fall rushes me into nesting mode: these previously
unspoken (unmentioned) urges propelling me toward
coupledom.
which is funny, i think,
because i have another half (i think).
and the pumpkin patch lathered me with dust, dirt
shadowing my face and clouding my eyes but dirt
is not deceptive.
she had unnatural dark red hair
spiked and faltering at the back
like when i had my first stereotypical lesbian haircut
(also an unnatural shade of red,
though mine favored fire engines, not
pomegranates) and didn't realize
i had to style past the top of my head.
black long sleeved shirt
tucked under a dark grey polo. dark jeans.
calm if stoic expression, and eyes that sparkled even from where i sat,
my ass twitching on a bale of hay.
i didn't exactly mean to stare her down
but she reminded me of a woman i loved
ages ago, a woman that i could have stayed with
if she hadn't been unstable, a bitch, and ultimately
sexually incompatible. so when i say that
i didn't mean to stare i actually mean
i did. and she looked back, surrendering to my super lesbionic
power of eye contact, so i looked away because i recently realized
i am coy, or something like it.
i looked back
as she caught my eye and looked away.
i meant to smile but i forgot how.
dirtier still, my blackberry's screen said:
1 missed call, 1 new voicemail.
i guessed who it was.
i was wrong. and i hesitated to listen
because we were supposed to talk two weeks ago
and when time like that passes, with us,
tones shift and claws unfurl.
but: a pet name, a sullen mouth;
call me when you have time.
and i don't have time for anyone but myself.
the weather turns around me. the breeze
swaddles my bare neck, my eyes blink
against the traipsing autumn sun. i felt most alive
surrounded by burnished corn stalks
and tipping pumpkins. it feels strange coming home
to a human-less house despite my inordinate
love for independence. i am almost worried that
i am too independent, too accustom to my own heartbeat
and pillow-strewn bed, that i won't be able to nest
whenever the nesting feels it's time to begin.
and my cat has been sleeping
in the same spot on the end of bed
for four hours.
i wish i, too, could be as complacent
when i stumble over something i love.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
what i crave / i will never show
tonight my sin soaked in blue moon,
and my skin trembled beneath smoke-free lights.
i have yet to figure out
what you cannot see in me--
because somehow,
flailing around my relationship missteps: i still
know my value, know who
i am.
but i suppose you are not meant to be,
and it was a simple slip of the tongue, notsomuch
of the freudian sort,
when a.s. called me your name
instead of my own
to get my attention tonight.
a slip, another mistaken misstep,
another nothing added to the already amassed
rolling bobbin, what we are is
unraveling, stripping to nothing more
then we ever were.
because i know it's nothing.
and i don't know why i stay-
because i am afraid to be alone, because
i fear she is the end of it all and i may never find
another female loving female,
because this is absurd and i am already maybe
laughing at myself.
where everything i am is unsteady.
the garbage cans trailing my stride to the curb,
lolling drunkenly on the sidewalk,
my own steps smeared by two beers
and a table full of coworkers that i love,
a job i accept,
and a workplace i've come to abhor.
i took on yahoo
last week. the night of riesling
and a thumb of xanax.
i offered another unecessary apology
and el sotano accepted. and i forget our conversation
but it rings positive in my memory,
rings with more possibility and a shit-ton
of i cannot do this again.
a funny thing.
knowing you deserve more, and better of more,
but being unable to mobilize
and go awol on your memory,
your busted shatters of possibility and hope-
it is enough to stay deployed in the flimsy recesses
of your own troubled mind.
and my skin trembled beneath smoke-free lights.
i have yet to figure out
what you cannot see in me--
because somehow,
flailing around my relationship missteps: i still
know my value, know who
i am.
but i suppose you are not meant to be,
and it was a simple slip of the tongue, notsomuch
of the freudian sort,
when a.s. called me your name
instead of my own
to get my attention tonight.
a slip, another mistaken misstep,
another nothing added to the already amassed
rolling bobbin, what we are is
unraveling, stripping to nothing more
then we ever were.
because i know it's nothing.
and i don't know why i stay-
because i am afraid to be alone, because
i fear she is the end of it all and i may never find
another female loving female,
because this is absurd and i am already maybe
laughing at myself.
where everything i am is unsteady.
the garbage cans trailing my stride to the curb,
lolling drunkenly on the sidewalk,
my own steps smeared by two beers
and a table full of coworkers that i love,
a job i accept,
and a workplace i've come to abhor.
i took on yahoo
last week. the night of riesling
and a thumb of xanax.
i offered another unecessary apology
and el sotano accepted. and i forget our conversation
but it rings positive in my memory,
rings with more possibility and a shit-ton
of i cannot do this again.
a funny thing.
knowing you deserve more, and better of more,
but being unable to mobilize
and go awol on your memory,
your busted shatters of possibility and hope-
it is enough to stay deployed in the flimsy recesses
of your own troubled mind.
