Monday, May 3, 2010

Another night where I am... not writing my final paper.

You know what's going to happen? I'm going to spend all Saturday running around with my mom in Hollywood, then go to a club, which will likely be followed by going to some sort of all-night dining establishment that will round us into 5AM departure, in bed around 6AM, up at 1130AM to dash up the freeway to my stylist to (finally) get my roots done (I've an inch of blonde coming out of my skull. AN INCH.), and then I will plop my sore body down at some coffee shop and hammer out the paper in a five hour sitting, complete with rainbow highlighter markings all over my hands.

I just can't get myself to do it in pieces. And I keep flopping around what I want to write on.

It's... been a year. As of last night/this morning, a year.

A lot has happened in a year. A year with him, parts of it without him.

Ending without him.

Trying to remember what life was like then, before we met.

I had just started couchsurfing. I was still recovering from the terror that Darkeyes had instilled in me, terror of life, terror of control. This blog was a few months in the making. I had just been in that car accident that ensured me that I was my father's daughter, that my hands on a steering wheel are everything I will ever need.

I had no idea what would happen, what the coming twelve months would bring.

That I would learn to love, to love whole-heartedly. That I would actually meet a man I could trust and respect. That those things were the things I was missing. I'd learn how to blindly leap into someone's arms... and how to recover when I impacted the earth.

I made new friends, did things I never thought I would do. I grew, grew so quickly.

Yesterday I went to Disneyland. It was a large social event for a group of us.

The last time I was there, it was December. I was with GV8. We ate at the Blue Bayou, the restaurant inside Pirates of the Caribbean. We took pictures beside the tree in the Grand Californian, laughed and explored.

Roman called when I was physically on the Pirates of the Caribbean. I had just passed the restaurant, felt my stomach clench and the drive towards my redeeming sexual contact, that need to center me.

It's what I do.

I talked with him until we were plunged past cellphone reception, warned that dead men tell no tales.

All day I was with varying friends, catching up with people I had not seen in months, sometimes a year or two. Waiting for that Disney romance that I know doesn't happen. Wishing that someone would steal me away from my reality, just for a moment. For a dinner and conversation, something to hold on to for the coming weeks.

It's just another drug.

Emotional high.

I left the park a little before ten, walking through the crowds of families lining Main Street, waiting for the fireworks to start. Looking at the children, the husbands and wives that saved for the magical day, saved for the weekend or the vacation, to have this experience for their offspring.

The magic of that place.

That one day that the child dreams about until it finally happens. And then they hold fast to it, waiting to go again.

I remember, when I was younger and we were poorer, we'd go once every year or two. Pack lunches. I'd stay up at night, hardly able to sleep, fantasizing about everything we would be doing the next day. I loved the park so much, idolized Mickey. My mom has a picture of Mickey pushing himself up off the sidewalk after a three-year old me tackled him to the ground in excitement.

I'm 26 and I still love it there. Not the rides, not the shows, but the people and the details that go into that park. I used to take a book or a drawing pad and go into the park, prop myself up somewhere and enjoy the atmosphere, the laughter and so much joy.

I forced myself to leave. I forced that stupid, girlish daydream, spawned by multiplied insecurities and my constant need to partner, out of my head.

Turned my back on the fireworks, the young couples embracing.

Walked to the tram, eyeing the outside of the Grand Californian, dragging my mind away from the lobby that I could spend hours inside of reading. Slid into the back car next to a couple, was suddenly joined by a few too many people, ramming my pelvis sideways in order to fit us all.

Drove home, freeway flying under me.

Wished, wished for more than just a moment, that GV8 would be there. That he would have used the keys I had given him months ago, and come here, to spend what would have been our one-year together.

I came home to an empty apartment.

Dropped my bags next to the bookcase by the entry way.

Showered by myself, water scalding my torso pink, wet hair pressed tightly down my back. Roughly dried myself, leaned over the tub and squeezed the excess water out, listening to the drops fall the few feet, thunking into the bottom of the tub.

Crawled into bed, wet hair loose over my pillow. Black on black. Knew my friends would be out at clubs as I laid there, dancing their evenings away.

My life is slowly coming towards a semblance of average order. Nothing spectacular, but nothing dismal.

I've done this so many times. It's a strain. I never last long.

