October 05, 2000: difficult faith
Sometimes, I'm a Dumb Girl (tm).
See, Chris told me this morning that this chick from South Dakota was going to Vancouver and that that he was going with her.
My first reaction? My inner ten-year-olds going, "But *I* wanted to show him Vancouver! No fair! He's already going to San Fransisco with Misha, and Seattle, Vancouver, and SF are my sum total of cool cities that I know at all well!"
And, yeah, I should take him to see the rain forest or something. But that's different--I've never been to the rain forest, myself, and it's different going somewhere with someone that you've never been.
I think, at the base of it all, I want to keep whatever coolness factor I have in Chris' eyes. And I can do that by showing him stuff he's never seen before.
Ah, well. There are other cooler girls in his life now. I'll cope.
[Jealous? Okay, maybe a smidge. A teeny bit. Again, I'll cope. I talked to him, I'm much better now.]
I have this problem, you see. It's called the Internet.
Oh, no, the Internet itself isn't a problem. But it enables me to meet cool people in California...and Minnesota...and Iowa...and Washington DC...and all manner of other places. People who are really neat, but who, if I do meet them, I only get to see once in a blue moon.
And compound that with the fact that there are some fascinating people here in Seattle who i'd love to get to know better, but schedule collision makes it difficult...and the fact that when i'm working out, that's an hour and a half most days (2 to 2 1/2 hours on lifting days if i get my butt into the gym after 5, as my bus commute takes up to an hour longer after 6:30 PM) and afterwards I'm wiped. I don't get home most days till 7, at least, and I try to be in bed by 10 or so.
So there's not a lot of time in my week for socializing. And nobody--and I do mean nobody--wants to hang out on Saturday and Sunday mornings, my most reliable free time.
And my dreams, lately, have been of phantom people in my bed, people cuddling with me and cooing at me and making me feel safe. Thank heavens for my overactive imagination and my vivid dreamlife--that's my garuntee that I get affection on as regular a basis as I need. I sometimes delay getting up by twenty minutes or so, keeping my eyes closed, savoring the sensation of being held.
Yes, I do love living by myself. I love my independence, the ability to know that all this stuff is *mine*, not having to hassle with schedules or anyone else's messes.
But it's also a little bit lonely sometimes to not have anyone near to give me physical affection. And there's no real resolution to this, either; I am of two minds about everything, even about affection. Even about the silence of my house.
Hi.
You must purchase Blue October's new album.
It's good. I've been listening to it over and over again, at work and at home. It was my soundtrack for installing a new operating system a couple of days ago. It's in the boombox in my office at home pretty much permanently, now. It's an album about being crazy and coming up out of it.
No, no parallels at all. Why do you ask?
I have no idea what I want to dress as for Halloween.
I'm going away for the weekend before Samhain to the farm for my quarterly goat pilgrimage, and I need a costume for that. And there are a couple of other parties both before and after the date itself to go to, and Trolloween, which i keep on thinking i'm going to go to one of these years.
So I need a costume. Something comfortable enough to wear in the woods. Preferably something creative.
*racks brain*
love's memory
thousands of miles
and three stories ago,
I feared losing
and two thousand miles
and six aching feet ago
I feared you'd never return;
faith is hard as the arc
of unknown velocities. your
memories are distant, now.
I cannot feel the shape of your hand in mine.
yet I'll know you when you return,
every scent, breath, each movement
of hand against earth memorized
and then forgotten once more.
Faith is the memory of a lingering kiss,
a firefly spark in the darkness,
as easy as ringing bells in the cathedral
as difficult as the silence after.
--10/5/00, for all those who returned.