Monday, October 06, 2008
and i was brave / but you didn't know
weeks ago, i went to see melissa ferrick.
and i feel in love with her opening act. it was easy
because she was self-deprecating and had a beautiful voice, lyrics
that flittered past skin-deep, penetrating pieces of fragments of my shattered
everything where nothing
could make sense but sense itself.
tonight is a night, for me, full of riesling and xanax
because i cannot clear my mind but more importantly
my jaw is throbbing and there is no escape
because every time i stop myself from clenching my teeth
i think of you
and then i clench again
and the pattern continues, unlocking all my memories
and all the could-bes and maybe might still becomes.
but i know you don't want me as i want you
and even if you do
the way you hide it could shake me for years (as i guess it
already has), decimate my every caustic sense, the things that
work and the ideas that float. and my skin
floats, my hands are full of helium and i have misplaced
my legs. i don't care past the image of you and me,
the rattled, makeshift escalated chorus of coulds and woulds.
and this is my right now.
this perpetual itching ache, the daggers deflecting my heart,
and the unsteady waiver of my hands, hours later.
because they shook for forty-three minutes after i told you
that we were writing poems in class, and it would be quiet. you were hiding (my
face to yours, our palms barely reaching- we are
so terrifyingly alike that it breaks me apart and rips me into shape-shifting
glued shards of you[me] who this is and who we want to be) and your presence
was visceral, tangible, a veritable shake
to the core, i cannot stop drinking this wine even though
my heart
has returned to my chest's cavity, to its rightful place,
limping back from its sometime residence near my toes.
i cannot tell if my heart:
does it soar or does it fall,
dilating and storming through my body at the mere shock
of seeing you before me.
i do not yet understand
what exactly it is about you-
if it IS something or if this is a magical prelude
i have designed in my psyche, an occupation away
from the dismantling servitude of reality. maybe i write
best when i am drunk on riesling and high on xanax, and maybe i write
just as terribly well when i am trembling in syntax
of maybe-love and could-be more than lust.
i have the right idea
but i cannot whisper its fragments into your ear
because we cannot get close enough to see
what all there is we harbor.
my boat is sanctioned in the deepest of lakes;
your yacht sings solo softly in the saturated sea.
we could meet in the middle, not your ground nor
mine. we could spin, there, ribbons of fairytale
and dip our toes into the dazzling wisps of water.
i could swim in you for days.
you startle my senses.
i have broken pens and letters over this deaf infatuation.
i was told to exorcise you from me. exorcise the demons, you wicked
angel. i laughed today.
and my god, your body. your rounding, warming, malleable form.
i cannot recall my first name because this person at the keyboard
is not who i think i ever am.
i said today that i would make you a powerpoint:
"reasons why you should love me." but love is deceit.
love you, i would. adore you, i would.
the powerpoint would have pictures, and i would write you
a poem.
because the obvious amount of poems that i have already crafted
for you is not obvious, because you don't know of them.
which, i guess, is why i told you today:
"come down. it's quiet. we write."
you didn't come down, and i knew you wouldn't, but it's for the best
because forty-three minutes later:
my hands still shook and my breath still evaded me
as my heart thumped into my ankles
and i wish i could tell you.
and i feel in love with her opening act. it was easy
because she was self-deprecating and had a beautiful voice, lyrics
that flittered past skin-deep, penetrating pieces of fragments of my shattered
everything where nothing
could make sense but sense itself.
tonight is a night, for me, full of riesling and xanax
because i cannot clear my mind but more importantly
my jaw is throbbing and there is no escape
because every time i stop myself from clenching my teeth
i think of you
and then i clench again
and the pattern continues, unlocking all my memories
and all the could-bes and maybe might still becomes.
