Mother Do You Think They'll Like This Song?

Sometimes it happens that the thing you think you want most at a certain point in your life turns out not being what you wanted at all.

I wish I could determine false desires in advance of my attaining them.

It's Me. In the Thing! Yeah!

It's been a busy week.

Classes have started again, summer is (un)officially over, and I've already lost half the time I'd previously had to just think, ponder, speculate, ascertain.

Lately it's as if there is a battle between my two groups of friends. I mean, sure, when you make new friends there is a struggle between the two groups as you choose which of the two vying for your time will be the victor.

I guess this is a little different. Instead of a mere tug-o-war, this is an ultimatum. In the past month, whenever there is an event hosted by someone from my "old" friends, on the same night, approximately the same time, there is also an event hosted by someone in my "new" circle.

For instance, the night I flew back from Connecticut, there were two parties. Both were that night, both started around 9 o'clock; one was Jessica's pudding wrestling party, the other Justin's graduation party.

This past Saturday, August 23rd. Joanna's 21st birthday celebration in her town, three hours away; Justin and Ken's joint birthday celebration in my town, ten minutes away.

The first night it was possible for me to be in both places, although the planning was a little sloppy. The second, for the two birthdays, I worked Saturday night and didn't clock out until just before midnight. You can probably guess which party I ended up at.

Due simply to convenience, my new friends are thoroughly kicking my old friends' asses. But it's not just convenience that keeps me around the Stavros gang. It's fun, it's dancing, it's music, it's staying out all night with EVERYONE, it's learning new things, it's forming stronger bonds, it's sincerity, but most of all, it's attention.

It's a warm welcome instead of let-me-fit-you-into-my-work-schedule, which even I've fallen victim to at times. It's an open invite, instead of being blown off for a boyfriend or girlfriend. It's a "sure, stop on by" instead of burning a whole tank of gas to get to God knows where while my vision blurs at what time is it now?

I found myself walking into Justin's yard at 12:45 a.m. August 24, 2008. At that time, there had to have been around 40 people there, and more to come. Every time I'm around the Stavros gang, I meet someone new. That night, Mitchy B. Mitchy B. who could not stop telling me how pretty I am. And like I said, it's sincerity, but most of all, it's attention.

That, and these are genuinely good people. All of them.

Oh, and, there's always something to talk about. That night:

Loopis and Albert take off around 1:30, 2:00 a.m. because Linds has to work in the morning, and so do I, for that matter, but I've got way too much energy left.

I jump on the trampoline for nearly an hour, half drunk, half high. I eventually get Ken to jump with me (on the condition that he not bounce me) because jumping alone is lonely. He gives up after a while.

John comes up, he's drinking something. He offers me a sip, and it tastes good. He hangs out for a while, it's pretty close to 4 a.m. now and I start to realize I'm going to have to leave soon, my shift starts at 11 a.m. It had been raining earlier, so the trampoline is damp and covered with twigs, leaves, and some dirt.

John asks me if I want to go inside and make out with him. He laughs, so I assume he is kidding. Except he follows me into the bathroom where I've gone to wash off my feet. He tells me I'm attractive, and tries to kiss me. He is drunk, much drunker than me, and I avoid his advances and let myself out of the bathroom. Inebriated hook-ups are not really my bag.

A few people saw John follow me in, and I'm only a little worried that rumors will start to circulate. I don't want to become that person. Nobody says anything, and I spend the rest of my time there (about 20 minutes) talking to John so he won't be offended that I put him off.

I receive this email the next day, at quarter after five in the morning:


"I am very much

sexually drawn to you.

I am sorry that I approached you in such a crass way 8/24.

I would like an opportunity to be a classy gentleman with you.

i.e.

date

like a nice meal and a walk through some wilderness.

sarah with an H

you are a pretty girl.

ok smiles.

nighty."


I am fairly certain that when this was sent to me, John was drunk. It sounds like something a drunk John would ramble out.

Apparently the sentiment behind the message is legit.

I have yet to figure out how to respond to this overall situation.

No time for that now!

Divebar Disco III is tomorrow night, and it's time to tune in, turn off, drop out, drop in, switch off, switch on, and explode!

Home Sweet

In the past three days Lindsey and I have finished putting away whatever was left in boxes from the move (mostly her things) and purchased a kitchen table, a TV stand, a lamp for the living room, a lamp for my room, hung posters and artwork, and had my mattress delivered. It is incredible how great this apartment looks with just a little paint and some furniture, and it's hard to believe that we accomplished putting together a home in a little under three weeks.

I have a shower curtain now, too!













It feels amazing to finally be sleeping on a mattress again, after months of sleeping on futons and couches. The top of the bed is a solid three feet off the ground, and so initially it was unnerving to have my body adjust to the new orientation, but the bed is comfortable, the sheets are soft, the temperature of the room is perfect, and just enough light filters in through the blinds. Being here is extremely comfortable, and already my back pain has dulled.

