(no subject)
The bad news is, my sleep schedule is officially fucked. I slept from 9pm to Midnight, now it's 4am and an alarm will ring in six short hours to get me going for a busy day of prep for camping.
But the good news is manifold. My grandmother's death doesn't feel so imminent to me. Me and Julius visited her today (I read A.A. Milne poems and the first chapter of The Secret Garden, Julius read Suetonius' hysterical accounts of some of Caligula and Nero's antics.) and she looked much more like herself. She was still lying flat in her bed, but she was moving around, shifting herself, much more actively talking, pretty much as coherent and clear-minded as ever, and there was color in her flesh.
So while they may not know yet what's causing her weakness and loss of appetite, she's much more like her usual self. And every meal, she eats three bites for me. Three bites beyond what she can force herself on her own to eat. I'm proud of her, and I think I'm doing a good job of being her boxing coach or cheerleader or whatever. Dismissing her depressive thought-cycles, replacing them with hope and excitements. I'm very glad that my brother and his family are coming to visit her next week. She hasn't gotten to see her great-grandsons since they were small infants. Now they're walking, talking, stubborn and silly two-year-olds! I'll be happy to see them again, too. And I hope I'll be able to sneak at least them (if not that whole family) down to my city to visit the lagamorphian member of my family. And all the squirmy little rodents. But even if I don't, I'm really excited about seeing them and taking them to the Children's Museum, one of Boston's few highlights. Oh, we might show them the Common, too, with the Swan Boats and the "Make Way For Ducklings!" sculpture. There should even be some real ducklings to see, still.
So with grandma out of danger (or so it feels to me- but who knows what tomorrow brings?), there's only the second Very Bad Thing left. I'm no longer so broken up about it, but I am at a loss of what to do, or how to let go of him that fully. I wasn't expecting to have to do so to such an extent. One would think, with all of the friends who have parted ways with me for all the different reasons, that I would be used to it by now. I am, kind of. I didn't mourn the loss of the last group of friends I lost. Not for long, anyway. But he was closer. He was deeper, tighter with me.
And I'm unaccustomed to this. I've only broken up with one other person (yeah, 19 lovers and only four Relationships, but one was very low-key) where the breakup was painful. And he wanted to stay friends . . . wanted to stay lovers, actually, though I put a stop to that pretty quickly. Even when he joined the Army, though, I'd be one of the few people he'd call to say he was visiting home and wanted to catch up with me. So this idea of breaking up with someone and they not wanting to be friends, really . . . it's odd. And while he was telling me those things about why else we couldn't be friends, I had a reaction I've had several times during this process. Half of me was crumpling at his words, and the other half was shaking her head, calmly saying, "You idiot. I can't believe you're so smart about other things and so dumb about me."
You can say what you want about my faults. I know almost all of them, my personality faults have been spat and yelled and emailed to me more than a dozen times, probably. But I know a few of my good points, too, and one of them is this: if I consider you a close friend, then I am a damn good friend. Loyal, earnest, passionate, supportive, communicative, there-whenever-you-need-me: I'm all of these and more. And while part of me is still shellshocked at this decision of his to stop being friends, that other part is chuckling dryly, bemused that he's tossing me away for such nonsensical reasons. His loss, I suppose. And your gain, those who are reading this, or out there somewhere, who will someday fill his place in my Circles. I assure you, you'll find me maddening at times, but you'll also find me a damn good friend.
It's been a busy few days, and I'd like to catch you up before I make another attempt at sleep. But I hear Morpheus singing to me, so I'll try to make this brief.
I've never had a cell phone before. Or a digital camera. Or a Palm Pilot. Or a good watch, that says the date. Or a portable internet device. Or or or or or . . . anyway, I have them all now. In a tiny contraption that clips to my pants. I will give out the phone number in a Friends-Only post, so you all can bug me on a more regular basis. So far, I fucking love it. Irony struck early in my cell phone life: soon after I set my ring tones, I received my first text-message. It was from the boy mentioned above, and my phone announced its presence by singing "Greensleeves". Alas, my love . . .