but i know you don't want me as i want you
and even if you do
the way you hide it could shake me for years (as i guess it
already has), decimate my every caustic sense, the things that
work and the ideas that float. and my skin
floats, my hands are full of helium and i have misplaced
my legs. i don't care past the image of you and me,
the rattled, makeshift escalated chorus of coulds and woulds.
and this is my right now.
this perpetual itching ache, the daggers deflecting my heart,
and the unsteady waiver of my hands, hours later.
because they shook for forty-three minutes after i told you
that we were writing poems in class, and it would be quiet. you were hiding (my
face to yours, our palms barely reaching- we are
so terrifyingly alike that it breaks me apart and rips me into shape-shifting
glued shards of you[me] who this is and who we want to be) and your presence
was visceral, tangible, a veritable shake
to the core, i cannot stop drinking this wine even though
my heart
has returned to my chest's cavity, to its rightful place,
limping back from its sometime residence near my toes.
i cannot tell if my heart:
does it soar or does it fall,
dilating and storming through my body at the mere shock
of seeing you before me.
i do not yet understand
what exactly it is about you-
if it IS something or if this is a magical prelude
i have designed in my psyche, an occupation away
from the dismantling servitude of reality. maybe i write
best when i am drunk on riesling and high on xanax, and maybe i write
just as terribly well when i am trembling in syntax
of maybe-love and could-be more than lust.
i have the right idea
but i cannot whisper its fragments into your ear
because we cannot get close enough to see
what all there is we harbor.
my boat is sanctioned in the deepest of lakes;
your yacht sings solo softly in the saturated sea.
we could meet in the middle, not your ground nor
mine. we could spin, there, ribbons of fairytale
and dip our toes into the dazzling wisps of water.
i could swim in you for days.
you startle my senses.
i have broken pens and letters over this deaf infatuation.
i was told to exorcise you from me. exorcise the demons, you wicked
angel. i laughed today.
and my god, your body. your rounding, warming, malleable form.
i cannot recall my first name because this person at the keyboard
is not who i think i ever am.
i said today that i would make you a powerpoint:
"reasons why you should love me." but love is deceit.
love you, i would. adore you, i would.
the powerpoint would have pictures, and i would write you
a poem.
because the obvious amount of poems that i have already crafted
for you is not obvious, because you don't know of them.
which, i guess, is why i told you today:
"come down. it's quiet. we write."
you didn't come down, and i knew you wouldn't, but it's for the best
because forty-three minutes later:
my hands still shook and my breath still evaded me
as my heart thumped into my ankles
and i wish i could tell you.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
this bridge we've built / i don't need it anymore
I have wasted tears, drowned myself in self-pity and explicit confusion. A missed call, missed signal, no sign of entry. An armed robbery of my heart, you palming your words as weapons, such an archaic tactic but one that levels me to angry silence- and tears, those tears. Where you simmer brilliantly in carelessness and arching brick walls, I bend to sadness and melodramatic heartache. Our acid neutrals clashing, burning, fissuring into bloodied drops of mercury, splitting and running off into the desolate corners we avoid.
I know what it is like to be adored, to be obsessed over, to be desired and wanted, even just liked. The exhiliarating ego rush, even if the feelings are less than returned, and the overwhelming sense of want crushed into the words and gestures of someone that isn't the woman I'm with. It's too much, too little, not enough.
I abuse fragments. I don't draw clear boundaries. I overstep lines, reformulate while I'm playing the game and winning/losing; I never win/lose, I always finish. And I am no angel because I don't know how to say: "I have a girlfriend, and I love her." Instead, my grey area speaks for me and says: "I'm unattainable but you should like me anyway because I love to have my ego fed."
And if I never thought my life would catch up with me, trip me and toss me down a flight of splintered stairs, I was disillusioned from the start.
Stand up with a backbone you've whittled from bamboo and snowflakes. Dissolve your spine into salt and sand, brushburn your knees over the fire you started. I can't listen because I watch, and I can't watch because I don't know how to see.
My heart is a bruised icon, a landmine, a landfill, a dumping ground, and a harbor. And you're not getting your hopes up. I got rid of my hopes over a year ago. I just wanted you to know.
I know what it is like to be adored, to be obsessed over, to be desired and wanted, even just liked. The exhiliarating ego rush, even if the feelings are less than returned, and the overwhelming sense of want crushed into the words and gestures of someone that isn't the woman I'm with. It's too much, too little, not enough.