Loopis, of course, spends only two or three nights a week here, and works almost all day shifts while I work almost all night shifts, so I see her (for the most part) only in passing, if that.

Being alone in the apartment has its perks, I suppose. For all of my life I've lived with other people, and though that's no different now, Lindsey's absence a majority of the time has taken some getting used to. Alone I can walk around naked, which is nice. More often than not I sleep light, so there's no one to wake me up. And when classes start again, I can use the quiet for schoolwork.

On the other hand, when classes start again for me, they will also start again for Albert, who begins his second year of pharmacy grad school. He will be forced to spend insane amounts of time studying and focusing on school, which will mean that Lindsey will be here much more.

In any case, I love this place, and it's very quickly coming to feel like home.

Yesterday I baked banana bread, and now it's time for breakfast.

Grind

Still incredibly drained.

Now to the point I don't feel like moving. My feet are sore. My legs are sore. My back, neck, arms, shoulders are sore.

Sleeping on the couch doesn't help.

I have a mattress coming mid next week, that should relieve some back tension.

The past two shifts at work I have made $300.

My next day off is Wednesday, and I don't think I'm going to wake up.

Tomorrow I get to do it all over again, just for the bills.

Photo Evidence

As promised, here are some of the photos from New England.

The Flugtag pictures will make it up at some point, I myself have not even looked at them yet.

Wake Me Up, Before You Go-Go

I'm exhausted. For the next few days I don't want to do anything.

I don't want to drink, I don't want to dance, I don't want to work, I don't want to go out, I don't want to cook or bake, I don't even really want to see anyone.

Classes are starting on the 25th, and I think I should start winding down from the summer and get ready to wrestle down the daily grind.

Besides, there are still a few big events coming up: Divebar Disco III is August 30, my birthday dinner/karaoke is September 30, my party is October 4, and hopefully my New Year's plans work out for the end of December. I have only so much energy left to divide between class, work, and parties that I don't need to add anything else to my plate.

Also, I decided that I'm not going to drink much anymore. I don't have a high tolerance for alcohol, and to be honest, I'm proud of that. It seems ridiculous to desire a high tolerance to a substance that in the end will destroy one's bodily organs, memory and cognitive functioning in general, nervous system, and consequently, one's personal life as well.

After my 21st birthday I anticipate drinking mainly at Stavros events, and only enough to get buzzed. Binge drinking is what I need to eliminate.

I've also been trying to cut back on pot so I can focus on getting ready for classes. I still have to buy an extremely overpriced parking decal for campus and purchase my textbooks.

Last night Lindsey, Albert and I went to The Kennedy for Clique, a Wednesday event that Stavros was booked for. Most of the places they DJ don't have marquees, so Justin was excited to see their name on display for once.

This place was incredibly swanky, but in a strange way. It was decorated very nicely, very high end, but the wallpaper behind the liquor shelving at the bar was composed of posters of the Misfits, the English Beat, the Clash - which all are ironically opposed to the general atmosphere of the place, which had valet parking and a big, intimidating-looking doorman. From what I understand, The Kennedy usually has a dress code, but to increase their business on weeknights when their regular clientele are still working or sleeping because they have to work early, they eliminate it and bring in DJ's. I felt a little out of my league, but had a great time nonetheless.

I had foreseen myself not dancing last night because I was so tired, but I can't resist (even if I wanted too) Lindsey's energy beckoning me out to the floor. I just didn't put as much effort into it that I normally would.

And, as expected, Mr. LTA was there. He asked me what was up with the text message I sent him (referring to the really bitchy one). I told him I was drunk and didn't remember sending it, which is true. He told me I should have slept on Justin's couch and he feels bad for allowing me to leave, but what does it matter? I'm alive, I'm safe.

Anyway, in the event that he's still interested in me, he apparently is confused about how to show it. He makes sure that he singles me out to say hello and goodbye to me, and aside from that, the brief conversation about the text message, and his noticing that I was out of water and getting another for me, he ignored me.

While this may have worked to catch my attention in the past, it does nothing to sway me now, and any time he chooses not to talk to me I choose to let go of that potentially awkward conversation and have fun.

What would be more beneficial to him is either a) ask me to dance, making his intentions clearer; or b) let me go, and rid the both of us of this perplexing, unnecessary situation.

I figured I'd leave it up to him so that I don't have to take the initiative or energy to devise a solution.

Someone fill me in when it's over.

Pineapple Express

Saw it with Lindsey last night.

I don't care what anyone says, it was good. I can't believe I didn't smoke before I went to go see it, but...Lindsey said she might smoke with me and watch it again, which is exciting for me because she hasn't really drank much or smoked at all since I've known her.

Oh, and I would totally fuck Seth Rogan. What a sexy beast.

Mattress Money

I'm so glad to be back home, in a different home, my new home.