One of my friends asked me today, what it is that I am so good at that I take such comfort in.

I told him, "I'm good at pleasing, at pleasure. It's something I love, but also a way I've learned to cope and give myself value. I was breaking that habit, finally learning to have sex with no internal motivators. Just got to get back to that point."

I've said that so many times, or rather, versions of that. Most of my "adult" life has been versions of me trying to get my insecurities and issues under control so I can stop running my demons loose in bed.

It gets old. It's become a soundwave on repeat.

I'm tired of it. I'm tired of saying it, I'm tired of working on it. I'm annoyed that I'm 26 and, while so much better than I've been, still having issues with not having that sex partner to focus on.

I need that other person. It gives me something.

It's so hard to be without it.

Every day I go exploring in some way. Every day I look for that one connect.

And I'm not even over GV8. No chance.

I hate that this continues. I need to do something new about it, need another tactic, but I'm fumbling blind.

I don't know what more to do than what I've already done.


  1. I was wondering about the book. What is it about? Maybe a book could be a form of therapy. If it wasn't about him, maybe it should be. You could call it Disney World a Day In the Life. There has to be some way for you to release all these memories in order to let them go.

    About a week ago, I called my ex-husband. I asked him if there was any chance we could work things out, give it another go.

    He didn't say yes, didn't say no. He just said that he had been in a relationship with Sharon now for 10 years and that they were buying a 24 acre farm, it is a repo and they are going to redo it. He also kept asking, Have you talked to your son? Have you called Brian? No I hadnt. I didnt feel that I wanted to talk to him about it.

    I could tell that it was making my ex uncomfortable and I was getting very emotional to the point of tears. I simply told him that I wanted my family back. I want to be near my children. He wasnt mean about it, but I knew that the limb I had climbed out on, was quickly falling to the ground.

    It may have been the hardest thing I have ever done. I was pretty sure I was going to get shot down, but I just needed to do it. It was a good exersize and it made me realize one important thing. I want to be closer to my family, I want to move back to Washington State. I am giving myself 3 years to do it, but I will be making plans from here on out to do it.

    I can really relate to how you are feeling aobut the not having a man thing. I would contemplate having my new guy back, just to "have" a man, yet this would not be a good thing. He is not healthy. He is not taking care of himself, He would only drag me down, The list goes on.

    I wish you had something really cool to do that would make you forget about the date, but we all know that wont be possible. I think it would great if you could go to a health spa maybe get a massage. Just be sure to do something to make yourself feel great!

    I think MSN Zone has scrabble. I get a link together for ya if you need one. I think my name on there is scoobysnack2222, lol. Ill email you with the info. You will probably whoop my butt but I'm game. lol. I hope tomorrow goes well for you! Take Care,Sweet

  2. time is the mother of all fuckers. there is nothing you can do. i mean, there are many things you can do, but none of them change the truth of how you feel. so do nothing, or do anything, but mostly, please, v, take it easy on yourself. give yourself a hug and high five your reflection in the mirror. tell yourself it won't always be this way, that you will look back on your now-self and have even more wisdom. that you won't always be running a hamster wheel of trying to better yourself, that you will reach an equilibrium of acceptance and self-care.

  3. I've been following for a while, going through a strangely similar (-yet different) rough patch from a male viewpoint. Your musings have been a great help to me in trying to understand another intelligent and exceptional woman.

    With that out of the way, I can't help but get stuck on your expression in the first paragraph, and extrapolate it into possibly the worst pickup line of all time: "How'd you like to have an inch of blond coming inside your skull?". With the proper inflection to make it the ultimate suck, the plan 9 from outer space of pickup lines... that kind of suck already as a concept... :D

    With many apologies,


  4. SweetMag,

    You're braver than I am. I wouldn't have been able to call my ex-husband (if I had one) and ask to be taken back. What an incredibly hard thing to do. Even though you weren't successful, though, you realized what you needed to do. That's so very important.

    I'll see about my schedule for Scrabble. Things are a bit busy with the family and school. I know some programs let you take your turn and go about your day, then notify you when your partner takes their turn. That'd be excellent.


    You're very right. I've been driving myself nuts lately, trying to figure out what to do. But there is nothing, really, to do. Time is going to take the pain away from me. I get so anxious with that need to move and accomplish something just to get him out of my head... but nothing will do that. Nothing acceptable, anyway.

