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2002:March:27
Good afternoon gentle reader. I just wanted to let you know that I still love you and all that. I have not really felt up to visiting with you since my last two entries. I made the mistake of reading back over all of them the other day and my stomach has yet to stop churning. I am concerned that you may think that the parts, the bits, the pieces of my life that I have shared with you are the iceberg itself. You do know that it is only a tip from an ancient place within myself? A pangea psychosis if you will. But pangea broke apart if I remember correctly and I think some believe that it did not exist at all. And? You ask? Sigh, not much else really.
I have been in a pretty dark place. I did not realize how very small Wilmington in so so many ways and I do not think that I have ever felt this exposed. This is probably a good thing for my phony ass to go through I suppose. Honestly, I had assumed that only, perhaps, that maybe some of the people that I mentioned in the site, might read the site and perhaps a few freaks like me, but I never even thought of Wilmington itself. Or, I could be completely wrong. But I swear I pick up some different kind of vibe when I have been out and about in the town as of late. Sure, the wounded and nude vibe I feel like I am giving off is a possible reason for this groove, or rather, funk, that I have put myself in again. Maybe I am trying to be more real and expecting myself not to freak myself out although I know it does do just that.
This beautiful girl, whose name nor abbreviated alias shall not be mentioned, remembered or had heard that my birthday was that day or soon. I was delighted and puzzled. But she is such an enchanting creature, that I did not inquire the source of this fact. I do not know anyone that well in Wilmington really. Except for my few very close friends. She is one of the people that I have met that radiates light. Women are such an incredible creation. So happy, so sure of herself, likes what she does to pay the rent, does creative stuff on her own because she wants to, and of course, I am sure she knows this, and I love this too, that she must.
She talked to me.
Sad, sloppy, boring, freaky ol' me. My close friends that have been with me for so long have really been so good to me. I really have been such an ass. I have been freakishly honest. My eyes get that beaten look that I sometimes cannot shake. It makes me hard to look at. It makes people angry. It comes with no warning, at work, or out in public, etc. It happens by myself at home or in stores too. Cops and cashiers are usually quite hateful towards me. It is starting to happen to me more and more often now. "I feel like a kid again/ my eyes are glued to the floor" I remember my mother, for years, would drag me with her to the ladies department to wait politely on a tassled hassock next to a 3-way mirror while she tried on the same three dresses 3 to 4 times. Bless her bones. She was as obsessive compulsive as I am. When I had my pet rabbits, she must have told me to wash my hands at least 20 times a day. She would ask when I had touched them last if she passed me in the house or later too when I was watching T.V., etc, etc. My hands stayed red and raw in 7th grade when the hairy babies started to get sick more often and finally, died. She was worried. Really, really, worried, both of my parents were lousy with worry.
So it manifests. I guess everything that you are not true to yourself about manifests itself into something. Something darker. So how do I stop all that gentle reader? "Let's put our heads together and start a new country/ the father's father's child/ erase the parts we didn't like" I am not always sad. It is not just the trappings. Come on darling, the trappings are my choice. True. Where does this freedom come from though? Is it what I did today? Is it what I do not allow myself to do? Or is is the things that I want to do and I do not do because of, again, the self induced traps? And what are these things I want to do? I love, love, love, writing to you gentle reader but I am so torn up after I post these musings to you. I could really give a damn about working in a flower shop. In fact, it sucks ass, and I am going out of my newly, supposedly not queer, mind.
Jeez. I so badly want to be honest every day and all the time. And I am sometimes. Almost. I am, again, with my closest friends, but I am not trying hard enough with them either. I have been enjoying too much of mother's little helper and vino. "These corrosives do their magic slowly/ I can see....anything to thin the blood" Maybe I should stay away from people for a little while and try to sharpen up so that I might be a bit more fun to be around. I lose my train of thought when I am speaking because I use so many words to get there. Am I overcompensating for not having much to say? Probably, dammit! I should be seeing more movies, reading more books, taking a class, traveling, something. And crying poormouth is getting old. I live beyond my means and I do not manage, I squander.
Stupid money.
You know, gentle reader, I have never even been to NYC, Seattle, L.A., etc. Sure, I have been other places due more to circumstance than choice mostly. Army brat. Whatever that means, my dad was just enlisted, not an officer. I will admit something even worse to you gentle reader. And again, let me say first that my close friends are so so cool for bringing me along to this inside party with a delightful mix of folks I had never really hung out with. I was terrified of the possibility that if one of these cities came up in conversation, I would have to admit that no, sadly, I have visited none of them. I would probably try to defend my life once again and maybe even feel compelled to pull up a trump card or two with the dead parents and all just to redirect the conversation. Sigh, more shallow revelations.
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