"yes."

I had a good night tonight. For once. I don't know, every night seems full of its own consequences and disguises. I think this is the state of mind I used to be in...

When you hid, it was to protect you from danger. You always had to have walls up; past experience proved this. I stopped when I was destroyed. The walls broke; I was standing naked and utterly obliviated. The obliviated seek naught more than more oblivion. It is home. Keeping the walls up is tiring, though, and eventually,inevitably, they will come crashing down.

I am in my bubble. I shattered it. One who has experienced oblivion and has come back tends to no longer seek it except in the small things. Just a little taste...

Experiencing true oblivion and returning has an odd brief aftereffect...you lose days. I suppose they're the toll fare.

I have a purpose for all of these ramblings. I dunno if it's visible or not...

Heh. Tonight was good 'cause the bubble was there and gone at the same time...

Mindsets. Whee....

things I miss: photo montage

Lying on a bed in a crap hostel in San Francisco next to him, avoiding the bedbugs and smelling the ocean from drying clothes...

Spooning in bed under pounds of duvets, keeping warm and sneaking my nose into the back of her neck...

Stealing her car back from him on a mad winter's trip south. Getting stuck in a snowstorm, and parking at an abandoned gas station where we swore we saw a shotgun poking out the window...

Sitting on the curb at 3 a.m. talking when everyone else had gone home, feeling thermals swirl around us in the snow...

Driving to Ohio with naught but a jar of dimes...

Watching as he wrote our names in crayon in the restauraunt booth. Feeling the sting as I noticed years later that it was still there...

Meeting him clandestinely at the hotel and spending the entire night wrapped naked together in white sheets...

Climbing the cliff-face to a small domed library looking out over the sea...

Going to the Kurort with genuine concern by her, after being harassed by her brother to drink more...

Walking up the hill at sunrise, carving a certain symbol in a certain tree...

Reading at my first open mic with the frenchman and the german, having men put my coat on me and returning home along medieval streets and seashores...

Arriving in Jackson's Square at 5 a.m. and chatting with the punks and bums...

Curling up with a book and peppermint tea with honey in a room turned church, lit by candlelight...

Walking alone in a long black coat through the middle of the street, seeing the wind swirl hundreds of shed feathers through my coattails...

Standing on the cliff at Inis Mor, looking down, and seeing nothing but white, like the world was unfinished...

Hiding in a boat with drunken strangers from the Guardi...

Being taken in the backseat of the car by her, heels dragging the ground...

Coming back to him in the dark and having him ask me to stay...

Crashing a wedding in dust-smeared clothes...

Daring them to laugh as I tripped on the satin...

Crashing a New Year's party and dancing to Irish trance...

Drowning the car along a riverbank in the rain...

Frisbee and canned vegetable soup on the banks of the Mississippi

Remembering the little things like snapshots in my mind, better than any photo album...

my professors are stalking me

Another week, another weekend that follows. This one was the last one I'll be going home for before the year's over and I get to undertake the wonderful task of entering the workforce yet again, making me forget that school even exists until I have to haul my crap out of the kitchen and a hundred miles north again. This time, I am halfway done. Hopefully. We'll have to see.

I went to see my sister in a play this weekend with the same program in the same theatre I practically grew up in, but this time with the younger siblings of people I knew performing and me paying admission. That's the first time I've ever gone to an Apprentice performance as part of the audience, and I have to say that despite the strange sensation of being on the other side of the fishbowl for once, it wasn't as droolingly bad as I'd thought. It wasn't bad at all, especially considering the play was "Seussical" (??) and most of the kids had never been taught how to sing onstage. My sister gave me some pains, though, not from a bad performance but from the ridiculously overexaggerated facial expressions she wore. Every time I see those looks normally, it usually means she's about to burn something or attack someone with her teeth. Pretty easy to see why I cringed. I keep telling her that it's really not a good idea to follow in my footsteps considering where they led me, but she doesn't listen. Not much I can do about it, I suppose. At least she quit smoking and hasn't had anyone call the police on our parents yet.

