myself into a corner like this. How did I get in this situation?

Bar Mouse. That's how. And it finally burned me.

I thought that I'd take a stab at Mr. Blond. It wasn't successful, of course, but it was worth a try. After all, if it didn't work, there would always be another. What did I have to loose? TS -- the one who was seventeen years older than me -- wasn't around as much and I was getting annoyed with his...opinions. I didn't quite believe the same things he did but since it wasn't going to get anywhere near serious (it was just a fling, after all), I wasn't going to express anything that smacked of my own opinion. So it eventually burned out, which I expected and didn't much care about. Time to move on and the target was Mr. Blond. A shot in the dark. Curse me for picking out a decent guy. A decent, intelligent, sweet, evil boy. I could care less that nothing happened. I was happy that there was a person who was actually smart. (Cosmic? Scary Liar? Beady Eyes? Cat Eyes?...the list goes on. Trivia is nice, but it doesn't take the place of real thought. That's why I liked drinking with the Artist. We were just friends, drinking and talking, no sex or anything. That was nice.) Curse me for being attracted to intelligence (and a black trenchcoat). I wanted to kiss him but didn't because, well, I genuninely liked him. And I know myself well enough that he would be a type I'd fall in love with, and that's not what I was after. I tried to pick up other guys and it just wasn't working. I wanted to get laid. But then I spent more and more time with Mr. Blond and now I'm in this quagmire. The sad thing about it -- what makes this so hopeless -- is that I've been wanting a serious relationship again and beginning to piece myself back together to do it. I wasn't expecting anything like this to happen. I wasn't thinking that I'd be falling into Love's trap this soon after deciding that dammit, I want a real boyfriend. But it's not real, I have to keep telling myself. (See number Two above.) It's just one of those quasi-dating relationships again. AGAIN! Did I not just swear those off? And from what I gather, he doesn't feel this way about me. That just compounds the hopelessness of all of this.

I just wonder when the moment of indecision becomes the moment of decision. Which side of the coin will it be....?

Those Things To Say

Beady Eyes just doesn't get it. Neither does Cat Eyes. I don't understand what their problems are. First, a guy's looks have absolutely NOTHING to do with his personality. Second, if he looks good but he's a fucking jerk, then DON'T try to start a relationship with him. He's only good for trying to get into his pants. Third, sex does NOT equal anything...it's just sex. A physical reaction. It has nothing to do with love or like or anything other than horniness and getting laid. Granted, when it's with someone that you actually like, then it's rather pleasant and feels better than anything. But it is not the sum of a real honest to god relationship. Grr. Who are these emotional simpletons I hang out with? I'll never know.....

Of Just Randomness...

I overheard a conversation in the bar the other night, when I was drinking alone. It was just after the incredible tale of Superhero Bartender who cornered a bunch of punks vandalizing a person's yard:
Woman: I don't get it.
Man: I'm asking how you feel about us.
W: What do you mean by that?
M: There's a word that describes it. Exclusitivity.
W: Oh. (Takes a sip of her drink. There's a moment of silence.) I like you a lot. I really like you.

(That's not what he asked, but that was an interesting answer.)

M: But how would you feel?
W: I'd be jealous. I'm the jealous type. That's because I like you. A lot.
M: So then what about us?
W: *sighs* I know what you're getting at. I don't know if I want to talk about it. Would it be great? Yeah, it would. But you have to understand that I have trouble trusting people enough with anything. Do I want that? Yes I do. Remember? I said I was tired of going home with other guys from the bar and that I was looking for a boyfriend. I was serious about that. The thing is, if that's not what you want, then I don't know how to react. You're asking me these things without telling me how you feel about them. So what then? We hint around until it becomes pointless? Or do we actually tell each other what our expectations are? I prefer to have a boyfriend, I would like it to be you, but if you just want to get in my pants, then just say so. I'm not stupid. I mean, of course I'll be hurt if you just want to get laid, because I do like you more than that, but if it's not that serious between us, then I have no rights to really say anything. Not my place. I don't get jealous very often and when I do, it more than makes up for what I treat with indifference. And this would make me jealous. So I'd back off so as not to offend you. But I don't know what you're intentions are when you ask me these things. Why don't you tell me what you're thinking about that?