I abuse fragments. I don't draw clear boundaries. I overstep lines, reformulate while I'm playing the game and winning/losing; I never win/lose, I always finish. And I am no angel because I don't know how to say: "I have a girlfriend, and I love her." Instead, my grey area speaks for me and says: "I'm unattainable but you should like me anyway because I love to have my ego fed."
And if I never thought my life would catch up with me, trip me and toss me down a flight of splintered stairs, I was disillusioned from the start.
Stand up with a backbone you've whittled from bamboo and snowflakes. Dissolve your spine into salt and sand, brushburn your knees over the fire you started. I can't listen because I watch, and I can't watch because I don't know how to see.
My heart is a bruised icon, a landmine, a landfill, a dumping ground, and a harbor. And you're not getting your hopes up. I got rid of my hopes over a year ago. I just wanted you to know.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
be still / anyone can see
I cannot see myself the way that
you see me. And I do not want to, because
I am unfamiliar with the taciturn reactions
and blood-whittled avoidances.
And sadness avoids me where frustration
causes over, tricking through wind eroded
shatters in my skin, shards of emptiness filtering
past photo album inconsistencies.
I can't give up on love
but love has run from me, its nightmare ribbons
trailing through abandoned hallways,
turning over blurred photocopies. If I relied on emotion,
I would cry over the phone, belabor my lingering
insecurities, and aim for sealing the cracks with dried
saliva. But I have lost my tears to something less palpable,
something less worth my time. Where you remain
is a vast horizon, one littered with trepidation
and senseless reprieve, one I cannot reach
nor see.
you see me. And I do not want to, because
I am unfamiliar with the taciturn reactions
and blood-whittled avoidances.
And sadness avoids me where frustration
causes over, tricking through wind eroded
shatters in my skin, shards of emptiness filtering
past photo album inconsistencies.
I can't give up on love
but love has run from me, its nightmare ribbons
trailing through abandoned hallways,
turning over blurred photocopies. If I relied on emotion,
I would cry over the phone, belabor my lingering
insecurities, and aim for sealing the cracks with dried
saliva. But I have lost my tears to something less palpable,
something less worth my time. Where you remain
is a vast horizon, one littered with trepidation
and senseless reprieve, one I cannot reach
nor see.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
the answer to each moment must be yes (edited.)
You're a little too far away- and I miss the cracked door, and your smile, and everything. & I wanted to pluck a flower from the thirty fresh colors sitting slightly over my head, take it to you. Just because. The tension and ?sadness?frustration? lacing through your voice make my heart and fingers ache, because my body/heart/everything simply wants to swaddle you and make love with you for hours on end-- make you smile and laugh and raise the wash of flush across your cheeks. 3/5 isn't bad. I guess. I'd even take 4/5, leaving our love making to rise as slowly as it will (though isn't going-on three years slow enough?).
Because today, I made you laugh, and such a simple thing shocked into a (for you) difficult sort of day struck a lightning-red streak of happiness into me. & for once, I wasn't the only one who saw it- that endearingly casual intimacy that parades around us, between us, shrugging me(us?) into queer confusion. "Aren't you two chummy?" [I can think of thirty-two better words, none of which could accurately say what is brewing, boiling over and I don't want to contain it any longer.]
What I'm saying is that I'm crazy about you. Blindingly rocked by each crack of your smile, each lock and tremor of our china blue/icy green connection, the warming luck of the way we stand so close and speak in a manner I can only describe as intimate. My palms lay flat for you, waiting for your touch to slip into mine. You've no (visible) recognition of how we would be, and I sit on the outskirts, tender to every glance and movement, already knowing, continually wanting.
Because today, I made you laugh, and such a simple thing shocked into a (for you) difficult sort of day struck a lightning-red streak of happiness into me. & for once, I wasn't the only one who saw it- that endearingly casual intimacy that parades around us, between us, shrugging me(us?) into queer confusion. "Aren't you two chummy?" [I can think of thirty-two better words, none of which could accurately say what is brewing, boiling over and I don't want to contain it any longer.]
What I'm saying is that I'm crazy about you. Blindingly rocked by each crack of your smile, each lock and tremor of our china blue/icy green connection, the warming luck of the way we stand so close and speak in a manner I can only describe as intimate. My palms lay flat for you, waiting for your touch to slip into mine. You've no (visible) recognition of how we would be, and I sit on the outskirts, tender to every glance and movement, already knowing, continually wanting.
