I am not going to think of you. I am determined not to. It's silly to like you this much. You are a crazy bastard, but that's okay, I've know a few. And the few I've known, well, we were good friends. Partners in crime...

You remind me of someone I used to know, but much better. But really, I'm not going to think of you.

Starting now.

Seriously, I should not have as much fun as I do going through the classic country mp3s. I could pin down exactly why I like them, but that would be to admit something that really should remain a mystery to everyone else, and frankly would be a reason that would reveal my true evil nature.

But that still doesn't mean that I'm not here enjoying this, after the past couple of days that I've been having. Yesterday was pretty bad. It makes me want to buy a screen or something to keep the germ-laden clueless coworker from my cubicle. I know she sneezes all over everything and worse, she'll cough on you. And that's not counting the diarrhea incident that made me want to go home and bleach myself.

And now I'm off to listen to more music.

So I'm going through my mp3 collection of classic country, and "Honky Tonks And You" sounds more like a PSA than a song title. Like, "What You Need To Know About Honky Tonks". Let's see...is that song....?

No, it's not, not that I can see. This song needs to be made. Just like "Audience of One" that I was working on.

There's one awesome thing I love about the bar I go to, and that's the hilarity that ensues. I had forgotten about a couple of stories from the past few years that were hilarious.

Two of them are from my neice's birthday parties. One year, they had it a gymnastics center. Of course, there was the foam pit. I learned a great lesson that day: fleece sweatpants and foam do not mix. About a billion children were jumping into the pit and bouncing right back out. Looks easy, I thought.

I weighed 180. And I was wearing the aforementioned sweatpants. These factors are important.

I jumped in. That was the easy part. As I tried to get out, however, the fleece stuck to the foam, and I kept sinking. And because I was sinking, it got harder to move. I swear to god, I thought I was never going to get out of that pit, almost to the point where I panicking. THANK GOD FOR FIVE YEAR OLDS. One of them was pushing my ass out of the pit, another threw me a rope, and I managed to escape.

Of course, my brother was standing a few feet away and laughing. Thanks, dear brother.

The second one is the birthday at the Inflatable Things place. Because I was hungover, naturally my younger nephew wanted me to come with him. So I'd help him up the slide and slide down the inflatable slide. Being heavy isn't bad, especially by the end of the party, where I decided to jump at the end of the slide, thereby catapoulting children onto the slide, but they didn't so much as slide as tumble down. At some point though, I was in a bounce house, bouncing around. The hangover hadn't quite worn off yet, and on one particular jump, I tripped a little, and bounced right into the netted wall of the thing - nearly taking it with me, toppling it over. I let out a horrified scream. But the wall bounced me right back to the middle and it remained upright.

The other brother saw that and was laughing. "I wish I had a camera for that!" Thanks, brother. I'm sure you wanted your daughter's party to end with a trip to the ER. That, and I think I need to get new brothers.

The really awesome one was the State Fair story with the mylar. The theme was weddings, and we had a ton of mylar hanging from the ceiling. When we took it down, I grabbed some and then wrapped myself in it. Then I stood on a push cart like I was the Statue of Liberty and my cousin wheeled me around.

I mention it because I think I'm gonna do that for Halloween. Now to get ahold of a big roll of mylar...

I'm really fascinated by projections on buildings. It's really amazing, and I wonder what it's like to see that in person. It's pretty cool.

I keep thinking about you. Why, I don't know. You are crazy. Gainfully employed, but crazy. I hope you made it okay, I'm a little worried that you might have fallen asleep somewhere and didn't wake up. So maybe I'll text you later. Or not. I don't know.

But anyway, I do hope you call me when you get back. You are hilariously crazy.

Wow.

I got a call. I tried not to lick my phone in excitement.

Now, to call back, and try not to sound very stupid about missing the call at 1 am. I think that's gonna take the better part of a day to think of something that doesn't make me sound like the dork I am.

Oh, but I will call back. I'm determined now.