But before I could hear the rest (I was bored, after all), Beady Eyes came in and sat down next to me. Oh, well, at least maybe I could squeeze somewhat of a poem out of that. Hell, I did when it was two people talking about honesty in serious tones to the point that you knew one was going to break up with the other. Sometimes the bar is rather amusing.

I like useless tests.


Which movie heroine are you?

Just Another Damn Nugget

A hypothetical question (among other questions, and this is the point where I said "I'll think about it") was asked of me and I'm not sure how to respond to it. I have this thing where I have to avoid tough questions. Given the situation, part of me wants to say, "Go ahead, do whatever you want, why are you even asking because it's not my decision" (if, in fact, there was that implication there). But then there's the other part waving flags, shooting off flares and pointing to a warning sign. "There are things here," it says, "that you don't want to get into. Give it up and move on, even if it's worth it to stay, even if you care deeply enough that you'd chase crack whores away, even if it means more to you than you'd ever say. You're a loner, remember? There's more than one out there...dime a dozen. You're being forced to share an opinion that is better left unsaid. Remember the last time you got the goofy idea to say anything? Yeah, I know you do. Just keep that in mind. We won't let you forget that. All it boils down to is that you're just a silly girl with silly ideas in her head and no way to ever know if anything's mutual. Don't you get it? It's all in your head. Now, be a good girl and have another shot." How does one combat such brilliant negative arguments like that? Oh, and if it isn't that: "You know everything comes to an end. It's better if you make it sooner than later. Face it, you're the only one who decides if you're happy or not. So fucking be happy alone already. We're getting tired of these little games and stupid emotions." So on go the pair of headphones to drown out that noise. Which doesn't really leave time to think about other things, such as phrases in German, spoken to me while I'm drunk, probably to ensure that I'll forget what was said. Just like that hypothetical question. I'm inclined to play Bar Mouse with this and spend the rest of my days at the Palace of Rock. But then, that's not what I want at all. What I want is the ability to be able to say all of this without the fear that I'll be immediately asked to leave. Totally irrational, I know, but hey...I am crazy, rememeber?

Note to L: You're my favorite skrew. Hehehehehe.

A Note

Dear James,

It's been a really long time since I wrote you but one day I randomly saw someone from childhood...Hosea. Yeah, what a shock that was, not to mention other things which I believe I dicussed with you last time I saw you. You know. Anyway, he said that he had met you and that you had told him all about everything...which I find hard to believe. You know me well, James, but not that well...oh, wait, you do. Well, it's not like I can help it either you freak, I just have to talk to someone and the Liar just isn't the person, which you oh so elequently pointed out to me. Oh, and little Cosmic has gotten better. The Artist is better too, though he's slipped a bit. And I made a new friend...Beady Eyes. She's not that bad...as long as she's on the upswing, if you catch my drift, I'm sure you do. Why do I attract the crazies? I'll never know. The reluctant prophet. That should bring you a good laugh, dear friend. Hey, guess what I'm listening to..."Facing the Wall"....hehehe..."Facin' the wall / feeling lonely / but it offers me a place to cry unseen / facin' the wall / feeling lonely / I can't face the room with all these shattered dreams...". I love that song. You know why. How much heartbreak should a woman take before it gets worse than crying in her beer? And even worse than that...I can't listen to Eminem...."We're out of our medicine / out of our minds / we want in yours / let us in...". Yeah, I've been okay. Got problems though, and I'm sure you can guess what they are related to. I'll give you three guesses...No, not him....No, not him....No, not him, never in a million years. Yeah, add one to list, pretty soon I'll be able to have my own trading cards...hehehe. There's a difference though. I like this one. Yeah, yeah, I liked the ones before, but I really like this one....and no, don't you dare bring up that "L" word again. I'm determined to leave that out of it, after you know who. I'm not, in case you were wondering...the term I used is "like" so leave it there. I'm just afraid it's another "I like you more than you like me" things and you know how I get about that. I'm sure I'll look back and laugh at some point, but not now. This makes it what, three times this has happened? Oh, by the way, Hosea brought up "Wicked" and that irked me some, because I believe that there was an agreement never to bring it up. I'm not all that mad, though, because he picked up on it immediately, or so he says because I'm very sure that's how you told it to him. But who knows...Hosea knew me well enough. Still kind of does and it's been years, and it's creepy yet comforting. And I know what you'd say to that horoscope of mine: "Bold? God, you're practically dykish already! Bold's the last thing you need..." but you know I'm a total chicken when it comes to feelings. After all, how long did it take me to 'fess up to John? Months? And I knew I'd regret it. You even knew and you tried to stop me. I'm surprised you did that...after all, between you and me, we both know about that horrible self-destructive streak I have, and you usually let me go through it. I guess this one was pretty bad...and it's always getting worse. You know me..."What little voice in my head?"...and you know about me being gracious to the point where I should wear a sign that says "Doormat". Hosea wondered about that...wondered what happened. Maybe I'll save that conversation for some other time, another letter. But you already know, I suppose. Well, I've got to go...time for coffee and Tiki. Maybe I'll come up with a solution to my predicament. Chances are...not, but hey, I can always hope. Give my love to Cisily and crew, write back soon, and I promise to write more often...I swear.....