Monday, August 25, 2008
drown out my wanting / drown out my fear
And it was all worth it- the blistering
toes and ankles, the sheen of sweat
veiling my skin, the untameable
flips of longer hair. My piloted sense
of authority twining my irrepressible
free spirit, that daunting, docile creature
twirling below an adopted look of astringency.
Seventy, ninety-odd bodies mashing
through, jonesing for the first breath of fresh air.
You passed to my left, your gaze flickering
across our paths, inches again- you sway so close to me-
and my eyes sought your summer's blue with some unfurled
awareness (proximity, seventh sense, the heart's
wanderings). I saw, you know.
I saw your first and second glances. The tripped-up
gentle whiplash of a moment passing too quickly,
a chance to impress an image into the curiousities
of your memory. One, two. Twice.
I smiled through both, wishing my mouth had a sense
to open on its own. And your beauty trailed me,
seeks me out several hours later. It compounds emotions
and mislabels wanderlust, because we both know and
because we both won't say.
toes and ankles, the sheen of sweat
veiling my skin, the untameable
flips of longer hair. My piloted sense
of authority twining my irrepressible
free spirit, that daunting, docile creature
twirling below an adopted look of astringency.
Seventy, ninety-odd bodies mashing
through, jonesing for the first breath of fresh air.
You passed to my left, your gaze flickering
across our paths, inches again- you sway so close to me-
and my eyes sought your summer's blue with some unfurled
awareness (proximity, seventh sense, the heart's
wanderings). I saw, you know.
I saw your first and second glances. The tripped-up
gentle whiplash of a moment passing too quickly,
a chance to impress an image into the curiousities
of your memory. One, two. Twice.
I smiled through both, wishing my mouth had a sense
to open on its own. And your beauty trailed me,
seeks me out several hours later. It compounds emotions
and mislabels wanderlust, because we both know and
because we both won't say.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
you're something beautiful / a contradiction
I had a healthy dose of Real Friends today, enclosing a few minutes with formerly mentioned not-so-real friends. [Also, those minutes? That's where I made a totally snarky comment directed at the married-friend who is shtupping her lesbian BFF, and my best friend's girlfriend nearly choked on her laughter and it went so over everyone else's heads, but oh so worth it.] SO it's good to see my Real Friends that can hang out without being drunk. Not-So-Real Friends? Yup, in line several times at the beer tent. Cheers.
And I saw AC today. She walked past us, in all her cuteness, and leaned over, smiled, waved. I swooned internally, smiled and waved back. She was "working" ... and I thought about going over to chat, but walked around for a few hours with my friends instead. Eventually, we were standing twentyish feet from where AC was working, and it was hot, and we didn't want to walk anymore, so we stayed there. & commence good friending, as they were delighting me with "She just looked over here. She keeps looking over here" and the like. Which was super, you know, because it's always fun to even think you're being admired/checked out/whatev. But I am a nerd/social-awk of a slight degree, and I was getting nervous just thinking about going to talk to her.
Truth is, I sucked it up. I'm tired of letting opportunities pass by, on any level, because of holding myself back. Out of what? Fear of something good happening? I've done nothing in my life to deserve nothing but shit, but until I start acting in a positive manner and taking little (healthy) risks here and there, nothing's going to change.
I walked right over and gave her a dazzling smile, which was dazzlingly returned (she has an amazing smile, the kind that warms your insides, and she has stellar eyes, incomparable, to match). And we chatted, her opening with: "I keep seeing you everywhere lately!" [Well that's a good thing, yeah?] It was so simple, I wanted to kick myself, repeatedly, in the ass. Totally natural flow, got some good info, opened up, ta-fucking-da. She then offered me a massage (here's where I explain that she is an on-off-again massage therapist, which is how I originally met her // she worked with my sister, and I actually worked there for a bit as well // and she was giving chair massages today, hence the offer), and of course I accepted because A) why would I ever turn one down?, and B) her offer to put her hands all over my neck and back? Um, yes please!
& then there was that. Which was fantastic. Small talk, of course, is hard when your face is smashed into the little face-holder on a massage chair/table. She joked around with me, and I was able to laugh, kind of. Joke/flirt. I think? So dense, here. So terribly dense. Post-massage, she gave me that damn sparkling smile and said, "I hope it was good for you." See, I don't generally fall for lines like that, and I already knew from years ago that AC is a wicked flirt (and she is damn good at it), but it still made me go a little 'Oooh yeah.' Cue more flirty small talk, ending with her saying, "I'm sure I'll see you soon," and a most wonderful tight, few-extra-second hug.
