Purple Space Wombats
I'm going to talk on here...because the alternative is going back to playing that dating sim while I finish this.
Oh man, I shouldn't have mentioned that though. Cause now I want to play...fortunately I distracted myself by cleverly staring around the room, and now the impulse has passed.
I haven't really written much, not in a keeping-track-of-my-head way, for months now. (To verify this, I stopped back through my recent LJ. It is the truth, although I did find a survey I filled out drunk on Stuart's computer. I was not drinking Stuart's computer. I was drinking wine. It was fucking hilarious though, probably mostly because I am again drinking wine. Mmm wine.) This's been kinda bothering me, you know? Because ever since my mom made me keep a journal for a couple months, writing about my life was a major part of the way I lived it. Crazy mom. All that making me do formative things. The thing is though...the past six months, when I've been not writing anything at all, not even when I sat down to try to, they've been fucking pivotal. I mean...I got a job, I moved out, I fell ridiculously in love...this is supposed to be the pith and vim of the human drama. ...I don't think you can use vim that way. Despite that...I have nothing to say about it.
I was talking to Ariana also Baylie earlier...(Baylie is awwesomeee...we headbutted our screens at each other. This is a level of crazy previously seen only in Amy or purple space wombats. Hehe. PURPLE SPACE WOMBATS.) and I was defending my right to be a solitary social drinker, because damit, it's fun.
However, I was realizing that however fun, this statements no longer accurate. I am singular...consolidated and unitary. This has made keeping it together a hell of it a lot easier, but means I don't really do dialogue anymore, just monologue. And I'm not much of one for monologues...I already know what I'm saying, so why say it?
It wasn't this extreme before I walked in front of that car. Other me's occassionally popped up. Now there's just...no one else in my head. In a lot of ways I prefer it this way. I was a real bitch to me a lot of the time. Most of the time.
Forged in a fire, and I'm not sure what I've got.
I'm not sure what I want.
I mean, I want what I've got, I'm very clear on that.
Man, why did they give me that picture? I mean, I guess it's a fairly cute picture of Joseph, but I can't stand any picture of myself until it's at least a year old. QUIT LOOKING AT ME, MY FACE! QUIT MAKING THAT GOOFY EYEBALLS.
It's not working, and it's working better than I can possibly imagine.
I want to want something though. I want to...be somebody? (I coulda been a contendah!) Not a somebody by counting their chips (although, I'm not saying no to their chips...many of them are green, and smell like money. Because that's what they are. Mmmmm delicious money smell.) Goddamnit, now I want chips. But only with guac, and we don't have any damn guac. Can't get enough, can't get enough, you are my deepest secret, I know it's wrong but I can't go on....my strongest weakness, yeah! I like singing. Singing those songs.
To get back to my non appetizer related point...I don't know, I never believed I could real change who I was because I was run by committee, and the only option there is piracy. Possibly I mean mutiny. Or maybe both.
I need to drink less. I'm building up a tolerence, and that is depressing. Not that I'm not drunk, but if I don't top it off with a something else, I ain't gonna stay that way. And that's crap. Why'm I not still a cheap cheap drunk??? Why is that bottle of wine gone? And WHY IS THE RUM GONE?
I have no desire whatsoever to watch that movie.
No, but my point is, all this pivotal shit I'm going to want a record of, but I can't won't don't write, and when I do, it's not readable, it's crap. I'm reformatting, and in the meantime not getting anything else done.
S'all good.
Kay, I was wrong, I'm all gone gone gone...can I stand up?
Maybe.
Gonna go read Rumi.
Love you.
Bye bye.