Last night was fucking ridiculous. I had incredible amounts of stimuli hitting me over the head from all directions, which of course I could not properly interpret because I was drunk and/or high all night.

It turns out that Jessica's pudding wrestling party and JG's graduation party fell on the same night. I decided to hit up Jess's first, stay for a while, then roll up to the other.

This isn't really a party town, and I've never been to two parties in one night, back to back. I picked up Andrew and brought him to check out my new place, smoked a bowl, then went to Jessica's party. It amazed me how many people were there that I know and that I'm comfortable with starting up a conversation. A few people asked me if I wanted to wrestle, and I probably would have were I not going to have to leave soon and catch JG's grad party.

The wrestling was wild. The whole backyard was arranged into a sports-like arena and brackets of wrestlers were made for the competition. I haven't really witnessed anything that fun in a while, and I let everyone know in my high daze as I just repeated that to myself while laughing.

I was there for about an hour, then came home to the apartment, changed into a trendier-looking outfit (it's strange how I have two completely different circles of friends), and got ready while Lindsey changed out of her work clothes and did the same.

I felt like I was starting my night over; it felt like it should have ended after the first party, but for some inexplicable reason, just kept stretching itself out to accommodate my needs.

Took a couple more hits, then we left.

I should interject here with a little about Mr. LTA. Right when I got off the plane (and therefore regained cell reception) I got a text message from him saying "come to Justin's party when you get home." Apparently he's been really wanting to see me.

So Lindsey and I get there, and I'm still high, but this is not a party of smokers. It's a party of drinkers. I told Mr. LTA that I smoked before I came, and he asked if I had any green on me. Unfortunately I left it at home, and I had to bite my tongue from inviting him over right then.

Mr. LTA was drunk. Belligerently drunk. He disappeared somewhere for a while and Albert replayed the following conversation for me that they had had earlier:

Mr. LTA: So, what about Sarah?
Albert: What about Sarah?
Mr. LTA: You know, she's pretty cool.
Albert: Yeah, she is. She's awesome [verbatim, no exaggeration].
Mr. LTA: Yeah she's cool. So uh...what's going on with her?
Albert: What do you mean?
Mr. LTA: Well, I thought that we had something going, and it kind of died.
Albert: Yeah, because you were an asshole and stopped calling her and acted like a dick.
Mr. LTA: Uh...yeah. So, what do you think my chances would be of seeing her again?
Albert: They'd probably be pretty good if you stopped being a douchebag.

True story. He probably would have a pretty good chance if he could manage to be a decent, at least slightly thoughtful person and not a jerk like he has been. I know it can happen because I've seen it before.

Anyway, this night was crazy. I went back out to the car and got my beloved Malibu and started my own party. It involved dancing, flirting, more dancing, and the witnessing of humorous happenings.

For instance, JG got annihilated and at one point probably had sex with Kat (though I'm sure neither of them remember it) and left his room naked, covered only by a small towel which I'm sure he meant to act as a curtain. There were turns between him and Jason vomiting in the one bathroom, and I'm kind of surprised I didn't drink myself into that situation; usually that's me.

Instead I talked to JG's roommate (also named Sarah) about my pending New Year's plans, picking blueberries, finding weed in Vermont, a lot about my trip. It was actually a nice conversation.

I spent a lot of time with Liz, Ken's girlfriend, whom I think is wonderfully fun to be around. I actually woke up this morning on the couch, still a little drunk, with "I ♥ Liz" written on my hand, which Lindsey commented on when I called her at work a little while ago.

Then there's Mr. LTA again, who, if he is really interested in dating me again, received very explicit advice on how to do so. At one point he told me I would have to sleep on JG's couch because Lindsey had told him not to let me drive home drunk. When I told him that I would wait a little while before I left so I could sober up some, he refused. Told me I had to sleep on the couch because I wasn't going to be driving anywhere. What a crock.

It was almost 4 a.m. I don't particularly like waking up at my own place and not realizing where I'm at; why would I want that to happen in someone else's place? I left shortly after 4 o'clock and Mr. LTA walked me to the car. He hugged me, said he was going home to sleep, and whispered in my ear, "I'll see you soon?"

I should have kissed him. I was drunk enough, and the timing was good. But I didn't. I told him yeah, I'd see him soon, then got in my car and drove home.

I wore those shoes last night, the black, white, and red ones? They were hot. Everyone loved them. Three or four guys even told me how good I looked. Of course this doesn't help my recently inflated ego, but I think that I know I'm letting all the attention go to my head only helps increase my confidence in myself in a good way (i.e. I'm pretty sure I'm not a superficial bitch).

So, I looked good. Even bought a new shirt to go with the shoes. Jason was hitting on me a good portion of the night, I think. We were in the garage trying to hook up his laptop to the stereo to play music, and horribly failing in this objective. I'm looking over his shoulder to try and figure out what I could maybe do to remedy the silence, and Jason grabs me around the waist and puts his head on my stomach, right under my boobs. This happens a few times. Mr. LTA walks in during one of these drunken attempts to hit on me, and says to Jason, "What the fuck are you doing?"