& I may or may not have fallen in love. HAH. Just kidding, really. I may fall easily, but it takes a little more than that.
At any rate, cue the reignition of my little crush on AC. It's a healthy little bugger. The thought of her makes me smile, blah blah blah. Just a crying fucking shame we never went out all those years ago. Who's to say we couldn't now? I mean, obviously, I'd have to formally extricate myself from my girlfriend, who has cut me off of communication with her because I am pms'ing and being "out of control," which just means she's seeing that I'm unhappy with Us but doesn't want to face it. I like that one of my real-friends (ah! the one that I dated a few years ago and now has the girlfriend and I finally did see them today, and it was actually lovely, except said girl and I still maybe feel the attraction, but whatever, tolerable) just said: "Don't let your girlfriend be an asshole to you." And my response: "I'm the asshole now, sadly."
Oh what the fuck am I doing.
[And I forgot about the part when she pushed her sunglasses off of her eyes and onto the top of her head because, she said, she doesn't like talking to people while wearing sunglasses (they or her) because you can't see where they're looking and all of a sudden I realize she cared where we were looking. & when she took off those sunglasses, & there was a maddening airtight lock of stare, I think I remembered why I'd liked her so years ago. Some people I used to know used to tell me that they could get lost in my eyes, and I never understood what they meant, but when she took of the sunglasses and our yellow-green // Caribbean blue recognized each other, I think I felt lost- in the most satisfying, intriguing of ways.]
And I saw AC today. She walked past us, in all her cuteness, and leaned over, smiled, waved. I swooned internally, smiled and waved back. She was "working" ... and I thought about going over to chat, but walked around for a few hours with my friends instead. Eventually, we were standing twentyish feet from where AC was working, and it was hot, and we didn't want to walk anymore, so we stayed there. & commence good friending, as they were delighting me with "She just looked over here. She keeps looking over here" and the like. Which was super, you know, because it's always fun to even think you're being admired/checked out/whatev. But I am a nerd/social-awk of a slight degree, and I was getting nervous just thinking about going to talk to her.
Truth is, I sucked it up. I'm tired of letting opportunities pass by, on any level, because of holding myself back. Out of what? Fear of something good happening? I've done nothing in my life to deserve nothing but shit, but until I start acting in a positive manner and taking little (healthy) risks here and there, nothing's going to change.
I walked right over and gave her a dazzling smile, which was dazzlingly returned (she has an amazing smile, the kind that warms your insides, and she has stellar eyes, incomparable, to match). And we chatted, her opening with: "I keep seeing you everywhere lately!" [Well that's a good thing, yeah?] It was so simple, I wanted to kick myself, repeatedly, in the ass. Totally natural flow, got some good info, opened up, ta-fucking-da. She then offered me a massage (here's where I explain that she is an on-off-again massage therapist, which is how I originally met her // she worked with my sister, and I actually worked there for a bit as well // and she was giving chair massages today, hence the offer), and of course I accepted because A) why would I ever turn one down?, and B) her offer to put her hands all over my neck and back? Um, yes please!
& then there was that. Which was fantastic. Small talk, of course, is hard when your face is smashed into the little face-holder on a massage chair/table. She joked around with me, and I was able to laugh, kind of. Joke/flirt. I think? So dense, here. So terribly dense. Post-massage, she gave me that damn sparkling smile and said, "I hope it was good for you." See, I don't generally fall for lines like that, and I already knew from years ago that AC is a wicked flirt (and she is damn good at it), but it still made me go a little 'Oooh yeah.' Cue more flirty small talk, ending with her saying, "I'm sure I'll see you soon," and a most wonderful tight, few-extra-second hug.
& I may or may not have fallen in love. HAH. Just kidding, really. I may fall easily, but it takes a little more than that.
At any rate, cue the reignition of my little crush on AC. It's a healthy little bugger. The thought of her makes me smile, blah blah blah. Just a crying fucking shame we never went out all those years ago. Who's to say we couldn't now? I mean, obviously, I'd have to formally extricate myself from my girlfriend, who has cut me off of communication with her because I am pms'ing and being "out of control," which just means she's seeing that I'm unhappy with Us but doesn't want to face it. I like that one of my real-friends (ah! the one that I dated a few years ago and now has the girlfriend and I finally did see them today, and it was actually lovely, except said girl and I still maybe feel the attraction, but whatever, tolerable) just said: "Don't let your girlfriend be an asshole to you." And my response: "I'm the asshole now, sadly."