Went shopping with Ezra yesterday, to advise her on decent camping gear. We got her an airbed and nice tent for cheap. I dragged her into the Sketchers store because I need a new pair of sneakers and this store has good deals . . . me and Ezra left with a pair of roller skates apiece. Eeeeee! I'm so excited! I'm taking them camping, though it's unlikely we'll find pavement at the campground. They were less than half the price of a decent pair of rollerblade bearings, which is what I would need if I wanted to make my rollerblades suck less. I'm gonna be skating old-skool stylee!!!!!!!!!
Also got a new outfit for clubwear/summer evenings/my new Werewolf LARP character. Yeah, I'm a geek. And I haven't bought a whole outfit in forever, but it was all clearance stuff and I decided I deserved an income-tax-refund splurge. Well, besides the phones. (Bought Julius one too.) Life-long debt? Hell yeah, it's the American Way! :)
Anyway, the outfit is: a long-sleeve shirt and rave pants that are made of a lightweight, breezy material. Black with red stitching/accents. A black web belt with a skull and crossbones clasp. A leather bracelet with a skull and crossbones, in silver with red sparkly eyes. And these red and black platform shoes that lace up to ya ya. Don't ask me where ya ya is, but it's somewhere far up my leg, if I lace them properly. Very exciting, black and red is still one of my favourite colour-combinations.
zantiphia came over and buzzed my hair, including a chunk at the back that I really needed to keep to make the "I have a full head of hair" illusion stay intact. I don't mind, though. I love detecting minor air current shifts with the back of my head. Makes me really wish I could shave my whole head. Damn this "secret Corporate Whore identity" bullshit! I don't even have a job! But that's the problem, see. I'm pretty sure that if I had a job, I could shave my head and, once they got over their surprise (and I assured them that I had nothing against people of other races), I'm sure they'd be fine. I highly doubt anyone gets fired for de-Corporatizing their hair, however much they worry about it. But I need to be interview-friendly, and that means I'll be clipping my hair back to hide my bald spot and trying to land something semi-permenant soon.
Oh yes, and last night I went to Club Hell's annual Blackout. No lights, just blacklights and decorations/people/clothing that were glowing. I felt like I was in the depths of the ocean. (I don't want to spoil Finding Nemo for those of you who will see it but haven't yet, but I am damn happy that my favourite deep-sea fish got to have a part in that beautiful, funny movie.) Most people were dressed in white or with white/blacklight reactive accents. I was the only one dressed in my skunk outfit from a few Halloweens ago. I got more compliments than I ever have before at Hell. Maybe it was the coolness of the outfit, or maybe it was because my stripes and belly were glowing like the moon! It was really comfy, I'm glad I wore it.
After doing the usual walking around the club, saying my hellos, I hit the dancefloor. Venom played a fabulous set, as did the NYC DJ that followed him. As I was dancing with Ezra and Faerie, I scoped out this guy standing on the side of the dancefloor, watching the dancers but looking bored. He had dreds that stuck out in every direction. I love dreds. He had no facial hair, but for a goatlike tuft at the bottom of his chin. No near-the-lips facial hair, yum. He had a tattoo on his chest of a heart and one on his right shoulder of a complex pentagram. He had a completely hairless chest well-muscled enough to look very tasty in all its bareness. He was a full head shorter than me. It took me a bit longer than I wanted, but I smoothly asked him to dance. He accepted, but ignored my "let's get a bit closer" flirty moves. Shy? Not noticing my moves? I couldn't tell. We went outside when we got too hot, and talked for a half-hour about spirituality and our flavours of religion. Ahhhhh . . . that felt good, communing with someone similar to me. Gods, he was cool. I heard the NYC DJ spin a Phantom of the Opera song into a techno song, but I ignored the urge to run in and dance so I could keep mackin' on this guy. We went back inside, and my friends kept coming up to me, so I lost him in the crowd. When I found him again, he was dancing close with one of the womyn dancers they hired to look yummy and dance for us.