Later Jason sat next to me on the couch and kept putting his hand on my thigh, all under the evil glare of Mr. LTA. I don't think he realized he was doing it so much, because Jason, I'm sure, knows about Mr. LTA's desire to try and hook up with me again (as evidenced by the fact that whenever he referred to Mr. LTA last night in conversation with me, he said your boy, with an excessive amount of emphasis).

My thoughts are finally starting to sort out and become more logical and coherent, but I can't say the same of this post. I wanted to get it down though, to better serve my own memories later.

If I had a mattress, I probably would have tried to take Mr. LTA home.
It's a good thing I don't have a mattress.

Where Bold Meets Beautiful

Last night I smoked half that joint and devoured a huge slice of blueberry pie, topped with whipped cream, in about three minutes. I think that the old adage is true for women as well as men (or at least, for me): the quickest way to Sarah's heart is through her stomach.

If I could live in New England, have all my friends around, and have someone provide me with an endless supply of baked yummies, well...I'd probably be single for the rest of my life because I'd put on a massive amount of weight.

This morning we drove to a nearby farm to pick blueberries, and I will admit that I ate about half as many as I picked. There were blackberry vines entwined in some of the blueberry bushes (I ate quite a few of those as well).

Blueberries are almost magical in their deliciousness and antioxidant properties.

We picked a little over six pints, and I'm going to be bringing a large bag home to eat and also to make pancakes with Lindsey. It will be our first homemade meal together in the new apartment, and what better way to celebrate?

Nana also gave me some money for a mattress, which was very kind of her. That will be one of my first purchases once I return home. In addition, we did a little shopping today.

I bought a couple cardigans, a cami, some practical, business-like black shoes, and a dress. The dress is gorgeous.

I've been coming out of my neutral-colored, fabric shell lately. It started with the teal shoes. I've been dressing more stylish to go out. And today, the dress. It's very Betsy Johnson-esque, with all the colors and brightness, for a fraction of the price. It is a little big, but I'll have it taken in.



My wardrobe has certainly become a little more daring, and I think it reflects my more confident personality.

Here are a pair of shoes I'm going to buy as soon as I get back home:



I'm becoming quite the shoe fiend lately.
But damn do I look good!

Anyone, feel free to punch me in the head any time. I'm very well aware that my ego has become inflated to about twice its normal size, and I welcome all attempts to ground me back in reality.

Cease and Desist

I should be exuberant right now, with my homecoming looming two days ahead of me, but not before I have the opportunity to pick and eat wild blueberries tomorrow morning.

Instead I feel like weeping.
It's raining outside.

I've never really appreciated the value of a family's oral history until I realized that without mine, there are cancerous holes in my past, and therefore in my future.

I know very little about my mother's life prior to the age when I could form my own subjective memories, and I know nothing about my grandparents' lives, on either side of the family.

Incidentally, the perceived relative unimportance of memories and oral tradition has prevented me from ingraining many of my own memories into my mental storage unit, although I suppose there are many memories I don't want to preserve.

Acquiring stories from my father and grandparents isn't difficult; I need only ask, and they are more than willing to tell. However, my mother's history is a little more spotty, since as far as information concerning her life is concerned, she may as well be dead. I would be horrified to ask her myself, and any answers I receive may be inflated or entirely false, and I have no way to distinguish truth from ostentation.

For the past few days I have been, in essence, interviewing close family members to find out anything I can about her: her childhood, adolescence, philosophy on life, her smaller and biggest mistakes, her regrets, anything imaginable that they can possibly tell me. This is probably the most accurate source of information.

I feel like I'm compiling video for a documentary, except there is no camera, no crew, no predetermined questions, and most importantly, no prospective audience save for myself.

And I'm not sure, after gaining this knowledge, what my next step will be, or if I even have to take one.

A few people, family and non, have told me that I should accept my mother for who she is and attempt to make amends. I consider this unspeakable blasphemy. Years upon years rolled by while I lived in the shadow of her existence, hoping to get by without her noticing me (life was easier this way). I have memories from my childhood that I wish I could set to flame like a pile of dried, dead leaves dowsed in lighter fluid. Memories I don't care to tell anyone.

Except I did tell someone. I made the mistake of getting drunk and confiding in Loopis and Albert some details of my own shady past, things I haven't told anyone else, things I don't expect to be repeated. Lindsey is my best friend, and did what a real best friend would do: she took in my words, let them roll around her brain and absorb into its crevices and folds, and then from that point of understanding on behaved as if I had never told her in the first place.

Albert, on the other hand, did not act in this manner. He mentioned several times during this conversation how disturbing, unethical, and borderline illegal the actions of my mother and her husband were, then proceeded in the future (i.e. on occasion after my drunken relegation) to make illicit, revealing jokes about what obviously was very personal and painful to me.