Music

My life is a musical and I can't sing.

Metallica: "And then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel/is just a freight train comin' your way..." And she's got red hair too...she will destroy what she touches as she slinks around the neighborhood waiting for the perfect moment and the perfect man. Oh, believe me, she is good...the predatory female. Challenge and the thrill of the chase. She laughs carelessly at broken hearts and broken dreams. Her soul is her own. She will fight to be free. No caring for her.

A Small Interjection....
She longs for the soul she used to play with, an imaginary friend of sorts. Oh, she knows he has light colored hair and once lived in sunny California but isn't sure if the house she saw was there or somewhere else. When you enter the front door, there's a hallway directly ahead and one can see out through sliding/french doors the backyard with trees and the sun poking through them. She is not sure if it dawn or dusk. Through the hallway, the kitchen is on the left (a counter with stools divides the space) and the den/living room is on the right. At the front door, there's a stairway on the left and other rooms, one left and one right. The stairs lead to a second floor landing, which has a railing and a table against it, with a runner. There's a vase on it. There's a picture of a flower done in watercolors. The master bedroom is on the left, in the middle is another bedroom, and on the right is another room/bedroom. Whose house was that? She will never know. She has no idea of the person it belongs to, really, since she's never seen a house like that. If she saw it, she would recognize it. But for now all she does is wonder what that has to do with anything.

Dave Matthews Band: "These crimes between us grow deeper..." She doesn't explain much, least of all about herself. She tries to talk about other people instead. It is safer that way. She does not have to reveal anything then. Oh, the talk of ghosts, the talk of anything, she realizes that she's crazy, or that someone's going to think that and slap the labels on her. She will fight if she has to. Things Left Unsaid. That's the note to the crush she had on some guy who was oh sooooo smart but was an asshole at the time. And then she reads it again and realizes that it applied to John. Suddenly she wants to burn her pretty book with poetry and pretend that she can't read or write. She can't stand herself, how could she expect anyone else to?

Soundgarden: "Save it for your own and the ones you can help..." Her advice always goes unheeded. She wishes that there was someone who would be grateful for the world of knowledge she has...an apprentice of sorts. A person to take under her wing. But no one wants to gain from her. So she sadly waits out her days...

And that's all I feel like writing. So there. Amuse yourselves at The Caption Machine. There's another funny post there.