I was disappointed, especially since I was looking forward to kissing new lips, smelling a new scent. But I recovered, wandered around and talked some more, danced. I was on the verge of going to Spike's with Ezra and Van (who has an LJ, but I forgot his username) when they started playing some nineties hardish alternative. I was on the dancefloor in a flash. And then they played "Smells Like Teen Spirit", which I haven't heard in a club since . . . uh . . . maybe a decade ago? After doing a proper piston-dance for the first half of the song (no fun when you're the only one doing so), I tried to start a friendly mosh pit (also no fun when you're doing it alone). Then I spied a friendly mini-mosh pit at the other end of the dancefloor, so I shimmied through the crowd and was soon pushing and shoving and laughing to one of my favourite radio-songs in high school. Just at the end, a womyn jumped into the pit. She pulled me aside afterwards and told me she just had to mosh with a skunk once in her life. :D
I danced near one of the platforms, which had all three of the hot womyn dancers on it. The tallest one pulled me up and started bumpin' and grindin' with me. In a friendly way, not a "I need to get in your pants right this minute" way. I asked the others if they minded me up there with them- I didn't want to be like the obnoxious guys that have been grabbing at them all night! They laughed and invited me to stay, and I spent the last half-hour dancing with the three hottest womyn in the club. Thanks Eros, that made up for my earlier disappointment with the dredded boy. As soon as the music stopped, they introduced themselves, and there was much handshaking and hugging. Hooray for hugs! Hooray for hot womyn! Maybe one of them is Queer and Poly. Certainly, at least the tall one is a regular.
The rest of the night was good, once my taxicab responsibilities were mostly over. I spent a few hours chilling with old friends, including half of the couple from a few weeks ago. The male half, alas, but I had a good talk with that thar Satyr about stuff, including how he'd completely forgotten how to kiss me. He relearned quickly, but I didn't do more than kiss him a few times. It was great to talk to Gooph (who also has an LJ, but I don't remember the username), and joker4gotham and livingdeath were doing their new-couple thang. Eventually Satyr bullied them into his bed. Not so Satyr could fuck them, but so they could fuck before being forced apart once again. Too bad Livingdeath lives so far away. 'Twas a nice drive to her place, and I didn't ask for gas money. The lovely cries she gave my eager ears from Satyr's bed were payment enough. :)
But the good news is manifold. My grandmother's death doesn't feel so imminent to me. Me and Julius visited her today (I read A.A. Milne poems and the first chapter of The Secret Garden, Julius read Suetonius' hysterical accounts of some of Caligula and Nero's antics.) and she looked much more like herself. She was still lying flat in her bed, but she was moving around, shifting herself, much more actively talking, pretty much as coherent and clear-minded as ever, and there was color in her flesh.
So while they may not know yet what's causing her weakness and loss of appetite, she's much more like her usual self. And every meal, she eats three bites for me. Three bites beyond what she can force herself on her own to eat. I'm proud of her, and I think I'm doing a good job of being her boxing coach or cheerleader or whatever. Dismissing her depressive thought-cycles, replacing them with hope and excitements. I'm very glad that my brother and his family are coming to visit her next week. She hasn't gotten to see her great-grandsons since they were small infants. Now they're walking, talking, stubborn and silly two-year-olds! I'll be happy to see them again, too. And I hope I'll be able to sneak at least them (if not that whole family) down to my city to visit the lagamorphian member of my family. And all the squirmy little rodents. But even if I don't, I'm really excited about seeing them and taking them to the Children's Museum, one of Boston's few highlights. Oh, we might show them the Common, too, with the Swan Boats and the "Make Way For Ducklings!" sculpture. There should even be some real ducklings to see, still.
So with grandma out of danger (or so it feels to me- but who knows what tomorrow brings?), there's only the second Very Bad Thing left. I'm no longer so broken up about it, but I am at a loss of what to do, or how to let go of him that fully. I wasn't expecting to have to do so to such an extent. One would think, with all of the friends who have parted ways with me for all the different reasons, that I would be used to it by now. I am, kind of. I didn't mourn the loss of the last group of friends I lost. Not for long, anyway. But he was closer. He was deeper, tighter with me.