We later rented House of Flying Daggers, and Evil Dead parts one and two. I was formerly ashamed to say I'd never seen the Evil Dead movies, but no longer! Bunnyman tried to get to the bottom of my zombie obsession (why does everyone always seek explanation?), and several dirty moments later, we managed to conclude that Bruce Campbell chopping people up with a chainsaw hand makes me, ehm, excited, but we really have no explanation why. I don't find him, or zombies for that matter, particularly fetish-worthy. I think Bunnyman was just looking for excuses. House of Flying Daggers is awesome, by the way.

And one of my German professors managed to find Bunnyman's cell phone number and called a very groggy me at 11 am in Elkins to discuss the presentation she's been harassing me about for the past week. I wonder how many people she called to find that number out... Not that it's a difficult one. Maybe she used some kind of crazy German deduction technique that I've yet to develop. Nontheless, it was very strange. Professors should not stalk me. Weirdness abounds...

What can you really do when the sun's up and you still can't sleep? The brain keeps on ticking away... Just one more hopeless thing to add to a whole list of hopeless things that, somehow, usually end up being resolved. Doesn't keep me from annotating and worrying about them, compiling lists which in turn contribute to the reason I can't sleep. Sometimes you can't win...

bar bar bar

Things come in threes, didn't you know? I came back from the bar. This is a bar entry. And I shall not edit it.

Things are very strange. I went to Vice with several people, feeling like the centre point, and I don't usually do that. Let it "all hang loose" and all. I keep hitting the damned caps lock key. So much for not editing, huh?

I dunno. Sometimes my personality only really comes out through drucgs, be it socially acceptable ones like alcohol and nicotine and caffiene. And I contemplate. What am I really hiding, that's so unacceptable that I can only reach it through artificial means? (I'm really having trouble typing. Ha.) Only I know the answer to that. I take the burden not noticably, but acceptablingly (what kind of word is that??). I take burdens. I do nothing with them. Only accept them and carry them with me. Give me everything. I will move it for you. Maybe I'm in the wrong career field.

But honestly, I don't try to do it. I think too much anyway. Oh, how my old-school website would have benefited from drunk ramblings, where one is having trouble finding the correct keys...

I'm not making a relevant comment here. Decide for yourselves. Maybe I;ve got too many barricades. Perhaps I should be drunk all the time. I talk well. Ha.

Seeing yourself from an outside perspective is important. I look at my sloppy self in the mirror and contemplate. Would I be the same if I wore cleavage-shirts and went for pizza after the bar?

Probably not.

This is all irrelevant, you know.

Ha.

jitters

So I've been awake since 9 am which is rather early for me, and it's now getting on 3:30 and I can't sleep. The day was spent being dragged up and down the hill by various parties, and resultantly (is that a word?) I'm so very tired and yet I'm wide awake like I had too much caffiene, or speed, or something. Except without the jitters. I guess this isn't too much different than any other night... except I've usually had a few lapses in consciousness in the interim. Eh. Things still suck. Here's a long question meme to keep me occupied and properly procrastinating. They say it's the world's longest meme, but I've deleted a lot of questions that are either stupid or obvious. Have fun. Ha.

FAVOURITE
Colour: Burgundy
Song: Lovesong by The Cure
Stuffed animal: Howard the Elephant. Stuffed animals are therapeutic, shut up.
Video game: Ahh, Katamari Damacy, I love you...
TV show: Contrary to appearances, I really don't watch TV. It's just on.
Flower: Lilacs.
Scent: That smell when rain hits asphalt after a hot day.
Animal: Raven
Comic book: The Sandman. Read it. Now.

DO YOU
Play an instrument? : I play the flute, but don't have time anymore. Rock flute is an untapped genre, excepting Jethro Tull.
Like to sing?: Yes, actually. But only to people I enjoy.
Like to play sports? : NO.
Have more than 5 TVs in your house?: WTF? Who needs that many TVs?
Have any special talents/skills?: I can write a 16-page research paper in a day.That's definitely a useful skill.
Excercise daily?: If walking up stairs counts as excercise... then no.
Like school?: School is a necessary evil.
Sing the alphabet backwards?: Do I? No, no I don't.
Speak any other languages? : German, and a little bit of French and Spanish. Enough to ask how much the vodka costs, which is all you really need anyway.
Stay up for more than 24 hours?: That is a given.
Eat a whole pizza?: The formatting of these questions is beginning to confuse me.