More Randoms

My Horoscope from Astrocenter.com

In so many ways you seem to hold a lot of aces in terms of your career and major goals in life. The Sun, Mars, and Jupiter in Leo, indicate that you certainly want to get ahead. Yet the amount of energy you are putting into your life may be in conflict with the way in which you are naturally inclined to operate. You find yourself having to be up front, showy and also in a position where you need to openly promote yourself in quite a forceful way. This rather runs against the grain for you, as you really prefer to do things more quietly, and to operate subtly from behind the scenes without others really knowing what you are up to. To have to be quite so explicit is rather difficult for you. Yet this is what is going to bring you the results you so desperately crave right now. You will not get anywhere by pulling silent strings, but only by going to the other extreme and making a fuss about your smallest decisions. Self-promotion is the name of the game - so whether you are trying to attract the attention of someone you love, attempting to win a major contract, or beat the rising tide of deadlines, then remember to be bold and very, very open.

Sure....I have a hard time going against the grain of my being. And yeah, this could apply to something in my life at this moment...now that I think about it, I was forming a bold plan of action for something. Of course, if I dare mentioned what it was, there would be people I would have to kill.
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My friend had her wedding. It was a very nice shindig...but I felt like an outsider to my friend's life. I feel kind of cheated...I am a better friend to everyone else than they ever are to me. I do things for people or provide emotional support for them but at the same time, they would never in a million years ever do that for me. Don't you see? I'm the strong one. I'm the one who cheers people up. I'm the one who gets called in for crisises/termoil/chaos. It makes me bitter at times. I never get to be myself...at first, I was scared that my friends would drop me if I did, but then I started to relish the fact that I am a completely different person than they know. They know the character I play for them. They don't know me. Worse, I feed into these illusions because who I am suddenly became a personal thing. Yeah, on the internet, if you ran into me, I am generally myself, but I'm anonymous here and therefore can be myself. I play characters in real life...Bar Mouse, Party Girl...loud and boisterous, quiet/shy/coy...you name it, I've prolly pretended to be it. The short and cute girl at the end of the bar will play short and cute...but she's also very smart, extremely clever, cunning, and evil. Cloven hooves and horns are too obvious for Satan...if there is a Satan, it's going to be the most sickenly adorable person on earth. (Porter Wagoner: "Satan is real, working with power...".) I can play stupid and often do. I like to lie while making eye contact. I guess sometimes there are points in your life where you just feel a bit jaded, unoptimistic, and bitter.

I only say this because I should have been the maid of honor. I wanted to be. The first person my friend asked said no, then she asked me, and I accepted. When it became clear that the first girl regretted saying no, I graciously backed down. I did it for my friend who didn't need squabbles and such. Why am I such a good sport about such things? Why am I so gracious to other people? I don't want a big wedding because EVERYONE will be fighting over who would be my maid of honor, and no doubt there would be outright hostility among my bridesmaids. No one can get along just for my sake to keep me happy. And nothing ever changes. I have new friends now that act like that. I can't take much more of this. It makes me want to hole up in the middle of nowhere and just hide away from people with my only contact to outside world being a computer and internet connection.

Now only if I could find a guy who would like that sort of thing, I'd have the perfect life. Alone together.

Is that too much to ask?...Who am I kidding? Yeah, it prolly is, and I'll just have to settle. Grrr. Oh, well, I've got better things to muse about right now. Like, how the hell I'm going to brush my hair....the hairdo we had used about a hundred hairpins and lots of hairspray and now I have to try to tame my hair. Grrrrr. Double grrr. On the plus side, my 'rents went to State Fair, so hopefully they'll bring me back cheese.....

Random Thoughts

I left a note for my friend on her car. She's the one who's getting married. I told her to remember to breathe. She needed that little note. And all I have to ask is "Why?" Why do I do these wonderful things for people? I never get things like that in return...but I do them with the thought that one day my kindness will pay off and my little wishes come true. Wishes. They're just hopes, that's what any wish is. And like I said, I wish pretty hard for lots of things....
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I had a strange realization the other day. I'm not sure that I'm really going to share it here (I do have my limits). It was just an odd thought that snowballed into a realization. And it's one of those realizations that are contradictory. I like something but I'm afraid of it. Now that I think about it, it's not that much of a secret...I have written about something related to it before. But it does certainly explain a lot. I'll have to mull over it for a while to figure it out....
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I had a weird dream today. I dreamt that I was at my coffee shop and Beady Eyes was there. I was sitting outside on a bench and drinking my coffee. She suddenly came out of nowhere and started mubling to herself. (She does have an actual mental illness. Thank god it's a cyclical one.) People were there and they were yelling at her and saying mean things. She got up and said, "I'm going to go for a walk." Her voice was flat, monotone, and her eyes were...weird. Not exactly glassy...trancelike, maybe. I got up and said, "Oh, do you want some company? I feel like taking a walk too." She just mumbled in reply. I said, "You're not going alone. Remember what happened last time? I'm coming with you." It was an odd dream.
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A funny note: Go check out the latest post on The Caption Machine. It's really funny. And check out Sentimental Hardass. That one is kind of cool too.