Today's activity is getting in touch with my inner teenager. Yes, I'm over 30.

Of all the music that I have and that I've lost and stuff...I totally forgot about REM's Green. It was my favorite to play, and I love just about every song on it. I don't know when I lost the CD...but hearing "World Leader Pretend" on not just one but two of my tapes brought it all back.

I am happy that I rediscovered it.

"Dreams they complicate my life"

Who could forget "Stand"? I spent many, many hours listening to that, TMBG, Depeche Mode. Oh, and "You Are Everything"? Awesome song, more like a poem. The only thing that sucks is that Erasure's Crackers International is rare, and no one's got it...so I guess I'll copy it from my brother's collection. I really hope that he still has it, because there's a couple of songs on it that I love.

"The Hardest Part" That song is beautiful. *sings* "That's the hardest part of it all, for you, is to live your life with nothing at all..." As is a particular version of Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence". God, I think about all that music that I listened to when I was a preteen/teen, and I've forgotten those songs, cast aside by shiny newer music, but now it feels more that I've come full circle on it.

All because I lost my iPod, and I can't stand the radio, so I had to resort to tapes. Old tapes, at that. And sometimes the past becomes the future, a younger self talks to the older self, and maybe all we have is memories, but sometimes memories can pave the way for some future better. Reconnection of what was lost or forgotten to the present and to dream in stereo, in color, and to remember who we were and hopefully who we are is a better version.

"This is my world,
And I am the World Leader Pretend.
This is my life, and this is my time,
I have been given the freedom to do as I see fit.
It’s high time I razed the walls that I’ve constructed."

Dear Texan,

I will call you tomorrow. I have decided this, as a last ditch effort, to know if you really wanted to call me or not. Either way, I like you, but if the feeling's not mutual, I'm okay with that. But still.

I like you.

A lot.

And I will call. If nothing comes of it, oh, well, life is like that.

Sincerely,
Me

I need to buy this. I really do.

And I hope, that no matter what happens, fate smiles upon me today, in one way or another. I'm getting really annoyed by disappointment lately, but hopefully it'll pass. I think it has to do with the crappy week that was this week.

And I feel a little lost without my iPod, but I still have tapes. Tapes, in fact, which have music that I haven't listened to in years, and is not on my iPod.

Alone in the Night.

It's the same thing I'll write because I'll write it again and again, and it never stops, this, it just doesn't. A soul to be free, in infinite free, away, not here, wandering, enjoying, having. But not to be. Not this life, not the next, not in a thousand years. Grasping at nothing but the wind and the sky and the clouds, there remains only me, because life is fleeting and ever-changing and now will not be then, and there will be no then of my dreams, just another now. I try to resign myself to this fact, to make myself stop dreaming this, because it is fruitless and insane to think that I am any more than a smile. That I mean any more to a person than just a good luck charm, a worry stone, nothing more nothing less. So my feelings hide deep within me and I guard them as a starved cat would guard their last morsel. I try, but I try too hard, or not enough, and either way, the result's the same, nothing changes, and I'm stuck on the endless loop of traps and wants and needs that are never fulfilled and never will be.

Boring and pathetic, lonely, it matters not the feeling, as they start to become interchangeable, and for a few fleeting moments, a bright spot, I can live, but then, back to the endless drudgery of living, because nothing in my life stays forever, and never will, and that which I have will be gone in a moment's notice, just because, no reason needed. And I'd like to think I choose it this way, but then I dream, and I want that dream so badly, but in my heart I know it will never happen, and my head tries to convince itself that I'm being stupid.

Dear Fate,

If it's not meant to be, I do understand, but don't actively get in my way.

That is all.

Sincerely,

Me

This is pretty awesome.

Break Dance Stop Motion from ben wheatley on Vimeo.

I do not want to go back to work tomorrow.