So I tried to laugh it off, just another poor kid from a broken home, but he has effectively prevented me from ever entrusting another person with such personal information (I suppose after years of closing myself off with success, I should not have abandoned the path).

In any case, grasping out for stories, anecdotes, opinions and data to patch up my history has logical ground somewhere: my worst fear in life is that I will end up like my mother, and not even realize it's happening. For this reason I almost want someone I trust, close to me, to get to know my mother well enough to determine if I'm following her fate, but I would never wish that evil on anyone.

Still it eats at me. I think most women dread becoming their mothers, but the basis of their apprehension is usually unfounded. Not here, not for me. Lindsey absolutely does not want to become her mother, and with good reason. However, both Albert and her brother, Peter, have made similar comments to me.

Albert: "She's acting just like her mother, but I can't tell her. You can never tell a woman that."
Peter: "She's becoming mom, it's ridiculous."

Of course Linds doesn't see it, and I can't make the call because I don't know her mother that well, but the two people who know her probably better than anyone else seem to believe it.

What if this is happening to me?

how could i possibly know
and who would tell me

This is no existential crisis,
So turn your pain into piety.

Redemption Song

I can't sufficiently describe the beauty of Vermont, or how quickly I came to love the silence of a rural town, almost completely cut off from the rest of the world.

My uncle is building his house a couple miles north of Lyndonville, a small, tight-knit community of (by my estimations) around 2,000 people.

The entire way to and from Vermont we listened to slow, sultry blues and soul music, and it totally put my mind at ease. All of the previous unsettling feelings that have been pressing down on me melted away, and didn't return until I was back in the midst of civilization.

For once since I've left Florida, I didn't want to come back. I now have a deep, intense knowledge and not just a shallow understanding of why people travel so far north to build vacation palaces and homes in which to retire. I can recall only one other time I was that peaceful, and it involved an all-day spa treatment and full-body massage.

In addition, I was rewarded for my patience in Connecticut with a small piece of salvation, although at first I didn't even see it. Literally right next to the bed I slept in while in Vermont was my uncle's pot stash (although stash is an inappropriate word; what it actually consisted of is a shoebox lid holding a lighter, some rolling papers, five or six roaches, and a plastic 35mm film cannister with about three buds in it). Somehow for hours, though it was right in the open, I overlooked this small treasure. I read my book, made a phone call, browsed the web on my phone, and slept right next to this pot of gold. It was not until the morning that my eyes opened and I made the discovery, then proceeded to snag a couple papers and two buds to enjoy following my return to Connecticut. Judging by the look of the green and the amount of roaches, it's been sitting there for a while. I'm sure it won't be missed, or its abscence noticed.

This New Year's, in addition, promises to be unforgettable, but I don't want to ruin the surprise before I can work out the details.

Until then:

Emancipate yourself from mental slavery,
None but ourselves can free our mind.

Here are a few pictures from Massachusetts and Vermont. The rest I will upload to a web album when I get home.

My uncle and aunt's house in Southwick.


Wild lilies are everywhere here, they're so beautiful.


The Vermont house, about half finished. Interior pics uploaded later.


Lake 1.


Lake 2.


My discovery.


The first joint I've ever had to roll. Not quite a masterpiece.

Third Time's a Bitch

Another dream last night. Three consecutive nights. I usually can decently remember my dreams, but they tend to be far and few between.

I'm certain that my frequency of dreaming is caused by both physical and mental understimulation, so my brain attempts to compensate by conjuring up some excitement while I sleep. Or perhaps I'm just dreaming more because now I have enough time to slip into the holds of REM, instead of staying up til 3, 4 a.m. then tossing and turning for hours before waking up shortly later.

Or even still, I could be dreaming more often and more vividly because I haven't smoked pot (a dream suppressant) since before I left.

Either way, they keep rolling in. Last night was a check to my ego and inflated sense of confidence. The dream was brief: Mr. LTA handed me a sheet of paper with a note on it when I tried to come on to him. It read something like

While I think that you are a cool person, I don't want to sleep with you. I think we'd be better just being friends.

I know that wouldn't happen, because he wouldn't turn down sex with me, but that does put a halt on my kinky plans for when I get back into town.

The Decision

I can't believe I'm posting so much.

Actually, I can. It's incredibly boring when you've literally got not one thing to do for ten full days.

Also, it's become quite comforting to be writing. Like visiting a friend, or catching a familiar scent on the breeze.

Or curling up with a good book, which I'll be doing shortly.

I told Lindsey about my dream last night with Mr. LTA, and she said that he had been asking about me last time Loopis and Albert went out together (Friday? Saturday? Was that yesterday? I've nearly lost all track of time). This peaked my curiosity, so I inquired as to what he had been asking about.

