Something's happening and I'm scared. Scared because I'm scared of everything, at least once. I haven't read my FList in a few weeks and I'm afraid to try catching up now while I'm on vacation in Hawaii. My life has been too weird to recount, but ...
Hey, just post here specific posts I need to see so I know how you're doing, how to love you, how to catch up on your lives. Because I love you, even though I am neglectful... Or really... I've never had things apart from the internet to interest me and take my time, and now it seems as if I do? I just don't know how to cope that way, either...
I'm scared to say from whence this song came. Scared because it's not from Thomas.
I have words that can hurt you. Words and knowledge I could belay upon your brain that would crush that part of your heart in which I reside. It would bash the pretty glass of every picture frame of still-life mental memory imagery. The information would peel and scrape the paint away of rose-tinted hope, worn away as if by the frustrated scraping of animals over a long period of time. The one table would be shattered and the chairs, side by side, would lay mangled in a heap. The bed would be ripped, fluff and springs exposed like flesh that covered ribs, revealing they contained nothing vital at all. A brown, lovingly worn shirt that had coddled my curves, tattered. A book's spine ungraciously bent akimbo, the pages flaying outward, like fingers grasping toward anything to allow release.
My shambles, relocated to your sanctuary. This destroyed room, your secreted sanctuary, would finally release you, in a way.
I could open the broom closet to you, to give you the implements to close off, clean, or destroy this room. That is, in whatever condition the structure stands.
I could. I should. I would... if my heart could let me do so with a clear conscience. These things remain in tact. My conscience would be tarnished because I would be doing you a service you couldn't scrape up enough dignity to provide me to my face. That's why I know I can't share this redemptive information with you, at least, not yet. You were strong, but it is unfortunate you were not strong enough for me. Someone asked me once, if you deserved to be strong enough for me. I wanted to say yes...
Someone far weaker than myself needs what strength you can provide, which isn't enough strength to keep someone like me.
...I fear we realized all those things somewhere along the way, but we ignored that, too...
But in the room again. The mess there would be sacred. Were you to disturb the destruction, your fingertips would warm again by touching my skin, by proxy. You wouldn't want anyone else cleaning up that mess. They would have no appreciation for the hands that danced upon your skin in such a delicate manner that was also capable of wrenching apart already-dilapidated sacred things.
I put the key to such a Box underneath the doormat to this secret place. I showed you where it was, once, in hastened, overeager folly. I needed to know you cared enough to go in there and let the scent held in that room drape your thoughts like heavy velvet. But now, I don't need to know you visit that room, because you own the deed to the property.
Even if you chain it up and lock it from the outside, you will have to pass it again. Even if you pulled down the structure, you will have to build upon it again. Even if you let that space lay barren and withered, you will have to restore it again.
As a former tenant, I still get those nagging collector calls. I'll accept the black mark on my credit score.
You were worth that much. I was worth that much. But keep your past-due bills to yourself.
You will never understand the symbolism in this video, my prince, like I do, but in this fashion, I'll be comforted in the fact knowing I tried to convey it.
( Read more...Collapse ) Do not have the regret of "I wish I had ______ed"; instead, have the regret "I wish I had ______ed longer/harder/better/faster" Give everything the best of your abilities, because then you can be satisfied better with how you handled and achieved the result.
I take the time to say this out of love, because my love and my time are the only things I can devote to you and that are mine to freely give. I devote them to you, because you are worth my time and my love. And it took a great tragedy, this year, to teach me that this effort is true love.
I'm still alive, friends. This journal feels like a dirty bed to me, which is why I've been kinda distant with it, I believe. I'll be back soon. I'd like this journal to progress again, to be more about discovering and understanding new mundanaities, than a chronicle of heartbreak and hopes-up-getting and unrequited love. My entire life hasn't been this way.
I want to inspire you, because I love you, and inspiration is the best gift anyone can bequeath.
Even Penny Lane, while a beautiful and charming muse, was confounded by how lonesome she felt with such a busied life.
I know I haven't updated at all. I just don't want to address some stuff right now. But... My status thing? Yeah, it's not "complicated" after all. I've always been alone. Even when he gave me the most priceless thing he could—his time—it was never complicated at all, really. I'm single. Alone. And that's how it's been, even when I first met Thomas. He still haunts me. Tonight, even, I was reminded of him when Scott brought up Akira Kurosawa's Ran. I'll never be able to escape Thomas, nor he me; we're unforgettable, for the best and worst reasons.