I want to run away. Far and wide, anywhere, somewhere, here and there, everywhere, nowhere. Just something different that isn't the same, a little slice of something, of life, of joy, of peace. No more calls, just out in the world to be, to exist as if I was a timeless entity, which is how I feel most of the time, if only anyone would listen. No debt, no indebtedness, no love, no hate, no embarassment, nothing to remind me of anything, because I like not being reminded that I have obligations to attend to, as if the world will collapse if I don't hold it up. Free to be a person in the world, the silent observer, hiding, watching, breathing, living for the fall of a leaf, a blade of grass, a sliver of joy.

Instead, I will go to bed, alone, dream my dreams of other planets, of love, of hate, of magic, and then the buzzer will ring, and I will wake up again, clothe myself, and steel myself for the fresh new hell that awaits me.

Fuck if that doesn't annoy me. Now I'm determined to finish my story, because I think people will read it. And it doesn't remind me of anything.

Fluid Sculpture from Charlie Bucket on Vimeo.

This is really cool. I want to make one now.

Ooo...and here's another video that I'd forgotten about. This is very interesting.

Elephants Dream from Blender Foundation on Vimeo.

Heh.

This is a really cool story.

The Cat Piano from PRA on Vimeo.

More about The Cat Piano here.

Oh. My. God.



Far too funny.

This is really funny:

Cynical Bitch for the Evening.

You said you would call. I chuckled, because from experience, I know it's not true. You did not call, nor would you. That's just how it is. At 31, nearly 32, I am very sure of one fact, and one fact alone: he will never call. And if he does manage to call, it's only for one night, and one night only, and therein is the rub - more ways than one, but the basic point still stands.

No one ever makes time for a bar slut. Of that I do know. It's annoying, in a way, to know that you embody a movie trope, and it will get you laid, but you have be around willing people who want to be laid, who like you as well. Or ply them with beer.

No one will ever truly like you enough to date you; you're just a thing to them, a notch on the bedpost, and in a way, that's comforting to a girl like me, who is terrified of commitment, who hates the word "love", and doesn't really want to be in a relationship. Last time I was in relationships, I got kicked one time, sexually assaulted another, so I'm not fond of the concept. But it's hard, growing up in this society, where you learn that that is want you want, that's what your parents want for you, but it's not necessarily what you want, but you have to humor the old folks. The bitch of it is, they're in nursing homes, not even aware of any of that, and if they are, they don't care one way or another.

I'm always fighting that part of myself that hangs onto my mother, to tell me that I want a husband and children, and the other part, that wants to have a companion and foster kids over 5 years old. I don't want to be pregnant; I'm not willing to have someone's kids. Unless they're forlorn and forgotten; I can sympathize with children who've lost parents to drugs or illness...that is what made Kat awesome. "Oh, you're my new mommy," she said, and of course, I was like, "Hell, no", but in a way I was. Den Mother, or more aptly, I felt better dealing with teens than with toddlers. I don't want to be pregnant, nor do I want children of my own. But the draw is so great - once you get past those years, they grow up so fast. At least, that's what's been promised to me, but I don't see it.

So I call tomorrow - the Texan (a different one!) and the young guy and leave voice mails. Either way, it doesn't matter to me. Call me or not, I know what's going to happen. I'm not naive nor stupid - no one will call me back, which makes the guy in Chicago win with actually continuing to talk to me or text me, though two hours away, and has a hectic schedule. It is worth it.

If guys only knew how simple it was, they wouldn't be such fucking chickens, right? Y'all assholes only have yourself to blame...

updated to reflect clarity, seeing as how I'd had a few drinks with the rosemary rum...it truly is a thing of beauty

So far, this week hasn't been that bad. It just sucks that I have my exam tomorrow, and I've barely studied for it. I know I'm a fool. I just can't wait for November, when I go to Seattle. That's going to be awesomely fun. If that week is just as fun as this week has been, then hell, it's going to be one hell of a bday.

The creepiest game ever. I remember being in tears when I made the alligator worse.