Not Even A Nugget

I saw John at the Palace of Rock. I was all the way at the other end of the bar. I hoped he wouldn't see me but he did. Bastard. I ordered my shot of tequila and walked over to him. I should have stayed at my end of the bar. He kept talking about nothing in particular...and by that I mean himself. I don't care enough to know that much about him anymore. He's inept and it embarasses me that I even liked the son of a bitch. What in God's name was I thinking? But as I think of it, as I read my book of random musings from last year, I knew what he was and what would happen. I feel so cheated. Why on earth can't I ever believe my own intuition?
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My friend is getting married. I'm so happy for her. Two of my friends are pregnant. I'm really happy for them. The Ex has a new girlfriend now. I'm happy for him. Why isn't anyone as happy for me when something nice happens to me? I put up with so much jealousy that I don't know what friends are really anymore. I'm not jealous of anyone...I want them to be happy. I wish the best for them. I feel cheated if I think about it so I don't. I'm happy for them regardless of how I've ever been treated.
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Today an old memory sparked its way into my head. I was twelve or thirteen. I liked fruit punch soda and my parents would buy it for me. Little did they know that I was pouring vodka into it, a little at a time. Then I got scared and vowed never to touch liquor until I was twenty-one. I did occasionally have the spiked egg nog at Christmas but it tasted pretty bad so I don't really count that. Even when I was legal, I never went out and drank. That is, until I met John. Fuck you -- I mean, Thank you, John. Bastard. He remarked that to me yesterday...last year around this time, we drank every night for a month and a half. Now I laugh at him. I'm way more well known...and loved...and given free beer to at the bar. I'm the Bar Mouse. It's not just a title; it's a job. (Description: Audience of One.)
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I missed Classic Country. They're going to kill me. (Not really, but it'll be close.)
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On the plus side to all of this, we have bacon AND spinich in the house, so I can make a hot bacon dressing for the spinich. Mmmmm. Tasty.

What To Do?

A million and one mistakes float through my mind as I sit and ponder the existence that I've carved out for myself but that statement is a lie because it's the existence that someone else has deemed appropriate for me and so I have to wonder what would be my existence if I had control over it? But in some ways I do have control over it because I live to rebel against the system in ways that cannot be traced to me and in ways that they will never know until it's too late because then the damage will be done. I know I'm too smart for my own good and I wonder when the Thought Police will come and get me and "rehabilitate" my behavior, my thoughts, my feelings for I am sure that one day society will see me as smarter than them and I'll be hauled off somewhere to live life in a box just like my stick figure people but they eventually escape and wreak havoc on the unsuspecting world. That is how I feel, living in a world of giants, all taller and somehow more intimidating than me and they seem to think that they're smarter too but they're not any smarter than anyone else so they better be on alert because when I escape from my box I will wreak havoc on the world in my own small way.