But, in black and white, in simple terms, I am single. I am alone. Like the ring I wear isn't a constant reminder.
And everyone is making the biggest fucking point about it. Wanting me to define relationships with words I am too afraid to use. Too afraid, because I don't want to be irrational and jump to conclusions with certain words. But I am your queen of shoot-self-in-foot-fuckery. I do it to see if anyone will help me clean up the blood; if they can handle that type of self-destruction, it's all roses and gumdrops from there, babycakes.
I'll write about Conan/finish the post later. It's hard-going, writing about something riddled with loneliness, trying to be upbeat about the only good part.
I don't know if you'll realize I'm writing about you, if you find this. I'm hoping you don't, for the sake of my shame, but I'm also hoping you do, so you can get a glimpse at how much can change in a person in three/four years. Yes, these diametrically opposed feelings exist in one mind right now.
I think I heard about your mom dying from a stroke a few years back. There was a big to-do about, prayer circles and all that, at school at the time. I was callus, I guess, in a way... See, my friend's mom survived a stroke, and some of those are caused by aneurysms and the like. I figured, 'Hey, no wonder these kids are so damn emo.' I mean, Mum was super-sick at the time and I had my own grief; I didn't emote like those kids. I looked down on them and even called them whiny pussyboxes in my head.
But then she did die. And these kids were without their mother. Bereft...
And I felt like the biggest schmuck that was walking the earth. I avoided all of those ppl who had been affected by the tragedy. I didn't want them to see me sincerely upset for them, even though earlier I only smirked, because then they wouldn't see my change of heart as genuine. They'd scorn me and even though I could see myself possibly at the foot of a casket/urn at the same time, too, I couldn't take it. So I avoided it. I was a coward.
And then years later, I met you.
And you told me your mother died while I sat in your arms, and there was a big shuffling of people "that looks like incest, but it's all paperwork that would call any of it incest" and I realized... That was your mother, too. That was YOUR mom. You DID lose your mom, I didn't, and now I just... I feel sick, but I feel like I want to cherish you even more because of how I didn't know to comfort your family back then. To think, had I been able to come out of my grieving to seek to comfort your family, ...I would have met you then. You would have known the fat, pathetic, self-loathing curly mess of a girl I was... Not the woman that stands before you now and enjoys a Guinness and curses over Misfits songs or curses over anything, really... and is more obsessed with Conan, etc.
Then you warned me how you were trouble and would corrupt me, and I laughed, because, really, you know so very little about my past, my wild family, what I've been through. I told Mum about it, who praised you and your friends tonight. About how talented y'all are, and how the music was kool, had a grungy flavor without losing metal integrity, and you just need a good producer to get that raw talent to hit the big stages.
And you understand "it's complicated" and don't push, don't rush me in anything, because I can't forget and I can't get over... you.
But it's okay. It's going to be okay. I'm living now. I'm giving it a good push to get busy living again. I'm glad you met the me of now first. She's got more flaws, but she's also more perfected, fashioned in a way to better fit with present circumstances.
—Holly
[01/22/10] edit—It wasn't your mom, Dean. It was somebody's else's. Somebody who actually gives a fuck about me... and that's what hurts me most of all about my previous emotional misgivings.
Rats are not very romantic people. But when they are with a highly compatible partner, they can be very intense and passionate.
In love, the Ox people usually choose a partner who will be quick to put a protective arm around them in times of need and their love for someone usually lasts a lifetime.