Oh what the fuck am I doing.
[And I forgot about the part when she pushed her sunglasses off of her eyes and onto the top of her head because, she said, she doesn't like talking to people while wearing sunglasses (they or her) because you can't see where they're looking and all of a sudden I realize she cared where we were looking. & when she took off those sunglasses, & there was a maddening airtight lock of stare, I think I remembered why I'd liked her so years ago. Some people I used to know used to tell me that they could get lost in my eyes, and I never understood what they meant, but when she took of the sunglasses and our yellow-green // Caribbean blue recognized each other, I think I felt lost- in the most satisfying, intriguing of ways.]
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
I wrote down a dream in invisible ink
...it never was mine I'm beginning to think
Tonight I went to see OTR for the first time, and so loved every moment (except for the part when I came home and searched through my iTunes for a good 20 minutes trying to find my favorite song of the night, and came up empty-handed, and then Googled like a fool, and still came up empty). And then I was moronic and bought their new cd on iTunes without first checking with emusic ... and of course emusic has the new cd, which I could have gotten along with 20 other songs in about a week, for $10 total. But, no. I was impatient and acted without researching, a typical move of mine signifying one of my tragic downfalls. Granted, this oversight probably won't kill me. But it does affect my bank account, and after my ten minutes of panic this afternoon that spawned from my procrastination skills and registering for a 500-level class toward my MA that I am not thrilled with but had no choice and then coughed out $1200 (which'll be reimbursed, say, February) to cement my seat in said unthrilling course, I am a little antsy about money. And that'll pass after my next check is automatically deposited. So. Whatever.
OTR's lead singer sounds, when speaking, unnervingly similar to Margo Timmins. Their singing voices are totally different, which I always find odd, how people sound one way when they speak, and another way when they sing. I'm always fascinated by people with British speaking accents who have almost no noticeable accent when singing.
The C.Junkies connection made me think back to when she bought me/us tickets, spur of the moment, to see C.Junkies. I like spur of the moment, especially when it's something that amazing. I'd never seen C.J. before, but I'd loved them for fourish years, and they were one of my Top Bands That I Must See Live. [Currently dominating the list: EBTG.] And she knew that, that I really wanted to see C.J., or at the very least, she remembered me talking about how much I love them. The catch was, she'd made plans with a friend that night... but said she would go do her thing with him, then meet me at the concert.
I should have realized at that point that something was fucked up there. I'd come up for the weekend, and we had approximately 36 hours to spend together. And she was going out with a friend? While I was, what, sitting at home waiting for her to come home... after I'd driven 300+ miles to see her? My density astounds me, still.
So I went to the concert. More accurately, she dropped me off, I went inside, and she drove off to meet her friend. I proceeded to have a few beers, listen to the music, and completely enjoy myself- without her. Which is fine, because I believe in independence within relationships, but now that I really think about it, I don't so much believe in having a long distance relationship and traveling to see your girlfriend but she has other plans... that never involved you. Miraculously, she finds a way to occupy your time, which you appreciate, but while you're standing there wondering when she's joining you, the wheels start turning a little too fast, and maybe things stop connecting and making sense.
She never joined me, she never used the ticket she bought for herself. She picked me up when she was finished, not when I was finished. & I remember her being full of apologies and searching for reassurances. I must have given them to her, probably because I was definitely buzzed. I vaguely remember getting angry later in the night, but stuffing it down because it didn't seem worth it, somehow: I'd gotten to see one of my favorite bands, and truthfully, she wouldn't have enjoyed seeing them with me. So I don't even know if there's anything wrong with this. It still doesn't feel right.
I don't like doing everything by myself, but I've become intensely independent as of late. Tonight, for example, I had two tickets for OTR, and was completely undecided on whether to go alone or drag one of my friends with me (since none of them listen to OTR). I ended up taking my best friend, and she was very appreciative as always, but when I really thought about it, I realized that I would have been okay going by myself. Because I do everything by myself. There's nothing wrong with that, but I don't like feeling so unattached to the fact that I do, in fact, have a girlfriend. The balance is off; it's never been on.