And I'm unaccustomed to this. I've only broken up with one other person (yeah, 19 lovers and only four Relationships, but one was very low-key) where the breakup was painful. And he wanted to stay friends . . . wanted to stay lovers, actually, though I put a stop to that pretty quickly. Even when he joined the Army, though, I'd be one of the few people he'd call to say he was visiting home and wanted to catch up with me. So this idea of breaking up with someone and they not wanting to be friends, really . . . it's odd. And while he was telling me those things about why else we couldn't be friends, I had a reaction I've had several times during this process. Half of me was crumpling at his words, and the other half was shaking her head, calmly saying, "You idiot. I can't believe you're so smart about other things and so dumb about me."
You can say what you want about my faults. I know almost all of them, my personality faults have been spat and yelled and emailed to me more than a dozen times, probably. But I know a few of my good points, too, and one of them is this: if I consider you a close friend, then I am a damn good friend. Loyal, earnest, passionate, supportive, communicative, there-whenever-you-need-me: I'm all of these and more. And while part of me is still shellshocked at this decision of his to stop being friends, that other part is chuckling dryly, bemused that he's tossing me away for such nonsensical reasons. His loss, I suppose. And your gain, those who are reading this, or out there somewhere, who will someday fill his place in my Circles. I assure you, you'll find me maddening at times, but you'll also find me a damn good friend.
It's been a busy few days, and I'd like to catch you up before I make another attempt at sleep. But I hear Morpheus singing to me, so I'll try to make this brief.
I've never had a cell phone before. Or a digital camera. Or a Palm Pilot. Or a good watch, that says the date. Or a portable internet device. Or or or or or . . . anyway, I have them all now. In a tiny contraption that clips to my pants. I will give out the phone number in a Friends-Only post, so you all can bug me on a more regular basis. So far, I fucking love it. Irony struck early in my cell phone life: soon after I set my ring tones, I received my first text-message. It was from the boy mentioned above, and my phone announced its presence by singing "Greensleeves". Alas, my love . . .
Went shopping with Ezra yesterday, to advise her on decent camping gear. We got her an airbed and nice tent for cheap. I dragged her into the Sketchers store because I need a new pair of sneakers and this store has good deals . . . me and Ezra left with a pair of roller skates apiece. Eeeeee! I'm so excited! I'm taking them camping, though it's unlikely we'll find pavement at the campground. They were less than half the price of a decent pair of rollerblade bearings, which is what I would need if I wanted to make my rollerblades suck less. I'm gonna be skating old-skool stylee!!!!!!!!!
Also got a new outfit for clubwear/summer evenings/my new Werewolf LARP character. Yeah, I'm a geek. And I haven't bought a whole outfit in forever, but it was all clearance stuff and I decided I deserved an income-tax-refund splurge. Well, besides the phones. (Bought Julius one too.) Life-long debt? Hell yeah, it's the American Way! :)
Anyway, the outfit is: a long-sleeve shirt and rave pants that are made of a lightweight, breezy material. Black with red stitching/accents. A black web belt with a skull and crossbones clasp. A leather bracelet with a skull and crossbones, in silver with red sparkly eyes. And these red and black platform shoes that lace up to ya ya. Don't ask me where ya ya is, but it's somewhere far up my leg, if I lace them properly. Very exciting, black and red is still one of my favourite colour-combinations.
zantiphia came over and buzzed my hair, including a chunk at the back that I really needed to keep to make the "I have a full head of hair" illusion stay intact. I don't mind, though. I love detecting minor air current shifts with the back of my head. Makes me really wish I could shave my whole head. Damn this "secret Corporate Whore identity" bullshit! I don't even have a job! But that's the problem, see. I'm pretty sure that if I had a job, I could shave my head and, once they got over their surprise (and I assured them that I had nothing against people of other races), I'm sure they'd be fine. I highly doubt anyone gets fired for de-Corporatizing their hair, however much they worry about it. But I need to be interview-friendly, and that means I'll be clipping my hair back to hide my bald spot and trying to land something semi-permenant soon.