...XD
Dis gon' be guuud, kids. kinda funny how I get along with Rats, hrm? ♥
"Mis"pelling is intended, loaning the sym for 'symmetry' and parlaying to Old English spelling, in addition to concerning itself with the interpretation of words I haven't updated in a while. Mainly, I don't want to elaborate on the clusterfuck that is my life at current. It's a good clusterfuck, in a sense. It's progress in a ... healthier direction, but still, very frustrating. /cryptic
More of my friends have been promoted at work. We all know Adam's doppleganger, Trey, was transferring, and he did my 1 year evaluation before leaving, thankfully. He's the only guy left in charge from when I was hired, it seems. Eric, my new favorite manager, got sent to 1st shift to be grocery manager. Sighhhh. His last day on 3rd with us was also Will's, that tall, dark, rednecky handsome guy with the crazy fiance. He got his transfer to his neighborhood store approved. Gone are his two-hour commutes to and from work. The next night was extra-rough, it seemed, by their absence. The only people I can stand talking to now with frequency are Big Al and Les, the security guard. The whole night after, I was plagued with a type of mourning mixed with apprehension. I'm anxious; what if Big Al and Les get sick or hurt and they leave, too? I've lost the company of many dear people, all stolen away by circumstances beyond their control. I'm tired of it. When I finally get close to someone, I lose them, yet I continue the vicious cycle because I'm hard-wired to love making other people laugh and feel better.
The next night, nothing, nothing, NOTHING was going right. At all. Bereft of good feelings, I remembered something... Whenever I was in a horriblehorribleangry, people=shit mood where I wanted to take a blunt object to everything, if I could make Thomas laugh, I immediately felt ten million times better. All was right in the world if I could see Thomas laugh, forgetting his cares for a moment. Giving him that pleasure returned it to me ten times more.
Hm.
...Maybe that's part of the psychology behind why men desire/offer to perform oral sex on women. The thing is, it must be proferred without any guile or selfishness at all to be overwhelmed by the genuine good!feeling. yes, that came out of left field, I know It's such an intimate, intrusive act, and women conjecture so much about the emotion behind it. Maybe there is no emotion or thinking involved at all, when men have that desire or voice it.
Anyway.
Weight-loss progress is finally progressing. I've hit 168.2 and keep in the 168 range. I've been a better stickler to my diet lately. What's helping me the most is avoiding boredom eating by IM'ing and texting. Granted, it's not the morning schmexytime I used to enjoy, but this suits just as well, too. /overshare Only improved my running time to 12:22, and that was 3 days ago. Oops. :/
Got a new phone, because I was tired of the old one's ringer/speaker not working and not waking me up. Sadly, it means I need to insert all of my contacts in the list... manually. Sadly, the SIM cards don't transfer, and there's no way I know to do it with these basic prepaid devices. It's like night and day compared to my old one and I can text like a deeeeemon with it, lol. Has a camera, so I can get in trouble. Also, can record sound, and I recorded the funniest ringtone. It's so appropriate.
From 0:36 to 0:47 "You notice with the purr, for other women, it's like-it's like, rawr, but for you, for you it's like raaaaawwwwwwwrrrrrrr
That's how every man worthy of me should feel ;) no I'm not conceited, why do you ask?
Basically, I'm lonely at work in body, but the spirit of so many dear people still glide about on soapy heels and the memories keep me company. Sometimes, I even miss Cow pissing me off. I smile, though, because I know I'm never fully alone—I'm unforgettable, and some still dance with my ghost, too. Will (the one with the psycho fiance) told me in Facebook chat how much he already misses me singing and dancing around in my department and watching me climb in and atop the diaper frame. I'm blessed to be able to feel comfortable enough to do that again. To be silly, to thrive and glitter.
I shant chase, but be chased; shant sought, but be sought. As there is stage, spotlight, I shall find Myself, cursed with desire to be in that arch. I have a fondness for glitter, and glitter I shall do, for you, because you ...Are fond of the vibrant colors I splay.
You give such good chase. Our game of fox and hound is merely paused, for now. I look forward to resuming it with you again soon.
For those you just tuning in, or even for long-time readers/familiars with me and journaling from years and years ago, I've felt the need to address something rather important.
I need to address the impetus of my conceit. My narcissism...
"I don't know who I am anymore, David. I'm not this fat chick 片想い anymore. I don't hate myself like she did. I can do things she couldn't. I feel things she would have never imagined. That me is dead now, David. Who is this before you?" "Maybe now you're Holly. You've always had the personality, but now the body is matching up with it."
And that's what counts, overall. How I see me, because how I see me affects how I have you see me. I can't control what good or bad you think, but... I just know it's hard for me to deal with the mismatch, and I apologize, in advance, for any difficulty you have reconciling what you knew with what you now know.
distressed
