Train of thought inspired by the Three of Swords...

Today I had a panic attack because I knew that I was never going to talk with you ever again.
And then I had another panic attack because I had to pretend to be okay.

I knew that everything I wanted and everything I ever hoped for
Was as futile and foolish as the curls I attempted to put in my hair
And knowing this made me want to die but instead of dying I cried
Just as I cried when you left me.
And its not your fault but it is my own
Because I should have known better than to put my hopes and dreams into someone so mediocre...

And yet... I'm not sure what hurts more:
Knowing that I was better than you and you didn't want me
Or knowing that I was better than you and I let you break my heart.
I know every inch of you
I know when you're lying, when you're lost, and when you just don't care.
I know you well enough to know that there's nothing in you left for me,
And that you've given whatever it was that used to belong to me to someone else.
I looked into your soul and saw the man I wanted to live forever with
And you looked into mine and saw someone you couldn't wait to leave.
You saw someone who could not and would never be that cliched all consuming One.

I want you to know that I'd turn her to ash and stone if I could;
...That girl you left me for...
You don't really think I didn't know about your blue-clad indiscretion?
I hate that you left me for some pig-faced idiota who has no idea who you are or what you want.
Even when we didn't want the same thing, I still understood you without you needing to say so.

But that matters less than the freckles on your nose,
Than every shade of blue in your eyes,
And every tear I've ever cried over you
Because the Three of Swords said so
And I'm tired of fighting it.

I've waited way too long to grieve, too busy hiding behind false pretenses and the illusion of being okay...
And now that I am grieving I've come to the conclusion that there's something fundamentally broken inside me
And neither you or He can fix it, despite both of your best intentions.
And while you get to live the rest of your life across the Atlantic, happily ignoring the impact you've made on me
And He gets to try to remind me that I'm a woman and that I deserve to be loved
Neither of you have the capacity to understand that I'm broken inside,
And I'd rather hollow myself out and turn myself to stone than think of either of you with tenderness.
Because He hurt me first,
And you hurt me last,
And neither of you have the right to look me in the eye.

I am better than you, if you want to know.
I am better than some fool who only ever pretends to know what he wants
And would rather throw away his life on a Rock and an idea and a memory
Than write and think about anything worth having.
You'll never write the way you want to
You'll never live beyond gambling, cigarettes and beer,
And you'll die fat and balding and useless, just like a million other Englishmen who all had the same delusions you have.
You'll marry someone like that blue-clad pig-faced Eurotrash who will tell you everything you want to hear and who will spit out 2.5 pig-faced Eurotrash uberliberal children, just like you.

Personally, I'd rather be sterile.

I never told you that....

It seems really fucking irrelevant now. I'm kind of glad I never told you.
I'm especially glad that you don't care enough about me to read this.

Singing in public and other interesting news

So on Monday I went to Dorchester District Court with Ashe and spent the better part the middle day watching her try to talk her way out of a speeding ticket. It wasn't one of those "I was speeding but I hope they'll let it slide" moments, there was this whole back story that I wont get into. Dorchester District Court is full of interest for someone who just doesn't go to Dorchester if she can avoid it. We spied all manner of strangeness, and were both equally felt up by the security guard at the door. Overall the entire experience made me want to throw myself in traffic.

Then, on Tuesday, I auditioned a new stylist. I felt like I was cheating on my current stylist Stu, but he and I have two very different aesthetics and I just don't think he understands me anymore. It's a shame, really, because he did exquisite color, but the last several cuts I've had from him have made me want to go all Britney Spears. New Stylist Bill is interesting. Unlike Stylist Stu, who is 40-something, gay, and more eccentric than I originally thought, Billy-Buddy is 30-something, strait (shock!) and kind of a Joe-Guy. At the very least he seemed to understand my bone structure, because the re-shaping he did is really quite nice. The previous cut was so hideous that I really wasn't expecting miracles, so Billy-Buddy gets 5 stars.

Much later the sibs and I went to see the new Harry Potter. I didn't love it. It was kind of like an episode of Family Guy: A series of amusing scenes filling the space between the scenes that move the plot along. I'm probably going to get mauled by rabid Harry Potter fans, (the only thing being more vicious is a Twilight Fan...) but it just wasn't my cup of tea.

Today I'm meant to be singing at a baseball game tonight. I get to sing the national anthem in the key of D. I'm not excited, really, as much as I'm annoyed that my throat hasn't completely recovered from the gastrointestinal tragedy that was my Saturday night. Throwing up stomach acid hurts, goddamn it. I'm trying to garner some kind of excitement about tomorrow, though, because tomorrow is going to be the crown jewel of my week. I'm going to go be an extra in The Fighter. Christian Bale and Mark Wahlberg will be in my eye line tomorrow, and I get free sandwiches. Seriously! I'm really kind of glad that my hair turned out so good, actually, because the last thing any girl wants is to be on camera with FUGS hair.