Stop Me While I'm Ahead

I've found the inner writing voice but I can't stop writing and a million and one thoughts plus infinity float and whirl around in my head until it shorts out and I have to listen to music but I can't stop listening to music because I only listen to the same six songs that are permanantly stuck in my head. I'm a junkie, an addict, of writing, of music, of caffine, of nicotine, of alcohol and at any one time I do them all or just one just to placate the thoughts in my head but it doesn't seem to work and I know that I've got to find a new outlet but the one I'd want to choose requires a risk that is unhealthy to take and I told myself that I would stop doing that. I want to break free of the same song and dance and when I feel that I'm close to breaking through the mire that I'm knee deep in the sands just swallow me back up again and I hit the wall with a resounding thud so loud that people turn around and stare at me as if I'm some sort of freak which I really think that I am but I don't want to admit such things because I'm better off as well as you if both of us conceede that I'm normal even though neither one of us are. The thoughts in my head circle around and around until I want to scream from sheer annoyance or boredom or hate or some other silly emotion that I feel because I'm the master of circular arguement which I learned because it's just another way of being a smart ass or a dumbass and at this moment I'm not sure which I am but I'll let you know when I've figured it out but I doubt that I will if the circular whirlwind continues. This whirlwind makes me crazy and I laugh at the candy ravers and potheads and acid freaks and anyone else with an addiction because I have my outlets which is to obsessively write poetry about light and dark and my preference for the latter because it is in the night that I am in my element which leads me to believe that I'm not normal although we've been over that one before. I'm suspicious that I'm just plain evil and the harsh light of day magnifies times a million all of the things that are wrong with me and the world and sun burns shame into my soul even though I have not done anything wrong and I am quite like the other failures that grace this neighborhood but the night soothes my gentle soul into a dreamworld where I can revel in the coolness of night as the breeze envelopes my psyche so that I can heal once again. It's almost like one of those role playing video games except that it's real life and it sucks like that because all I want to do is to stop the whirlwind of thoughts that circle around in my head but I'm addicted to writing, to music, to caffine, to nicotine, to alcohol but I can't seem to shake these obsessive outlets because there's only one thing I really want but I can't find it but I shouldn't look for it because it will just be too risky even for me so I guess that I will continue to write and drink coffee and smoke and drink tequila until the day comes where I haven't a thought in my head.

This Just In...

My horoscope for the week from Astrocenter.com:

Your place in the world, and your ideas about your main goals in life seem to be a huge issue for you this week. One way or another you are determined to make your mark, and let others know what you can do. You seem set to steal the show, and be in the spotlight for most of the time. Jupiter's recent appearance in this area of your solar chart has given you both courage and faith. Sometimes you need this more than others appreciate, as you don't always feel as brave as you appear. The conjunction between Mars and the Sun in Leo, both in trine to Pluto mean that for once you aren't particularly worried about being subtle, or using underhand manipulative tactics to get what you want. As far your career is concerned you just want to blaze a trail straight to your desired outcome, without having to worry too much about what others may do in retaliation. Mercury moves into Virgo over this week, and this may be your saving grace, as at least it will help you realize the necessity for manners when it comes to being in social situations. You will 'seem' nice, even if you do have the killer instincts of a shark.

If only. Um, but I guess that last line is really about me. I am, after all, charming, disarming, and really fucking adorable but I'll just as soon bite your kneecaps off if you get me angry. (For L.: *Knock on door* -- "Who is it?" -- "Landshark." -- "Who?" -- "Candygram." Yet another SNL reference.)

