concept construct context

"He is not reading you, single and whole as you are, but using you, using fragments of you detached from the context to construct for himself a ghostly partner, known to him alone, in the penumbra of his semiconsciousness, and what he is deciphering is this apocryphal visitor, not you." -from Italo Calvino's If on a winter's night a traveler

backbones, bands, and breakups

No part of me wants to intentionally hurt him. Okay, let's be honest - in any breakup there is at least a minuscule part that fantasizes about riding past your ex with a prince charming on the back of a white stallion or something. A sort of "ha! look at me now!" But in reality, not fantasy world, I don't want to hurt him. Unintentionally hurting someone, however, is inevitable.

He and I are so alike, be we aren't the same person. We are heading down different paths and towards different people, places, and things. We may not always "approve" of what the other is doing (or not doing). Perhaps we will even make mistakes, get turned around, and become temporarily lost. But again, mistakes are pretty much inevitable.

My point, if I even have one, is that he and I need to start doing what's best for ourselves. And if, for him, that means developing a friendly, chummy relationship with her, then that's his decision. And if, for me, that means stepping entirely out of my comfort zone (such as being in three bands), trying new things (like, ahem, being in three bands), taking trips to innerspace (no comment), then, well, these are my decisions.

Lately both of us have been fighting against each other's decisions. This type of fighting results in nothing constructive or positive. I do believe voicing concerns and opinions is fine and sometimes very productive and healthy, but he and I really need to watch our toes and make sure we do not step over into obsessive control.

I just wish he could understand this. I mean, really understand. But enough contemplation for now - I have band practice in less than an hour with some Village Inn pie on the side.

i should probably just smash my computer

Perhaps reading my blog is like watching a car wreck. Especially now! With boy drama! I am bound to some pretty uncomfortable, juvenile things! You can't NOT read now, right? But you really want to. Trains, planes, and automobiles: They all gotta crash at some point and we all gotta be around to watch. Welcome.

cool man that's great

Let me just stop being vague and pseudo-poetic and say what I have been meaning to say - I am happy to be single. The past two years have been overall hellish. I was slowly turning into an unblinking, psychotic, repressed little girl. But I'm back and feel better than I have in a long, long time. No one is gonna take care of me, I've gots to starts takin' care of myself. Also, I plan on being in an asexual, long-term relationship with one of my best buddies. Or moving to South America. Or both? Or none of the above. Good lord I need a Xanax.

the scars are fading

I disguised self-denial as contentment. The destruction of myself almost became an addiction, a high. There was in fact love and certain aspects of that love will never cease, but essentially it took the burying, the decaying of two to find the beginning of one. I am here now and I feel both weaker and stronger than ever.

Fall Song

"Fall Song" by Mary Oliver

Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,

the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back

from the particular island
of this summer, this Now, that now is nowhere

except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle

of unobservable mysteries--roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This

I try to remember when time's measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn

flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay--how everything lives, shifting

from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.

renewal

Gettin' way back to my roots. Like, 5-year-old roots. Before I had an eating disorder, before I tried to change myself for this boy or that boy, before I knew about makeup and underwear and stage fright. Returning to the bare bones and it sure feels like home.

kite/kyte

So I non-impulsively cut bangs for myself tonight. I like. Some might not like, but that some is not me. That SUM is not ME. Whoa. Trippin'.

nice grill, grrl

I misssss you!

"You" is a number of things. You is not just one person, place, or thing. I miss a lot of yous.

And so I've gotta get myself back on track. Whatever and wherever that track is. But through getting back on, I desire to remain off. You know, the whole "all who wander are not lost" kinda thing. I want to wander. But I want to wander mindfully. To me, this makes sense. And that's all that matters, I suppose.

Speaking of supposing, I suppose I will make the world's best grilled cheese sandwich within the next few days. It will include a really great grain bread (perhaps 8 grain? 12 grain? 47 grain?), honey mustard, sharp cheddar cheese, and crisp granny smith apple slices in the middle. Sorry, vegan friends/acquaintances.

metaphorically marinating inside of a metaphorical volcano

I miss writing. I am not inspired and/or motivated these days to write, but maybe me missing it is a good sign. Maybe I am just marinating in a bunch of crazy juice at the moment that will eventually lead to a volcano of weird poetry and absurd one-act plays. We (you and I) can only hope.