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....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
Friday, August 09, 2002
Wednesday, August 07, 2002
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?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I missed Classic Country. They're going to kill me. (Not really, but it'll be close.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
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?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I missed Classic Country. They're going to kill me. (Not really, but it'll be close.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
Tuesday, August 06, 2002
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.
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.
Sunday, August 04, 2002
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.
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.)
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.
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.
Saturday, August 03, 2002
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?
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?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)