Alone

It is in these lonely hours that I contemplate...too much thinking, too much soul, whirling emotions, and not enough people. I regret not getting up and going to the bar. At least then I could be alone in the crowd. Instead I slept, wanting to keep dreaming the strange dreams I did. In one dream I saw the dark-haired figure at the coffee shop, sitting with Mr. Blond and Evil Jay. "You're a sorceress," he kept saying and I kept telling him no. I was eating dinner with a family that hated each other. I was in the bar crying. I don't have anyone to really talk to execpt my imaginary friend James. He's the one who knows it all, including all of the stuff that I choose not to write about. I miss my pretty Kitty. I miss having a boyfriend to cuddle with and hold onto and tickle to death. Sometimes I feel desparate about that and actually, I am desparate about it. I want too much and it never happens. I hope it will. I just wish I was at the bar, listening to music, singing along with it, drinking. The other night I noticed my eyes in the mirror. Mirrors are bad when I'm drunk; I have a tendancy to stand in front of them and hate myself for being me and for being stupid and desparate. My eyes are nearly green. I have very little brown pigment left in them. Maybe if you wish hard enough, it'll happen, and boy do I wish hard. It's just one of those days and one of those nights. I feel dumb tonight so I guess it's okay that I'm not drinking. I wanted to go to my coffee shop and see if Mr. Blond was there but I made myself sleep instead. I did something dumb when I was a-smoking the crazy smoke and now I feel like a moron. Really, I do. I don't know why the crazy smoke makes me hallucinate, it's not supposed to...the whole world becomes surrealistic, like night is day and lights are strange and I see figures pointing out where I should go. I should have known better...only smoke my crazy smoke, it's better that way, and I don't feel like a moron or do anything stupid when I do. I'm feeling odd again...I know too many people and it's making me crazy but I can't stay at home because I'm a zillion times lonelier there than I am if I am out. The collection of souls around me drives me to distraction but I know that I can't stop collecting souls. Why is it that I am simultaniously a loner and charasmatic? Why do I have people surround me like the proverbial moths to the fire? I am not different, I am not special, I am not unique, I am not anything but one person, yet people still want my presence. But then the people I want to be around aren't always there, and I, I am always afraid of abandonment. I'd rather run away first. But I don't want to run away. I want to stay. It gets so confusing being alone with my whirlwind of thoughts. I don't know anymore but I still care. I care about everything except myself. Why should I care? I'm just another person, human being, scourge of the planet. So what I can't drive home after bar time? What does it matter that I die and take a few frat boys with me? I don't care. They don't care either, not really, otherwise they wouldn't be so stupid. I want someone to tell me no. I want someone to care enough about me to really think I should remain around a few more years. But it doesn't happen that way. It doesn't happen that way because I am a master liar and can lie my way out of anything if need be. I'm tired of lying about driving home. But the thing of it is, if I don't, then I feel like the world's biggest nuisance and I have no right to be drinking if I can't at least be able to get home. Sometimes I confuse myself.

I really have to stop taking myself seriously. Really. It's getting a bit silly.

Serious Musing

Actually, now that I remember it, John did do something. He turned and cringed. Bastard. Then he got up off his couch, went into his room, came back and started singing a song with the word "goodbye" in it (I can't remember what the song was). And then he acted like I hadn't said anything to make him go away for awhile. As I sat there in silence, I contemplated killing him. Hell, if I'm in a bad enough mood, I still contemplate killing him. Now that he's back ("from outer space"), I can't stand the sight of him. I just desparately want him to go away. I'm training myself to be ignorant of his presence. Now that I have a more pleasant distraction in my life (Mr. Blond), it's so much easier to forget John exists.

Wow. And I think back to The Writer. I really liked him. He is 34 or so, now married, had been divorced twice. He lives elsewhere now but occasionally I think of him. We talked more than we had sex and it was okay (or, rather, okay...I just wanted to get laid). That was the pick-up experiment. The memory of The Writer leads to another memory of sleeping with (once, and it would never happen again) a Palace of Rock regular (who isn't a regular anymore). That was a bad idea. A very bad idea. (So was having sex with John, but that's a whole 'nother story/really fucking bad idea.) And then I think about Hoopdy Boy. I never slept with him. (Which is just as well. That probably would have been a baaaad idea.) And then there was just a radom guy I slept with. That was the end of the experiment. Could I really just randomly pick someone up at the bar? The answer is yes. (A November scorpio...and yes, they're not as wussy as the October ones.) The only thing that surprised me was the person who is seventeen years older than I am. I had no idea he was that old. And I really liked him a lot. But then I lost interest in him. Why I don't know. Maybe because towered over me by at least a foot. Maybe because he wasn't my type of eccentric. Maybe because he was so much older than I was. Maybe because he stopped coming to Classic Country Music night. Maybe because I like Mr. Blond.

Or maybe I just got tired of quasi relationships with guys. But here I am starting one again. I'm going to get burned. I know it. I'm going to get hurt. Or maybe I just fear that I'll get hurt. Maybe I just assume that no one ever really likes me. Maybe I assume that eventually I bore people to death. Maybe I assume that I get annoying after awhile. I start to feel bad about it. Maybe I feel that I get obsessive when I have no right to be. Maybe...too much "maybe". How do I ever survive it? Simple!