HAVE YOU EVER
Snuck out of the house? : I only ever had to sneak out once. I went through a window when I was called to perform amateur medical services on a friend who couldn't go to the hospital, involving liquor, a homemade tourniquet, and a sewing kit. The rest of the time, I just left.
Cried to get out of trouble? : Couldn't if I wanted to. Tears don't work like that.
Gotten lost in your city?: Yeah. All the time.
Seen a shooting star?: Often. The wishes rarely come true, though.
Stolen something important to someone else?: No, but I made the same friend above return the neighbor's iMac once. Locks on apartments should be better.
Solved a rubiks cube?: Hah, only if you count removing all the stickers. That's the best way.
Gone out in public in your pajamas?: I usually do.
Cried over a girl?: Yes.
Cried over a boy?: Yes.
Laughed and had milk come out of your nose?: Nope. It was pickle juice. That burns more.
Kicked a guy where it hurts?: Sometimes I'd like to. But then karma'd bite me in the ass.
Been to a casino?: A few. Casinos are strange, and I don't understand them.
Gotten stitches?: Should have. Didn't. Got some in my throat.
Drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour?: I would die. Or, at least my digestive system would.
Bitten someone? : Um...
Been to disneyland/disneyworld?: Yes. Probably wouldn't go again.
Been to niagra falls?: No, but I've made replicas in swimming pools. They yell at you for that.

WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU
Saw A Movie In Theaters: I can't even remember...
Had a snow day: That was a long time ago, too.
Had a slumber party: Is that a euphamism? If so, then not too long ago...
Cursed: Fuck.

FRIENDSHIP
Do you have a best friend?: I stopped ranking them a long time ago.
Have you ever liked one of your friends?: Um... Huh?
Do you have more guy friends or more girl friends?: I can't tolerate many females. Step away from the Cosmo...
Do you miss any of your old friends? : Sometimes. I wouldn't want a lot of them to come back, though.
Has a friend of yours ever died?: A few. Consequence of getting older and having dumb friends, I guess.
Whats the dumbest thing you've done with a friend?: Kidnapped a ward of the state? I guess that was pretty dumb. Not dumb enough to not do it twice, though.
What was your first kiss like? How old were you?: I was 15 and it was with a 22 year old guy named Nicholas. I knew him for a week. He tasted like grain and asked permission for everythig he did. Likely for good reason, thinking back on it...
What's the most sexual thing youve done with the opposite sex?: Um. Sex.

Maybe I'll be able to empty my head now. Lay down, child... You've wasted enough time here.

time to breathe

I had a lot of time to think this weekend... most of which was spent wrapped in a sheet on the couch dead to the world and having very strange dreams. Sometimes my dreams occur in the same bizarre settings enough that I think those places may really exist somewhere. Like the maze-house with the basement that wants to kill me, and victorian eaves and grand halls all through the upper floors. Or the hotel I wander alone. Or the circus in the town with the mechanical doves and feathers. Dreams, even when they're bad, are nice. The most recent one involved a lot of people I know and some I don't, swimming in a place covered in pools and fountains. There were fish and trees, and I had done something bad.

Bunnyman and I got to talk a lot this weekend, not really about anything important, just talk. I think we figured out why it's always so cold in the older rooms of our house when I mentioned that the bathroom door opened all by itself that afternoon. We talked about ghosts and also about life, childhood, all that. I really don't know what I'd do without a lot of the people in my life. It's a support system I'm not used to, but am incredibly gratetful for. A strange season's passing through now, and even though I would probably never ask for help wading through it, it's a nice feeling that if I were to ask, help would come. Just that can be enough, and I am grateful.

Sometimes you feel like you're made of glass, even though you weren't before, and you don't want anyone to know about this transformation so you continue to heave and haul as normal, but the slightest step could shatter you into a million pieces...and you don't care. You anticipate the crack, you look forward to the day you finally crumble, because maybe whatever comes after will be much more finely honed and well-constructed. And if nothing replaces your glass self, then perhaps it's for the best, because you were a liability with all those chipped edges and sharp points. You look forward to it, regardless.

