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I am Superman

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post #86
bio: kristen

first post
that week

Category List
The ones about love
The ones about men

Previous Posts
Dutch Ultimatum
The Ludditette
Friday Party #347
The Wizard of Uz
Taking One 4 the Team
Leap and the Net Will Appear

I remember this song in high school. I was playing it on my tape deck while some high school friends and I were barreling through bishop lake playing follow the leader. It was probably the only time I've driven dangerously and fuck-it like. It was quite nice to be a new driver.
The freedom was novel.

A friend just wrote me an email about how there are things you can only talk about with one person - and when that person isn't available it stews inside of you.

There are also things you can't even talk about to one person. I have such a thing. I wouldn't tell anyone about it. I wouldn't tell even a shrink. No one would understand how i feel. I have tentatively tried to hash it out with someone. It's not as if I desire to keep something bottled up (oh no not me), but it hasn't come out well. It isn't able to be understood, or I can't explain it.

It involves my whole conflicted psyche and how I feel like a cheese
(borsht) and how I feel hopeless and wondering and hopeful and silly and that I come off all wrong and can't get a thought out without sounding like a prattling adorer - or a pitiful crazy wanderer.

With Brian, I became something interesting and alive and humane, but I wasn't cool. When he was around or involved, it meant so much to me that I felt like I was a worshipper at dionysius' feet. I couldn't tell him about all the times that I was sarcastic and flip and disdainful of him. I couldn't be cool around him. I was hot and lathering and turned on high. When he would leave, I would be dead and cool and saucy and full of weltschmerz and wisdom and pain and black holes.

It wasn't always like that.... oh that first night meinen kindern.

What the fuck am I saying? This is why these columns must suck lately.
I have no center. I'm a muddle.

I miss my home. I miss knowing that I don't really need to vacation anywhere because I am content. Now, I am enslaved to 52 weeks a year.
As I said to my friend, this heartless exotic land is fine, but shit.

I want love. I don't deserve love. I am an idiot. I am a fool. I am all of these things, but I want it. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to be aloof.

What is dead is dead. What is alive is alive.

Blah and blah.

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