Spring Awakening
Monday, October 3rd, 3am:
I should learn to communicate with more simplicity. What am I gaining by being so verbose?
I write as I do most things, in a needlessly complicated and stumbling manner. It would make sense if I were clumsier. Or, rather, it would not be surprising if I were clumsy. I am not, typically.
I shouldn't be awake right now. I should be doing more school work since I am awake.
Sunday, October 9th, 11:30am:
I have so much of the day ahead of me. I wonder if I spent less time wondering about frivolous things, truly useless things, would I be able to understand Descarte by now? It has been some time since we last spoke. I had a nightmare about you and your lover. I hate the word lover. I have grown used to using the word lover in a context that I have never enjoyed in practice. I wish I knew of a better term. All terms for someone's significant other that doesn't fit into a category (ie- boyfriend, girlfriend, wife, husband, mistress) sound objectionable. Is there a male form of mistress? Inamorata might be good- it sounds somewhat clinical and somewhat magical. There's a level of detachment associated with it because it's not a term I think I could recall seeing outside of googling a synonym for "lover".
Still, this is by far the longest we have gone without talking since we met. I think of you daily. I long for a connection to you because your absence is an uncomfortable weight around me. It is only because I am being difficult. Because I choose to set limitations on the people around myself. If I were more accepting of the people you wanted to keep company with this problem would never have occurred. If I had never found those photos of her naked on your phone, and then years later on your computer, this problem would never have occurred. It's a matter of pride. But I truthfully have none, so really it's a matter of will. I also feel your decision not to let go of her hand in order to keep me as a friend is a slight against Isis. Against the kitten, who spends so much time these days calling out into the small open space of the room we occupy- feeling alone. I hope she is far stupider than I give her credit for.
In my dream you had tied Stassney into compromising positions with brightly colored nylon ropes. She seemed to be enjoying herself. She seemed happy and at peace in a way that I can only imagine other people living in my dreams. You were ashamed, and I was frustrated, which felt familiar. Then I left with Gilbert, which was particularly weird because you were always kinder and more available to me than he ever was. That was by far a terrible relationship. Ours had it's good moments. I can't imagine what my next one will be like, if that ever comes. If I ever allow it.
I have much of the day to myself.
I have done a little bit of cleaning.
I have done a bit of reading.
I need to get the lightbulb changed in my kitchen. I am not sure whether this is something I can do myself or if I need to put a work order in. It's circular. Fluorescent, maybe? It gives off the sterile blue-white light that is universally unflattering, so I am pretty sure it's fluorescent. If that's the case, I think I need to have someone else change it. I might be too quick to assign my problems to other people to fix.
Yesterday was grand! Lies and I drove north to see Coll and Dig. We had a potluck brunch, but I fear that the bulk of the cost of it rather unfairly slid toward Coll and Dig. Digwust is an entertainer, though, and he likes to over-feed people. He'll be a great grandmother some day. He made fried grits (he called blind fish, it's a very southern thing), french toast, a berry trifle, watermelon, and bacon. Lies made chorizo and eggs. I made croissant wrapped little smokies. They were the cheese infused kind, which are as delicious as they sound bizarre. All food sounds bizarre though, if you put too much thought into it. We all bought some cheap champagne and I brought Simply Orange Juice with pineapple, which no one was enthused by, but everyone drank, because my friends are kind. I will never try to be fancy with orange juice again. I had coffee with creme de cacoa and Coll had coffee with Baileys and once we began the drinks didn't stop pouring from 3pm- 10pm. It was a leisurely day. A quaint kind of excess that I never would have imagined being able to partake in. It was the first time I had felt somewhat put together in a while. It was like being the friend of the Barefoot Contessa, only probably considerably cheaper and with much more butter in all the food- so maybe like being friends with Paula Deen but without the casual racism? I imagine Paula Deen has a lot of lazy brunch days. I imagine all affluent white people do. So maybe there was a small bit of casual racism.
I intended to study because I have a test on Tuesday, but I was unsuccessful. Instead we watched I Know What You Did Last Summer, chatted about nothing in particular, as friends tend to do. The night devolved into drunkenly trying on various wigs, listening to weird mash-ups that would play in a gaybar in Oklahoma, promising to one day visit this gaybar in Oklahoma, and finally our hosts passed out during the original Queer As Folk. Littlefinger was a dream and I could never have imagined the guy from Sons of Anarchy being so tiny. So twinky.
It was the perfect kind of throw away day that you don't remember until you're becoming senile and long for the simpler parts of your youth. The type of day you wish all other days were.
I have been on my medication now for about a week, less yesterday, because I didn't think we'd be out all night and forgot to pack it. I feel no different. I think it might have been harder lately for me to create, but I don't want to blame that on anything just yet. I have had thoughts, but then I neglect to begin writing. I don't really feel like painting. I would like to work on my musical some more, but I have grown fearful of it. It's become overwhelming. The idea of completing something.