I don't know what I'm looking for, because I'm not looking for anything, but I no longer know what to do with what I have.
Today, you stood so close to me that I could have leaned ever so slightly to the left and been tucked into the welcoming space between your extended arm and your warm torso. We spoke, we eye-contacted like bandits when we were one-on-one, and I was able to drink in the details of your profile. I felt the heat from your body when you were standing next to me, so close I didn't know how to react. But, the beauty.
On a totally unrelated note: Thank GOD Nekisa has finally been booted from Shear Genius.
Tonight I went to see OTR for the first time, and so loved every moment (except for the part when I came home and searched through my iTunes for a good 20 minutes trying to find my favorite song of the night, and came up empty-handed, and then Googled like a fool, and still came up empty). And then I was moronic and bought their new cd on iTunes without first checking with emusic ... and of course emusic has the new cd, which I could have gotten along with 20 other songs in about a week, for $10 total. But, no. I was impatient and acted without researching, a typical move of mine signifying one of my tragic downfalls. Granted, this oversight probably won't kill me. But it does affect my bank account, and after my ten minutes of panic this afternoon that spawned from my procrastination skills and registering for a 500-level class toward my MA that I am not thrilled with but had no choice and then coughed out $1200 (which'll be reimbursed, say, February) to cement my seat in said unthrilling course, I am a little antsy about money. And that'll pass after my next check is automatically deposited. So. Whatever.
OTR's lead singer sounds, when speaking, unnervingly similar to Margo Timmins. Their singing voices are totally different, which I always find odd, how people sound one way when they speak, and another way when they sing. I'm always fascinated by people with British speaking accents who have almost no noticeable accent when singing.
The C.Junkies connection made me think back to when she bought me/us tickets, spur of the moment, to see C.Junkies. I like spur of the moment, especially when it's something that amazing. I'd never seen C.J. before, but I'd loved them for fourish years, and they were one of my Top Bands That I Must See Live. [Currently dominating the list: EBTG.] And she knew that, that I really wanted to see C.J., or at the very least, she remembered me talking about how much I love them. The catch was, she'd made plans with a friend that night... but said she would go do her thing with him, then meet me at the concert.
I should have realized at that point that something was fucked up there. I'd come up for the weekend, and we had approximately 36 hours to spend together. And she was going out with a friend? While I was, what, sitting at home waiting for her to come home... after I'd driven 300+ miles to see her? My density astounds me, still.
So I went to the concert. More accurately, she dropped me off, I went inside, and she drove off to meet her friend. I proceeded to have a few beers, listen to the music, and completely enjoy myself- without her. Which is fine, because I believe in independence within relationships, but now that I really think about it, I don't so much believe in having a long distance relationship and traveling to see your girlfriend but she has other plans... that never involved you. Miraculously, she finds a way to occupy your time, which you appreciate, but while you're standing there wondering when she's joining you, the wheels start turning a little too fast, and maybe things stop connecting and making sense.
She never joined me, she never used the ticket she bought for herself. She picked me up when she was finished, not when I was finished. & I remember her being full of apologies and searching for reassurances. I must have given them to her, probably because I was definitely buzzed. I vaguely remember getting angry later in the night, but stuffing it down because it didn't seem worth it, somehow: I'd gotten to see one of my favorite bands, and truthfully, she wouldn't have enjoyed seeing them with me. So I don't even know if there's anything wrong with this. It still doesn't feel right.
I don't like doing everything by myself, but I've become intensely independent as of late. Tonight, for example, I had two tickets for OTR, and was completely undecided on whether to go alone or drag one of my friends with me (since none of them listen to OTR). I ended up taking my best friend, and she was very appreciative as always, but when I really thought about it, I realized that I would have been okay going by myself. Because I do everything by myself. There's nothing wrong with that, but I don't like feeling so unattached to the fact that I do, in fact, have a girlfriend. The balance is off; it's never been on.
I don't know what I'm looking for, because I'm not looking for anything, but I no longer know what to do with what I have.
Today, you stood so close to me that I could have leaned ever so slightly to the left and been tucked into the welcoming space between your extended arm and your warm torso. We spoke, we eye-contacted like bandits when we were one-on-one, and I was able to drink in the details of your profile. I felt the heat from your body when you were standing next to me, so close I didn't know how to react. But, the beauty.
On a totally unrelated note: Thank GOD Nekisa has finally been booted from Shear Genius.
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