"Well, we went out, and he was like, 'Where's Sarah?' So I told him you were in Connecticut, and he said, 'Oh yeah, that's right. I remember her telling me that.' He's been asking about you a lot, lately."

Then apparently our previous dating was brought up, though I can't remember now how it happened, since it came from Lindsey and she was talking fast. I think it went something like this...

"So I told him, 'It doesn't matter anyway, because she's over your ass.' And he said, 'It didn't seem that way when we went on those dates, or the other night when we were dancing.' I told him, 'Sorry, asshole, but she was never interested in dating you*, she just wanted to fool around.' Then he said something like, 'Well, I wish I had known that.'"

*This is partially true. While I had no interest in a long-term, intense relationship, I wanted some kind of monogamous interaction. For instance, if I am sleeping with him, I don't want him to fuck anyone else. This is like a relationship, but my reasons are practical. I want to be safe, and I don't want to contract any VD that he may have contracted from sleeping around.

"Anyway, [Mr. LTA] was like, 'I'd totally fuck her.' Then Justin said, 'Hell yeah!' I think it's funny that Justin has a girlfriend and mentioned in front of [Mr. LTA] that he thinks you're hot and would sleep with you. Maybe now he'll realize."

So I'm pleased to hear that his interest in me is resparked. I guess he got it in his mind that I wanted to start talking babies, a white picket fence, mortgages, and a family dog.

I'm in a position now to get what I want.
But what do I really want?

Not just sex, because that lacks some intimacy.
Or maybe just sex.

I guess I just don't want to rule out any possibilities. I just want to take things one day at a time, as we all should. I'm willing to find out down the road what will happen.

After all, what's the fun in watching a movie if someone insists on telling you the ending?

Shimmering Shaft

I woke up today the way I hope to wake up every day for the rest of my life: well rested, the sun filtering in through the thin curtains, with a smile on my face.

I had another dream last night (two nights in a row; how long has it been since that happened?) and the contents indicate very clearly what's been occupying my mind lately.

I went to a party with Lindsey, Albert, and Mr. LTA. It was a house party, though whose house I don't think any of us knew. I'm going to hazard to guess a friend of Albert's, since at one point I was trying to mollify some tensions that arose between this girl and Lindsey regarding Albert.

In any case, there was a tiff between Lindsey and Albert and I because they didn't want to hang out around the party not really knowing anyone (as if my presence would have made a difference--the only people I recognized in my dream were the three I showed up with), and I didn't want to lose my first opportunity in four months to have hardcore, sweaty, passionate sex.

And I didn't lose.

Mr. LTA and I claimed a bedroom and fucked three times, each time very distinct from the others. Despite my being able to recognize when a dream is merely a mental projection and not "real," I tried to pretend like I couldn't and slip into the carnality of it.

Everything seemed intensely real, anyway: my mouth on his mouth, feeling his lip ring against my lower lip, at first tender then increasingly savage. His fingertips running down the sides of my torso, caressing the sensitive spots in my waist and hips, causing me to shiver with excitement. His mouth on my breasts, firing every single neuron that could in any way translate into orgasmic pleasure. Then my breasts on his

...well, you get the picture. I don't need to write a romance novel.

It was extremely satisfying, and I felt that taking all of him in, not just physically but mentally, emotionally as well; incredibly exhilarating. I can't even remember having sex that good, it's been so long since it last happened.

Anyway, this of course just increases my desire for the one thing I want that I've been lacking, that can level me back out, return me to homeostasis.

And now I want him, because I've had this dream. I have to know if it could be like that. Whereas before I had refuted Lindsey's suggestion to just tell Mr. LTA I wanted to fuck him and make a one-night stand out of it (I'm not really that type of girl, you know) now it's been burning through my mind, and if or when it gets to the point that I can't control it anymore, I'm going to tell him about my dream and see if he's game.

The problem there lies in the fact that a one-night stand is devoid of most of the emotional and mental aspects that made that dream-sex nearly perfect (which typically it is anyway, though I've also had bad dream-sex).

In a related note, I really like this quote from the movie Eight Days a Week:

People are supposed to make love. It is our main purpose in life. All those other activities (playing the violin, washing dishes, reading novels, drinking wine) are just ways of passing time until you can make love again.

I more than half agree.

Jai guru deva...

Ok, I think I have figured it out. I've been thinking about this all day.

Hear me out, because I don't think this will make complete sense, or for that matter, be completely coherent.

The thing that weighs me down, that makes my heart feel heavy, that makes me afraid to be alone at night (on occasion), that always leaves me wanting something more, that I just can't shake, despite my efforts, is humanity.

Humanity is my burden. In an almost Genesis-like, Adam-and-Eve forbidden fruit kind of way.

I have goals in my life, sure.

I want to finish school.
I want to get my degree(s).
I want to have children.
I want to be successful in my career.

But what do most of us want, above all, in spite of what we feel we need or have already gained?