Oh yes, and last night I went to Club Hell's annual Blackout. No lights, just blacklights and decorations/people/clothing that were glowing. I felt like I was in the depths of the ocean. (I don't want to spoil Finding Nemo for those of you who will see it but haven't yet, but I am damn happy that my favourite deep-sea fish got to have a part in that beautiful, funny movie.) Most people were dressed in white or with white/blacklight reactive accents. I was the only one dressed in my skunk outfit from a few Halloweens ago. I got more compliments than I ever have before at Hell. Maybe it was the coolness of the outfit, or maybe it was because my stripes and belly were glowing like the moon! It was really comfy, I'm glad I wore it.
After doing the usual walking around the club, saying my hellos, I hit the dancefloor. Venom played a fabulous set, as did the NYC DJ that followed him. As I was dancing with Ezra and Faerie, I scoped out this guy standing on the side of the dancefloor, watching the dancers but looking bored. He had dreds that stuck out in every direction. I love dreds. He had no facial hair, but for a goatlike tuft at the bottom of his chin. No near-the-lips facial hair, yum. He had a tattoo on his chest of a heart and one on his right shoulder of a complex pentagram. He had a completely hairless chest well-muscled enough to look very tasty in all its bareness. He was a full head shorter than me. It took me a bit longer than I wanted, but I smoothly asked him to dance. He accepted, but ignored my "let's get a bit closer" flirty moves. Shy? Not noticing my moves? I couldn't tell. We went outside when we got too hot, and talked for a half-hour about spirituality and our flavours of religion. Ahhhhh . . . that felt good, communing with someone similar to me. Gods, he was cool. I heard the NYC DJ spin a Phantom of the Opera song into a techno song, but I ignored the urge to run in and dance so I could keep mackin' on this guy. We went back inside, and my friends kept coming up to me, so I lost him in the crowd. When I found him again, he was dancing close with one of the womyn dancers they hired to look yummy and dance for us.
I was disappointed, especially since I was looking forward to kissing new lips, smelling a new scent. But I recovered, wandered around and talked some more, danced. I was on the verge of going to Spike's with Ezra and Van (who has an LJ, but I forgot his username) when they started playing some nineties hardish alternative. I was on the dancefloor in a flash. And then they played "Smells Like Teen Spirit", which I haven't heard in a club since . . . uh . . . maybe a decade ago? After doing a proper piston-dance for the first half of the song (no fun when you're the only one doing so), I tried to start a friendly mosh pit (also no fun when you're doing it alone). Then I spied a friendly mini-mosh pit at the other end of the dancefloor, so I shimmied through the crowd and was soon pushing and shoving and laughing to one of my favourite radio-songs in high school. Just at the end, a womyn jumped into the pit. She pulled me aside afterwards and told me she just had to mosh with a skunk once in her life. :D
I danced near one of the platforms, which had all three of the hot womyn dancers on it. The tallest one pulled me up and started bumpin' and grindin' with me. In a friendly way, not a "I need to get in your pants right this minute" way. I asked the others if they minded me up there with them- I didn't want to be like the obnoxious guys that have been grabbing at them all night! They laughed and invited me to stay, and I spent the last half-hour dancing with the three hottest womyn in the club. Thanks Eros, that made up for my earlier disappointment with the dredded boy. As soon as the music stopped, they introduced themselves, and there was much handshaking and hugging. Hooray for hugs! Hooray for hot womyn! Maybe one of them is Queer and Poly. Certainly, at least the tall one is a regular.
The rest of the night was good, once my taxicab responsibilities were mostly over. I spent a few hours chilling with old friends, including half of the couple from a few weeks ago. The male half, alas, but I had a good talk with that thar Satyr about stuff, including how he'd completely forgotten how to kiss me. He relearned quickly, but I didn't do more than kiss him a few times. It was great to talk to Gooph (who also has an LJ, but I don't remember the username), and joker4gotham and livingdeath were doing their new-couple thang. Eventually Satyr bullied them into his bed. Not so Satyr could fuck them, but so they could fuck before being forced apart once again. Too bad Livingdeath lives so far away. 'Twas a nice drive to her place, and I didn't ask for gas money. The lovely cries she gave my eager ears from Satyr's bed were payment enough. :)