It's all in my head.

I wish I could trust people. I wish I wasn't so weird about sharing my feelings. (Of course, I take comfort in the fact that I choose to believe that NO ONE reads my weblogs. My friends say that they do, but knowing them, they don't read it regularly. I also prefer being anonymous...and in being anonymous, it is much easier to be who I am. Real life is just a game and I get to play interesting characters.) Or maybe I find anything that approaches a real relationship threatening. I think that's the one. The idea of being that close to someone actually frightens the hell out of me. I'm intensely private; my thoughts, my feelings, my past is my own, my own to wallow in and contemplate. Sharing it with someone else is scary. I don't want to share it with anyone unless I get married...and I will get married and it will be for life. But then there is Mr. Blond. I cannot not share my feelings with him. It just comes out with ease. And that makes me feel uncomfortable. I end up wondering exactly why I have no control over it. The most hilarious thing about it is that was how I felt about John. I could tell John anything. I could even let him read my poetry and -- gasp! -- my book of random musings. And this is how I feel about Mr. Blond. I have to physically restrain myself from saying things (which, by the way, he has a knack for knowing and trying to beat it out of me!). And that is prolly why I like him. I can be myself. I am intensely afraid that I will say something and then he'll never speak to me again (big wonder why I feel that way...). Since I have this fear, I vow never to do that to someone. I may not like or agree with what is said, but I'll listen to it just the same. That is just how I am.

And then the five year relationship comes back to mind. It was fine and dandy. That is, until he did something that so deeply hurt me that I couldn't stand his presence. It should have ended in that one moment. I should have thrown him out of the house. The only thing that stopped me...the thought of having to explain it to my mother. There are so many things that she does not know about and has no right to know. I waited for a long time before doing what I had to do, which had to happen. It was inevitable that it would come to an end. I held on for six miserable months...and dammit, I'm so sorry I did that. I feel really low about it now. It was so stupid of me to treat anyone like that. But then the devilish voice in my head says, "Oh, yeah? And what he did was nothing? So you're the bigger heel? Society really has you in its grips now...." And all of this whirls around in my head while I clutch my coffee (or beer) and wait for Mr. Blond to appear. At least I feel better when he's around. I want to be his friend forever. Then again, I wanted to be John's friend forever too...but that was different. I walked into it knowing that he was a complete asshole and that, despite my hopes, we wouldn't be friends for long. John is like a child; dealing with him is like dealing with a fifteen year old brat. I guess I only have myself to blame...the relationship was really predictable. I just was mad that he was so fucking stupid. I made so many jokes and comments to him that he not only didn't get, but didn't get after I explained them at length. (An example: We were talking about crack rock and I made a smart ass comment about hitting him with a real rock. It was fairly obvious what I was talking about. But he just kept on going with the idea of crack. That is, until five minutes later when it dawned on him that I was referring to a real rock. At that point, I took my hands off of my beer mug. I was this || close to hitting him with it. But this anger makes me feel like a hypocrite...Mr. Blond tells many jokes that I don't get. But the thing is, he explains them and then I get them...for the most part. Maybe one or two escape me, but hey, I'm a moron, remember?) But there's more to his stupidity, though. He just really was a dumb person. It was so bad it made me cringe. His stupidity physically pained me. But he was sooooo pretty I dealt with it. I think the fact that he was an arrogant asshole pissed me off...I didn't have tolerance for him. I'm okay with the rest of the world. Or maybe because I really, really liked him and I couldn't tell him that because I knew he'd never speak to me again inspired my psyche to hate him. That made it too difficult to deal with. That made him a stupid person who not only didn't know his own feelings, but couldn't handle anything that had to do with real emotion. I have no tolerance for that.

And now, imaginary friends, I have to stop writing. Actually, the fact that I wrote this down makes me feel better. I already am thinking my night will be good. Writing...the only therapy. Ah, isn't life grand?