tiny victory

Today is a good day.

There is a shit ton of sunshine, nobody stole my yogurt, Jon is back (okay, that's kinda shitty. I'll deal), and I had all my shit together when I woke Frank up.

Fuck it, i'm skipping the yogurt and eating leftover pizza.

That's a lie. It's a gym day. I'll get sick if I do that.

. . . don't go to the gym?

eh.

No. Eating yogurt. Today is great and it's going to stay that way.

Exception(al)

Current Music: Mumford & Sons - The Cave

Building, guiding thoughts and feelings. And I can't forget how safe I felt when I was someone.

I'm useless alone. Wit is nothing without remark. And I can't say how alone I am with words. A lack thereof.

Breathing is an effort when it's so easily taken away. Missing an essential element to be complete. A lack thereof.

It's not anonymous. It's just casual.

Drive

Current Music: Deathcab for Cutie - Transatlanticism

I'm too old for the internet.

I'm too old to be unable to talk about my problems without the safety of a glowing screen. I can't open up without the ability to shut it down, immediately, with no repercussion. Being well-adjusted has never been my strength. I value escape and find myself wanting to provide it to others because I know how hard it is to find. I don't have one.

I'm not trying to escape a situation anymore. I'm not heaving against my odds or adversarial people. I haven't fought for years, physically, against anything. I'm stuck in myself and the internet is a place that I can make up what that means rather than the values and identities that are so firmly established in meatspace.

I love my friends. I love Vunc and Chugs. They are both amazing, kind, caring, giving friends who love me back. I just can't share with them the way I can with strangers because they have been there through most of it. They know the specifics and details of all my worst experiences and have their own interpretations of events. The safety of strangers is in how they only know what I share. No one has cracked me on the internet. No one has been able to get past every barrier that I erect to be safe. Because touch.

Touch. An arm. A hug. A safe embrace that says that even without an immediate escape, I still want to be here. I still am going to take in your pain, heal it and lessen it. I still want to know you, even with all the fucked up idiosyncrasies and mistakes and insecurities. I want to make you better, share my own pain and let you heal me back.

This is why I don't date. This is why I don't touch. This is why I can't stop holding on.





Fuck Tecate.

A brief retrospective.

I feel like the phrase "I was an idiot eleven years ago" is going to be true for the rest of my life. 

I just re-read an entire years worth of posts (with pretentious asides and glaring errors) about being in varying relationships with a child molester, an ICP fan and someone who I never once met it person. 

And with this post, I've summed up my whole archive. *exits stage left*

archeological

Wow. Just. . . The things I missed from years ago. 

I was diving through my many pages of ancient web presence and found that old, beat up Livejournal. What an emotional read that has been. I was never positive during that time, I had some shitty friends, I had some really amazing friends and I think I missed someone being in love with me completely. 

I'm pretty impressed with the changes I've made in how I view the world, how I react to others and the steps I've taken to become better for myself. I'd almost completely forgotten about the brief fling with Scott, the humble and doomed Rich debacle, as well as the trainwreck that was my friendship with Anna. My biggest regret is letting my friendship with Gabe fade away. He is such an nuanced and genuine person and I've missed out on years of that. The best choice I made was slowing down on my blogging.

I also found my post about losing my virginity. An interesting look back and, oddly enough, still pretty spot on about how I feel about that whole situation as it happened. 

There are so many posts, in my gaming groups, exhibitionist groups, amongst my friends and my public persona. 

I miss Jaime. I read a short story I had written for her to perform for her ASL class. It was a little beautiful. "Why did you leave your Heaven?" "It became a prison the moment I saw you." I think I can do something with the story I wrote, something bigger than an AIM conversation, anyway.