November 18, 2005
"Upon This Tidal Wave of Young Bood," or something.
a few personal things about me, well rounded:
I now, for the first time, have a home of my own creation and it’s fleshing out.
Because of the dear support of friends, literature, the artistic community at large, and music, I can now say that after nearly four years I am starting to feel like I can act like myself again. No shaved head, no season's tickets to the opera, no gas station attendants mistaking me for someone from Britain because of an affected accent I picked up for awhile through osmosis, no eating disorder. Electrolytes in tact. My hair is very much past my shoulders now.
Today I admitted to myself for the first time that the last four years have left me emotionally dead. It’s more than level-headedness--I can be faced with what should be red-light trauma and just be left staring. The result is I don’t know how harmful things are to me as they are happening because this wall forces me into a very delayed, analytical reaction. It's the Age of Reason & snowblindness, though, Matthew has been very good about telling me how I feel up to this point, mainly:
We are the people who's come here to play
I don't like it easy
I don't like the straight way
We're in the middle of something
We're here to stay
And we raise our heads for the colour red
♥♥♥
I am grateful for this defence mechanism, but it would be nice to feel something again, more than this slight, slow bridge. I used to cry on floors. It’s like certain cells have died, pushed out with the current. I may never get them back. Regardless, I need to find my way back to plot: what does she want, the cords to this fundamental question have been cut several times over. I'm afraid, terrified to be touched, physically. My feeling are, for the most part, special ordered, the backlog.
I realize some things are invaluable and I want to keep them, raising the glass for a reason. A definitive clink. I mean it: You touched my heart, like a knife that's very sharp.
Last night, Jaxon brought home an airtight container for our tea so it wont get stale. We had a brief argument about tomato slices.
My espresso cups keep charming portions, of any liquid.
I found myself crossing the street today to find the sidewalks. It's illegal to walk on roads, alongside and closer to machines.