I keep still and mum, and wait for the sun to rise...

waves crashing

I'm in a weird place right now. I've been feeling it all evening, this resounding blank wonder and the silence that consumes everything, including myself. It reminds me of a place I used to be, long ago, where nothing felt like anything and I used to bleed every night to make myself feel anything at all.

The psychological community doesn't understand cutting. Everyone I've ever talked to who has never been through it themselves seem to think it's some kind of cry for attention, a neutered suicide attempt intended to elicit help. I guess for some people, it is. For others, it's a punishment they think they deserve, to absolve themselves. For still others, it's simply anger at their bodies. For me, it was never any of those things. It was just a way to feel. There were all these emotions that I should have been experiencing, and maybe appeared to be experiencing on the outside, but never was. It was all a front, some cracked mask hardened over my skin that changed constantly. Inside, I was silent. Waves crashed over me, and I felt nothing.

I sensed those waves closing in again tonight. I don't want to cut again. I hoped I was beyond that by now.

I wanted to be around people, to experience the white noise made by voices and movement, snatches of conversation keeping their distance for fear of being consumed with the rest of me. I just wanted to watch, couldn't really do anything but, and instead busied myself on idle things. Maybe it was just the unspoken emotions of others running wild that were keeping mine silent.

We were talking about touch, and I distanced, and couldn't come back. Instead of freaking out, I go away. And I long to come back, I want it, but instead I stand, mute.

Depression isn't sadness. It's nothing. Nothing at all. I smile and carry on...

Where did all of this come from, all of a sudden? I don't want to do it again... I can't talk about it. Someone take me home...

that is who I used to be and this is who I am today

Yeah, it's been a while. A little too long to really remember what happened in the interim. That's okay. I'm here now.

Pride week, the first one I've participated in, is interesting. It has the effect of making me feel incredibly involved and accomplished one day, then disconnected and hide-y the next. Usually it takes a few days of being out of the loop for me to really feel uninvolved in the lives of others. Yay for acceleration! No, seriously, I went and got my face painted then ate lunch with Sarah and Mike the Linguist (huzzah for fellow language-nerds), but other than that... I slept through the other events or had class. Not much to report. Except I finally filed my taxes, and am now mourning the death of TeleFile.

I got on a bit of a nostalgic kick, and went and investigated my ancient, first website. The thing's about eight years old now and still floating around on the internet, mostly intact, because Angelfire apparently deletes nothing. It's a time capsule of sorts, or a snapshot, of me in a time where I couldn't really comprehend being me. Judging from it (and a lot of just-as-old forum posts that come up when i search myself, yay Google), I seem to have a long history of disappointing people. Apparently I am very good at it, because it seems to happen when I'm not even trying. This is reflected in everything I do: schoolwork, real work, voluntary work, relationships, personal maintenance, home maintenance... everything. Someone's inevitably saying about me, "Oh, she didn't show up" or "Oh, she didn't do this like she said she was going to". Maybe it's a sign of imaturity, that I need to take on more responsibilities and "step up" to my prescribed role in life? Maybe it's a sign of pathological laziness? I really don't know, and I really need to find a way to fix it. I start to become afraid that I'm disappointing people on a regular basis, especially on the relationship end. Maybe I have too many friends to keep track of, and should try to be more of a loner. Except, that's no fun. At all. I marvel at people who can keep so many things balanced at once, and still have time for things relating to themselves.

Bunnyman, I feel sorry for. I'm starting to think that I'm really disappointing him on the business end of things, and yet I know he loves me, and I love him, but is love always enough? I want to think so, but once again I have this fear that it isn't, and that I push him too far and make him miserable. He won't leave me, I know, but it's more than just not being alone. I care about his well-being, whether he does or not, and I don't want him to be miserable. I certainly don't want to be the cause of it. Life seems to be a perpetual struggle to better yourself to your own standards, and it's kind of odd that you can never be completely satisfied with yourself, always striving internally to be better. Maybe it's just me. I honestly don't know.

Forgive me if I'm insensitive. Believe me, later I'm sensitive to a fault...