I should learn to communicate with more simplicity. What am I gaining by being so verbose?
I write as I do most things, in a needlessly complicated and stumbling manner. It would make sense if I were clumsier. Or, rather, it would not be surprising if I were clumsy. I am not, typically.
I shouldn't be awake right now. I should be doing more school work since I am awake.
Sunday, October 9th, 11:30am:
I have so much of the day ahead of me. I wonder if I spent less time wondering about frivolous things, truly useless things, would I be able to understand Descarte by now? It has been some time since we last spoke. I had a nightmare about you and your lover. I hate the word lover. I have grown used to using the word lover in a context that I have never enjoyed in practice. I wish I knew of a better term. All terms for someone's significant other that doesn't fit into a category (ie- boyfriend, girlfriend, wife, husband, mistress) sound objectionable. Is there a male form of mistress? Inamorata might be good- it sounds somewhat clinical and somewhat magical. There's a level of detachment associated with it because it's not a term I think I could recall seeing outside of googling a synonym for "lover".
Still, this is by far the longest we have gone without talking since we met. I think of you daily. I long for a connection to you because your absence is an uncomfortable weight around me. It is only because I am being difficult. Because I choose to set limitations on the people around myself. If I were more accepting of the people you wanted to keep company with this problem would never have occurred. If I had never found those photos of her naked on your phone, and then years later on your computer, this problem would never have occurred. It's a matter of pride. But I truthfully have none, so really it's a matter of will. I also feel your decision not to let go of her hand in order to keep me as a friend is a slight against Isis. Against the kitten, who spends so much time these days calling out into the small open space of the room we occupy- feeling alone. I hope she is far stupider than I give her credit for.
In my dream you had tied Stassney into compromising positions with brightly colored nylon ropes. She seemed to be enjoying herself. She seemed happy and at peace in a way that I can only imagine other people living in my dreams. You were ashamed, and I was frustrated, which felt familiar. Then I left with Gilbert, which was particularly weird because you were always kinder and more available to me than he ever was. That was by far a terrible relationship. Ours had it's good moments. I can't imagine what my next one will be like, if that ever comes. If I ever allow it.
I have much of the day to myself.
I have done a little bit of cleaning.
I have done a bit of reading.
I need to get the lightbulb changed in my kitchen. I am not sure whether this is something I can do myself or if I need to put a work order in. It's circular. Fluorescent, maybe? It gives off the sterile blue-white light that is universally unflattering, so I am pretty sure it's fluorescent. If that's the case, I think I need to have someone else change it. I might be too quick to assign my problems to other people to fix.
Yesterday was grand! Lies and I drove north to see Coll and Dig. We had a potluck brunch, but I fear that the bulk of the cost of it rather unfairly slid toward Coll and Dig. Digwust is an entertainer, though, and he likes to over-feed people. He'll be a great grandmother some day. He made fried grits (he called blind fish, it's a very southern thing), french toast, a berry trifle, watermelon, and bacon. Lies made chorizo and eggs. I made croissant wrapped little smokies. They were the cheese infused kind, which are as delicious as they sound bizarre. All food sounds bizarre though, if you put too much thought into it. We all bought some cheap champagne and I brought Simply Orange Juice with pineapple, which no one was enthused by, but everyone drank, because my friends are kind. I will never try to be fancy with orange juice again. I had coffee with creme de cacoa and Coll had coffee with Baileys and once we began the drinks didn't stop pouring from 3pm- 10pm. It was a leisurely day. A quaint kind of excess that I never would have imagined being able to partake in. It was the first time I had felt somewhat put together in a while. It was like being the friend of the Barefoot Contessa, only probably considerably cheaper and with much more butter in all the food- so maybe like being friends with Paula Deen but without the casual racism? I imagine Paula Deen has a lot of lazy brunch days. I imagine all affluent white people do. So maybe there was a small bit of casual racism.
I intended to study because I have a test on Tuesday, but I was unsuccessful. Instead we watched I Know What You Did Last Summer, chatted about nothing in particular, as friends tend to do. The night devolved into drunkenly trying on various wigs, listening to weird mash-ups that would play in a gaybar in Oklahoma, promising to one day visit this gaybar in Oklahoma, and finally our hosts passed out during the original Queer As Folk. Littlefinger was a dream and I could never have imagined the guy from Sons of Anarchy being so tiny. So twinky.
It was the perfect kind of throw away day that you don't remember until you're becoming senile and long for the simpler parts of your youth. The type of day you wish all other days were.
I have been on my medication now for about a week, less yesterday, because I didn't think we'd be out all night and forgot to pack it. I feel no different. I think it might have been harder lately for me to create, but I don't want to blame that on anything just yet. I have had thoughts, but then I neglect to begin writing. I don't really feel like painting. I would like to work on my musical some more, but I have grown fearful of it. It's become overwhelming. The idea of completing something.
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