Actually, wait...the one that had me tears was the hippo, because if you do two things in succession, it will throw him into psychosis or something. His eyes get really red and bulgy, and you have to electroshock him. That's the one that had me in tears.

Awesome.

So I emailed the suspicious looking post about the iPod. Hopefully, it's not mine.

The thing is, I am meticulous about keeping records. And mine's laser etched with a particular inscription from a song from a not well-known song by a well-known band. And "well-known" could be arguable, if by "well-known" you mean "known for three songs in the late 80s from their sellout album". The inscription is from the album before that...wait, two albums, if you're a geek with the complete collection like I am, the one before they released the remixes/b-sides.

I've limited my geekery to one band and all of the music associated with the one band. I'm Untergeek, an awesome force.

I was going to write about a whiny screed about a guy I like.

But then, there's StumbleUpon.

I'm glad that my mom raised me right; never tell the police anything. If you're in a room, the two questions you should ask are - where is my lawyer? and Am I arrested?

Revolutionaries. To The Core.

I hope that Young Guy knows this. But they'll get him anyway.

So I updated a few things on my myspace page. Not a lot, a few tweaks here and there, as well as making it public. I need some new pictures on there, because that was 30 pounds and Mr. Asshat ago.

And by "some", I mean "one in particular". Except I'm not terribly good at taking pictures of myself, I'll have to enlist help. It's one picture that I really want to do, because it sounds totally awesome. I've got a very short red and black beaded skirt, my red thigh highs, black boots, glittery makeup, lacy tank and red fishnet shirt. Oh, and a red glittery cape. Actually, it's what I'm thinking of wearing for Halloween, if it's not too cold to wear the skirt, because that fucker's freeze-your-ass-off short.

Oh well, we'll see.

Ah, breakfast. My favorite meal of the day. I sometimes make elaborate creations, because nothing is more awesome than starting your day with yum.

One that I like that isn't necessarily breakfasty is black bean soup with poached eggs. Today, though, I used the curried noodles I made last night and threw two fried eggs on them. Pleasant and yummy, slightly spicy but doesn't burn your taste buds clear off your tongue.

I share my dad's love of non-meat-and-potatoes food. That's not to mean that I don't enjoy a good steak every now and again. And I'm very fond of spicy...why I dated two guys who hated spicy is a mystery I'll never solve. It's just not the same if you have to add hot sauce to the chili after it's done cooking.

(Heh, on a side note, when ExFiancee first had chili over at our house, he damn near died. The three of us were looking at him like "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" and he managed to squeak out that it was too hot. From that day forward, my mom set a non-spicy bowl aside for him, while the rest of us waited the extra minutes for the "normal" stuff. He learned to ask, "Is this spicy?" before sampling anything potentially spicy in our house. Because "too spicy" in our house was that your mouth went numb and you couldn't taste anything for three days. And then I managed to date someone again who couldn't handle spicy. BAH, I say. It's just not the same without Sriracha. Tabasco's for people who have no taste buds and want to burn them off anyway in a vinegary solution.)

But now that I'm thinking about it, we never really salted anything in our house. We used garlic, ginger, other spices, hot sauce...but never really salt. My mom didn't believe in it. I mean, I may add a pinch here or there, but that's more than my mom would do. (I'd sometimes sneak into the kitchen, take a taste, and throw in a pinch if it needed it.) I watch the Food Network, and my mouth curls at the sheer amount of salt they put in things. You don't need to put salt into scrambled eggs, they're fine on their own. Cook 'em in butter if you want a lot of flavor.

And this whole long-winded thing got started because since I have time on my hands, I'll make myself elaborate breakfasts. The thing is, I'm also really lazy. The dishes are piling up, and I'm far too lazy to put them in the dishwasher. And then I won't feel like making anything because then I'll have to try to make something on a crowded counter. Which means then I'll sit around and debate with myself on whether I should go get something, but that would require dressing, and I'm too lazy to get dressed, but I'm really hungry...and oh look! There's a power bar! That'll hold me for another hour or two!