    It's so hard for me to mellow out.


    I'm glad to be of help. I'm quite curious as to your situation and how things are going for you now. Any conclusions you've reached...

    And that line was awful. And vaguely creepy. You should be ashamed. But I'll forgive you since you apologized.

    Also... EBM? Really? Why has everyone forsaken regular old industrial for EBM and futurepop (AKA: europop fagtrash)? This distresses me, so I will mock you for your noise.

  5. Things are... confused. She's hitched up to another gent, ring and all (very suddenly I might add - the guy's an ex I've never met), but there's definite chemistry left. Being coworkers (actually, more like co-gradstudents which makes it less of an initially bad idea) doesn't help out. Too close to analyse it just yet, or early to tell what eventually happens.

    And I can't help liking europop fagtrash - I'm European. ;) But when it comes to music (and movies... and women) there's only two labels I consider important "Nepenthe likes" and "Nepenthe dislikes". Nepenthe tends to like groups such as Informatik,, Icon of Coil,, uberbyte and pre-suckage VNV Nation but more unabashedly "hands in the air" stuff like Tinrib, Weirdo and Lab-4 are A OK, too. Just uncool these days, I guess. Don't spit in the direction of psy/goa either, even though never got into the scene - any scene, really, I kind of look like the lawyer I am, undercuts and PVC would look... out of place on me. :)

    And you've come up on the reason why I don't do pickup lines. I'm much better at thinking up over-the-top & mildly creepy ones for laughs than those that might actually work. Not that I'd really be interested in any woman who'd fall for a (one) line.

    Best of luck. The dreams/nightmares are the worst. I had a phase when I rather stayed awake than slept, out of fear of them. The PUA crowd would say I have a bad case of beta oneitis - I'm saying that you can't understand the feeling until you've had it, and I'm sure some people never do.


  6. N,

    That sounds like a horrible situation. I'd be extracting myself post-haste... if only logic was a factor. Emotion makes it harder.

    May I suggest listening to Ministry, Lords of Acid, Nitzer Ebb, older NIN, Revolting Cocks? I mean, eesh, stop with the europop fagtrash.

    You should try dressing old school industrial. So much better than the cyberpunk look that so many kids are into these days. PVC is simply unattractive.

    Hm. I've had one-liners work on me. They just have to be something good and unique that catch me so off guard I have to stop and congratulate the guy. Creepy can be good, but you have to do it right.

    I'm too devoted to my sleep to not sleep unless it's really bad. But the dreams are going away, leaving me to have peaceful rest.

    But I believe that a lot of the "emotionally hardcore" PUA types are a number of betas recovering from oneitis, trying to regain their manhood.

    So they understand. They just won't admit it.

  7. Yeah, I've seen guys go on total rampages after the Cloud City of their oneitis collapses. It's almost frightening to witness the changes it can bring. But you're right. The overcompensators and the sociopaths. :)

    I can see a one-liner working as a good icebreaker... but I lack the kind of witticism that would allow me to come up with good ones on the spot and I've never been desperate enough to go with canned stuff. But yeah, attraction can build in different ways. The two most intense experiences of my life were completely different, first one was basically eye contact, angel choir and localised electric storm with the bar customers' hair starting to stand up... second, the one I'm (not) getting over at the moment was different, first saw her years ago, met daily in the corridors for almost six months, went for a coffee on a whim and just then immediately connected.

    I actually had the pleasure of seeing Nitzer Ebb perform live a couple of years ago (might be 5, I must be getting old), along with Front 242. I walked away with my appreciation of Front 242 greatly enhanced and wondering what the fuss was about when it came to Nitzer Ebb... :) I don't paint myself into corners when it comes to music, and I am somewhat into metal (you kind of need to turn in your Finnish citizenship if you aren't, really)... but the "rock" side of industrial has never touched me. Maybe I've just never been properly introduced to it.

    Logic's a funny thing, isn't it? If a person is so special that being in a shit situation with them feels better than three weeks of sex & sun in the Caribbean with anybody else, it makes logical sense to be what you can be. Of course, it might be just as logical to cut and run to avoid damaging yourself further, but sometimes the Rubicon is so far behind your back you just need to keep on going forward, hoping for a victory or at least an escape to the hills on the other side.