To reach enlightenment.

Or maybe I do speak for myself.

Humanity is restricting me from reaching enlightenment.

And this very likely will be an obstacle that will take the rest of my life to clear.

Om is what I need to start living my life by. The extremely peaceful and invigorating syllable that when uttered both summons energy and distributes it throughout the body, that sends ripples of bliss over my skin that visibly result in goosebumps and also in my tranquility and happiness.

Om is what I need to practice.

I feel keeping this blog has helped me, most effectively in organizing my thoughts. If I did not have a virtual notepad which stores my musings in the simultaneously vast yet miniscule space of the internet, I would instead have tiny pieces of paper and crumpled up receipts with, at times, illegible scribble filling their surfaces that have been folded, refolded, tossed aside then re-read, and then eventually lost into the nothingness that is my unconscious.

Of course, I still do this. Scribble notes on paper, I mean. But my desire to protect my rogue thoughts has culminated in my hanging of a cork board by my bed, on which to tack down for good my fleeting ideas.

After all, organization is one of the first steps to enligtenment, am I right? There has to be something behind Feng Shui and positive and negative energy. I have trouble concentrating when there's clutter.

What's In A Dream?

Perhaps you have noticed I've made posts since I had said I wouldn't because I'm out of town. As you may have figured out, my grandparents have uber-fast internet access compared to what they used to have (56K dialup), which allows me to stay in touch with everyone. It's a little less lonely.

I have noticed that I restrict a lot of what I think and say on my blog, but it has been eating at me and I'm going to work on leaving my thoughts here unfiltered.

Last night Derek called me around 2:30 a.m., and it was so nice to hear a familiar voice. Don't get me wrong, I love Connecticut, this is my birthplace; but being cooped up in the house all day absolutely drains my zest and enthusiasm.

Derek told me he had printed out and was going to give J. the letter he wrote, and at some point we had a brief discussion of dreams and the ability to differentiate between vivid dreams and reality.

Last night I had a dream.

In my dream, J. invited Derek to the beach with her friends and family, apparently ignorant of the tension between them, and Derek decided to give her the letter there. Except he forgot it. He asked me to pick it up from wherever it was and bring it to him so he could give it to her.

I got off work, hopped on a bike with the letter (and some other of Derek's mail?), and met them on the beach, which was big, beautiful, and had a long boardwalk. Interestingly I saw my mother on the beach, and attempted to prevent any attention from being drawn to me because for some reason I was terrified of her.

Once I got there I immediately found Derek and J. and gave Derek his stack of mail, including the letter, which he beat around the bush about but finally gave to J. In spite of the fact that it should have been obvious as to the general tone and contents of the letter, she smiled and put it away. She didn't read it.

Derek decided to hang out on the beach a little more, and he and J. persuaded me to stay a while longer as well, even though I didn't have a swimsuit. The three of us laid on the sand, in this order: Derek, J., then me. At one point we were all goofing around and Derek and J. kissed, but I can't remember who initiated it.

Jump scene. Now I'm kissing Derek, and I'm definitely the one who initiated it. Stranger than that is the fact that J. is still between the two of us while we lean over her. At some point the line is drawn then crossed between kissing and making out.

And then...
I wake up.

What I love about life is that I have the capability of higher thought and the ability to then analyze those thoughts. I can experience the whole range of human emotions throughout the span of my life.

What I dislike is the cycling that typically occurs in human nature. As previously mentioned, I am more than satisfied with being single. But the needing someone, that comes and goes like the tide.

And right now the tide is high. I'm in my I-want-to-be-swept-off-my-feet phase, and disheartened because I know it won't happen, but also glad because I know in a week the heavy yearning will have subsided. It's only when I have so much free time on my hands that I realize how lonely I can become.

Back to the dream. This is my best interpretation:

I had the dream at all because hours previous I had disclosed that I could always distinguish between dreams and reality, no matter how vivid the dream became. This is still true. I had also mentioned (did I mention this?) that I haven't dreamt in a while, which in turn, I suppose, makes me "due" for one.

The reason Derek and J. were in my dream is obvious. There has been an ongoing situation there that I am slightly involved in, not so much for advice (since I have none to give) but more of an outlet for venting, and so I know some of the details. Enough to create a substantial amount of movie-quality imaginings during my REM.

As for my mother? I'm not sure. At one point we all headed up to the hotel room that J.'s family had apparently rented on the beach, and my mother wanted inside. As in, she was actually searching for me. With a flashlight, even. I locked myself in the bathroom hoping to escape her. Maybe this is my subliminal making it known though that no matter how much I try to ignore her, to pretend she doesn't exist, she is still in the back of my mind, trying to hammer her way out. Unresolved issues are there, but it's not a topic I usually want to breech. I'm still trying to figure out after five years how to get the closure I need.