I wouldn't win a gold medal for laziness, but I still get lazy every now and again.

Dear Fate,

You suck. I mean that. Really, really, really suck. I was looking forward to a lovely five days without idiots on my phone, to lay around, play video games, go out drinking during the week.

But no. I had to wake up this morning feeling like crap. That I'm coughing and I can feel the giant snot weasel that must have crawled into my lungs during the night and made itself at home, utterly happy to coat the inside of my respiratory system with mucous.

Thanks, Fate. And by "Thanks", I mean "Fuck You".

Sincerely,
Me

I find it funny, the pity party. I'm quite good at it, which is why I don't date people, because no one wants to be a witness to that kind of thing.

What goes on in my head, and my feelings, are mine alone, jealously guarded, never meant to the see the light of day. And I throw the pity party only because I share my feelings with people - in this case, a text that really isn't strange or bizarre or anything, and perfectly reasonable. But it threw me off the deep end, only because I shouldn't have said anything at all. That's me, oddly enough, that when I share my feelings and thinkings, I've just threatened myself into depression. I'm out of my comfort zone when I talk about my feelings and stuff. I'm far more comfortable talking about things and concepts that don't directly relate to me. I can talk about music, going to college, food...but not my feelings. In my head, when I do manage to say something, my brain starts blah-ing, like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon. "Wahwah wah wahwah." Often, if I start talking about it, my mind will suddenly stop working. My super awesome memory becomes fuzzy, and it's like I'm not there, not really, and my brain tries to occupy a different corner of my brain, and I never remember what I say, because I don't want to remember that I said anything, because I wasn't supposed to say anything, at least not aloud, and who the fuck wants to really hear how I feel, because it's boring and mundane, and no one cares, even if they were the ones that asked.

When I got my hair done, she asked me about my mom. I don't remember the conversation, because suddenly I wasn't in my brain anymore. It's kind of scary when I think about it, because I'm the person that recall exactly word for word a conversation about something that I had four years ago, but when it comes to feelings, I don't remember. I don't want to. I don't know why I do this.

I'd love to seek help for this, but I don't think I can. First, I'd need to be able to talk to a stranger about it, and I can't. Well, okay, I'm telling the internet, but the internet is different. I expect that the internet is going to be a douchebag and laugh at my emo-riffic screeds. But actual people and face-to-face? I can't. But leaving that aside, it's the feeling I get when talking about it that I hate and would rather avoid. I'd like to stay in my brain please.

This is why I pretend that I'm the happiest person in the world. It's not that anyone's really going to know any different, and most people don't care enough to scratch the surface. They've got other things to worry about, other things to think about. Everyone always forgets about me, because I'm not the center of the universe, and I don't fight for attention.

So I think the answer is yes, I am insufferable.

It's the full on pity party.

If I'm going to put on the pity party, I might as well go full total pity.

I put it on.

The eulogy.

That my mother recorded.

Before she died.

Because I told her she wasn't going to live.

It was a simpler time. I used to have love in my hands, you know. Now, it slips through fingers, ungraspable, and will never be again.

I never believed in that "one love" thing, but sometimes I do now, because I let it get away from me. The choices were "my soul" and "marriage", and I foolishly chose my soul. I suppose I will never have the happiness I seek, a person to share my dreams with, because the dream is dead, and has been, for so long. I give up. With every guy I meet, it's the same thing, will always be the same thing, will never be anything different. It will never be. I will never find the peace that I so desperately crave, because I crave it. It will never come.

It doesn't matter the choices I make, the prayers I pray, nothing. Nothing changes. It's always the same, and I want run away. From myself, the world, everything. I try so hard, I try so little, and it doesn't make a fucking difference, and I'm realizing, it never will.

"You are all the most important persons in my life"

Stained with tears, the CD won't even play. And now, Fuck You, Fate. I know you hate me. I even fail at having a pity party.