Stay tuned, kids. I'll let you know if Bale is a big a dick as they say. :D

Date Rape? Not quite...

So I got dosed with something (GHB or something else that turns you to a loopy violently ill mess) last night while I was out with Ashe. I'm pretty much ready to rip the throat out of whoever did it. I spent today recuperating... Knowing that not only did someone put something in my drink, but that if Ashe hadn't been there I would have been in serious trouble has made me more cranky than usual. Parts of the night do not exist in my memory. Not good.

In other news Lucy is still looking for some higher meaning in human connection. Given my enormous failure at last attempt at real relationship I think it would do me some good to create a connection with someone who very thought doesn't make me want to slit my wrists with a spork. Being over dramatic runs in my genetics, I think. That's okay, I'm creative and clever so I can get away with saying things like that about the people who've hurt me.

Tomorrow I get to be Ashe's body guard at court. It will suck in part because I'll be expected to wake up before noon, and doubly because I'm going to go with her to make sure that she doesn't get attacked and killed by goons. *lesigh* Everything is so boring in my life... obviously.

So I have this friend...

With whom I cannot share my thoughts. It's very strange, really, because I think he's probably the only person I've ever continued to have a relationship with who doesn't know how I work. I am, of course, overestimating my aloofness, but by this I mean that when he looks at me I know for certain he has no idea what I'm thinking.

When we first met I didn't dare tell him what I was thinking because I was afraid he'd think me too foolish and naive and all those undesirable things that men think when they know too much about how a woman works. I was desperate to impress him so I kept quiet and didn't tell him much of anything, and so somehow that translated into a very complicated relationship that has spanned several years.

A typical conversation between he and I usually progresses thusly,

Him: "You look like you're thinking thoughts."

Me: "I am, it's kinda nice in here." (Point to head, smirking.)

Him: "Why don't you tell me?"

Me: "It's not important." (Change subject to avoid discussing anything meaningful.)

The problem is, I'm usually thinking all sorts of things that he might actually be interested in hearing about, but there's something about his manner and his attitude that tell me that any confidence I share with him will only be used against me. Which is absolutely stupid because he's the most laid-back person in the world and has made enough mistakes not to judge someone for their stupid thoughts. Except that I still feel like a foolish little girl whenever I'm confronted with an opportunity to share something real with him and that bugs me. I'm not sure if its because he's a bit older than me, or if its because he's one of the most noteworthy Houdinis in my phone, but I know for sure that we've been friends for 5(ish) years and in all that time I think we've had maybe one real honest conversation a year about something fundamental in ourselves. I must have talked to him about this before, but I think that we're both happy keeping my internal monologue to myself.

Interesting point of fact, though, is that he reads my work unflinchingly, even when its about him. That always makes me smile, just a bit. It makes me feel like I don't need to tell him anything because he already knows because he's done his research.

Bwahaha I'm narcissistic

Insomnia does funny things to me. I'm of the opinion that one can get the best writing done while wakeful at silly times at night, but most people find this compulsion I have rather... frustrating. It isn't that I like to sleep during the day, but more that I can't sleep at night. Sleeping at night is like wasted time. I can't stand the thought of wasting time. Night is when good things happen. We dance, we drink, we fuck, and we hope for something better at night. Daytime is for work and truth and all the things that we're trying to hide from. Daytime is when we have to attempt to communicate on a meaningful level with people in order to be considered social and pleasant. At night no one cares if you're inarticulate or aloof.

I've often found that despite all the foolish pretensions we live by, there are few basic connections upon which we build our relationships. Usually it comes down to whether or not you speak the same language, if you're of similar social background, and whether or not you have the same goals. Maybe you can find some wiggle room on one of those factors, but there are very few relationships built without these foundations. I'm told it's called compatibility. I call it bullshit.

I have this friend, one of my very best in the world as it happens, and he's convinced himself that he'll never be in another romantic relationship because he can't find someone who thinks the way he does. He's convinced himself that there's something completely different about his brain that makes him stand apart from his fellow man, and that makes it impossible for him to find someone with whom he can devote himself. I don't know how much of that is just his overly high opinion of himself or how much of it comes from a desire to isolate himself for fear of being hurt. His psychological profile, if such a thing exists, speaks of a highly logical mind that is easily frustrated and bored. (I really must go on and finish reading the DSM IV, it makes me feel much cleverer than the psych majors who used to scorn me.)

Anyway, I'm pretty sure his whole mentality toward relationships is completely wrong. I'm absolutely positive my whole mentality on relationships is completely wrong, but knowing that has only made me more certain that he's fairly wrong too. I don't really want to spend my time with someone who thinks like me... that sounds terrible. Why would I want to spend my whole life in my own head and then, when I'm not working through my own internal monologue, dealing with someone else with the same perspective? Of course, at our core we all have the same perspective: "I'm different! No one but me is as special as I am."

It's that whole Western world-conqueror thing... What can you do?