And the hot topic: all that kissing. I can't say what the Derek/J. kiss represents in my mind, since for one, I don't know all the details of their relationship, and two, I don't know who kissed who first, which would result in two completely different possible explanations as to why it occured at all.

And the Derek/me extended kiss? This is much tougher to discern. The best that I can come up with is that since I am currently drowning in high tide, Derek's male presence represents my current longing for intimacy. But why him? Well for one, he's in my life. Aside from my father and Albert, he is the most prominent male. I'm considerably closer to him than anyone from the Stavros gang, for sure. And two, I've kissed him before, so there is some familiarity and prior experience to back up the action.

And finally, why literally in front of/above J.? This is either the most simple or the most difficult question to answer. Instead of analyzing my actions first, I will first tell you how it felt when I did it. Awkward, initially, because during the whole thing I was only thinking about what she could possibly be thinking. And then, jealousy. I wanted her to be jealous. I wanted her to hurt for causing visible pain to someone I care about. And I wanted it to stab her deep, something a superficial blow of physical violence could never accomplish. This frightens me a little, because seeking vengeance at all, especially for a wrong that was not committed against me, does not fit into my personality. And as for J., in reality (i.e. outside of any dream I may have about her), I am relatively indifferent toward her. I don't know her at all. It does concern me that Derek is upset about and losing sleep over the whole situation, but the most I can do is be a friend with open ears and arms whenever I'm needed to do that.

Maybe my dreams are just an outlet for me to become, well, super-me, and act in ways that I obviously would not in any other circumstance than that of a false reality.

I feel weird writing this. There is tension behind my eyes, and instead of relieved, I feel anxious.

There is still something further that I've been wanting to get off my chest for a while now, something heavy and burdening.

The problem is, I don't know what's causing it. The heaviness. And so I can't lift from myself a thing that I have no knowledge about, or knowledge that it even exists.

I do know that if I wait it out, it will dissipate. I'm just not sure about how much time will pass before it resurfaces.

Dear Journal...

July 31, 2008 (9:35 p.m.)
My grandparents just asked me if I'm ready for bed. It's going to be a long ten days. I've resumed reading House of Leaves, which I've been wanting to finish for a while. I have a feeling most of my time will be spent reading, so I brought two more books to occupy my time.

Dad is already getting short with his parents, he's losing patience quickly. It's hard because they're both over 80, hard of hearing, and reverting more and more to their native French each passing year.

I also learned from Dad's conversation about his and my stepmother's finances that most of their debt is due to her impulsive spending, and it's starting to take a toll on their marriage.

I regret not bringing pot with me. I'll consider this an exercise in time management and self-entertainment.


August 1, 2008 (11:06 p.m.)
At 7:30 tonight I left the condo for the first time since we got here. My grandparents are nervous about letting Dad drive their car, which is ironic because they themselves should probably not be driving, what with their ages and senses of sight, hearing, depth, and coordination going down the drain.

Dad and I went to see Step Brothers tonight (a second time for me) just to get out of the house. I could tell he was skeptical, but I convinced him it would be better than Hellboy II and he ended up loving it.

On the way there and back we talked about the differences between our generations, mostly in reference to drug use. His generation, the boomers, drank, smoked pot, and were heavily into psychedelics. My generation familiarized themselves with crack and illegal prescription narcotics, both usually used in combination with alcohol. Hippies versus ravers and pill heads. As his generation aged from adolescence to adulthood, the effects of their drug use have become apparent in several ways, specifically "burnout"-ism, as defined by slowed or delayed neural functioning which impairs speech and movement, memory loss, apathy, and in some, continued recreational drug use.

I'm afraid to see what the long-term effects of abuse of muscle relaxers, pain relivers, barbituates, opiates, and in general serotonin-increasing prescription drugs will be.

Below are quite a few pictures from both the nearly-completely-moved-into apartment and from my first couple days in my belovedly boring hometown:

Apartment:

My Room/Bathroom









Lindsey's Room





Kitchen



Our Movers (Nate and Peter)



Nate's Honorary Pirate Tattoo



. . .

Connecticut:

My Grandparent's Old House



My Grandparent's New Condo



What I Love About My Home State (Wild Lilies)



My dad's brother, Marty, is supposed to take us up to the house he's building in Vermont on Monday or Tuesday. I'm pretty excited to check it out, he's been working on it for the past three or four years, but the going has been slow since apparently locals don't take kindly to outsiders, and it's in an extremely rural area so getting running water and electricity set up has been difficult. However, I'm extremely satisfied to hear that he's installing solar panels and other energy-conserving devices on and throughout the house.

Until then, I have more of this to look forward to:



To help you piece that together, that is my grandfather, having fallen asleep after sitting with the phone glued to his ear for nearly three minutes, not speaking, and listening to God knows what (probably some sort of recording, if anything at all).

I'm going to part with these words and this image:



Imagine having this image invariably peering at you while you shower and use the restroom.