The world can end now. I'm too chicken to commit suicide.

I have the strangest dreams.

There were four of us, two standing on one side of the couch, and two others standing on the other side, all dressed in 1950s fashion, and I was a guy. Except I kept falling off of the edge of the couch, and it was couch-like, in that it looked like a couch but we were standing on it, not sitting. Not your ordinary couch, more like an M.C. Escher couch. I was holding on for dear life. And the other people just kept talking, and when they noticed I was hanging on for dear life, they just laughed. They had no problem with standing on the couch.

I finally woke up and ended that dream.

On side note, I rarely dream that I'm a guy, but when I do, I'm always in some 1950s fashion. Pants, sweater vest, pipe one time. This time it was a suit. I have no idea why my brain likes to link the two.

I keep finding really funny shit. Like this. I'm just too lazy to put the pic on my blog.

On a side note, I hope that life looks nicely upon me for once. I doubt it, but a change might pleasant.

Alright, so this is funny too.

But I hate it when the pictures don't have context. Is this from a contest? Some random person? Someone trying to make a point?

Why the hell do people do this?

This is really funny.

No fucking idea what show it's from, but it's hilarious:

ROAD RUNNER FUNNY CLIP - Watch today’s top amazing videos here

I think a lot. It takes up most of my day.

I think about the strange timing of things, the bizarre coincidences that happen, things like that. I know that pretty much it probably doesn't mean anything, but still...my timing is all strange. Twice, now, there have been times where I just went to the bar to have a few drinks, not meet anyone - like I was going to anyway, at that bar! - on a random day on the weekend, and I've met guys.

The thing is, every time I think about how I really do want a relationship, my brain points me to the reality of having a relationship. All those times, the stupid fights, the compromises I'm uncomfortable with, being vulnerable.

I am terrified of commitment. I feel myself cringe at the word "girlfriend" now. It truly is a terrifying concept. Which is so, so hard for me. I want to give my heart to someone, and I'm rather generous with love, but I don't want to be taken advantage of ever. I fear that for myself, and rightly so. My mother was always afraid that would happen to me, and there was a time where I saw it too, and ever since then, I've been very cautious, because I have to be. In that way, the terrorism of childhood that I experienced helps me to be cautious and cynical of other people's motives. My first nature is to be loving, my second nature is to be hopelessly cynical. And yes, I will be cynical to the point of ridiculousness, and will use it as both a defense and a weapon, but in the long run, it is what keeps my heart safe - from disappointments, from heartbreak, from self-pity.

There are a few of us in the world who would gladly give up a loaf of bread and jar of jelly to starving man, because he says he is starving. I am one of those people. I will buy cans of organic soup and organic beans and organic pasta, because why shouldn't a poor person have the same access to food that I do? We all should have healthcare, single payer, because then we're free to move from job to job, go in when we need to, and not worry about how cancer is going to cost us - or even that creak in the knee that we really should get checked out, but don't, because we've got a high deductible.

I used to take solace in going to church, but I don't any more. I can't. It's become too political, too strict, too suffocating. People will go to church and say their magic prayers for money and love and acceptance, but ignore everything else. Those parts of the bible that require you to forgive debt against your brother, to turn the other cheek, to stand up to injustice and inequality, to help the poorest of the brethren of mankind. To realize that you can aspire to be holy, and you'll probably fail here and there, but to forgive yourself for your failure as you forgive others, and continue on to be the best human that you can. This, all of this, I realized at 15. I give my pain and suffering to God, the worst parts of pain and the endless suffering and victimhood, to God, because God can take it. I want it to go. And if it begins anew, I give it to God again, because there's only so much a person can handle. I'm not into God for the moral judgment and slut shaming and superiority, I'm in it because in the worst hour, God was there for me when no one else was. I try not to let those fuckers who want power take my faith from me, but it's hard sometimes. And somewhere along the way, I got disgusted with it.

But this big heart I have, that's full of faith and love, is at odds with things like commitment and obligation, and worst of all, people's perceptions of me. I like to know what people think of me, because it sometimes produces hilarious results. Mr. Asshat, ExFiancee, my mom...everyone else as well. I don't open up a lot, for the reason that people will form wild-ass opinions about me whether I say anything or not. And again, it was interesting having "spies" tell me about what The Terrorists were saying about me. So far, throughout my lifetime, I've gotten:

- I'm total slut who sleeps with anyone.
- I'm a complete psycho.
- I'm extremely pure, sweet and innocent.
- I'm a complete bitch who will beat you up.
- I'm a lesbian.
- I'm totally a judgmental privileged preppy.
- I hate men.
- I'm a total prude.
- I am naive.
- I know everything.

The truth? I'm just a standard person, with faults, failures, successes, and hopes and dreams. In my world - what I truly believe - is that we are all standard people. Sure, we have differences, which makes life enjoyable/interesting or soul sucking/boring, but really, we're interchangeable to each other.

Maybe that's why I don't like the term "girlfriend". That's really putting me into a box that will never fit me. I'm a person, not defined by other people. Influenced, yes, but not defined.

And now I have to go to work. That really sucks.

The nephew turns 5.

This child and I get along well. It's kind of eerie how well we get along. I am amazed. He does a lot of talking. At 3, when I took him to the mall, he suddenly sat down on the floor, and refused to move. No temper tantrum, no screaming, but a ten minute discussion on how we were going to leave, and that he could come back to the mall later, and how it would be more fun to leave if we pretend we were swimming back to the car. And the pain! The child comes up with so many ways for "his guys" to die, it's really amusing and disturbing at the same time. The whole elaborate setup of "guys" and ways they have to die.

(I really wonder where he gets this. He really doesn't watch anything too violent. One wonders if it's all Oswald and Pinky Dinky Doo.)

But anyway, he starts school soon. And it will be hilarious, I bet. He's very cautious around strangers. He has to observe first, then go ahead.

I can't wait to hear it.

I do hope that you call me again, and that it wasn't just a one time thing.

She said, "I think he likes you. But he's also a heartbreaker."

Inside, I nearly died laughing.

First, I would have to be in love for that kind of thing to even happen, and I'm not. Love is for other people who aren't me. Second, unless he sexually assaults me, beats me, or isn't respectful enough to be honest with me, there isn't much one can do to break my heart. All three of these things are not just crimes against my person, they're crimes against my soul. I'm a really tough bitch, but a fair one, and I'm a resilient creature. Life is so fucking short, I'm not about to waste it. I mean, yeah, sometimes I do with all the whining about not having a boyfriend, but it's just pity party whining and well, people sometimes feel sorry for themselves. But in my day-to-day life, the nitty-gritty of it, I just don't care.

But this makes me think of something larger that I've been mulling over. I can't really open up and be myself unless I drink. I try to sober, but I have to get to know someone enough to be comfortable doing that. And even then, I can't. I just can't. There are things that I just can never talk about ever. I can write about it, pages and screeds and a thousand words, but I just can't talk about it. Or, rather, the circle of people that I can talk about it with is getting smaller, and it irritates me. So instead I write, because I can, because that's all that I have left. Paper and pen have never let me down. Neither has the computer. And in writing that out, it almost makes me want to cry, because that's a bit pathetic, isn't it? That I'm trapped in a verbal world when all I can do is write.

Of course, she also said, "Christ! You're wearing Crocs!" like it was the most offensive thing in the universe. Which made me laugh. Hard. "Yeah, well, it's Sunday, and I'm walking around. I want to be comfortable," I replied, which is true. "I'm not going to wear high heels when I'm walking about." "You wear high heels?" "DUH! I'm short. Of course I wear heels, the higher, the better."

Really, I'm a classy broad. But Sunday is for milling about.

And I still hope that he calls again. And I think I'm going to stop writing right now, before I annoy myself with my pathetic ramblings.