Sitting in my bed at home.

First time I've been here in almost two weeks. Home.

Laundry is running downstairs, thirty minutes to go before I can stagger down and shove it over into another electric metal box.

Body is sore.

Not muscle sore. Gods, I wish it was muscle sore. I wish I had the energy or the health right now to hop on the treadmill or pick a direction and go, but I think that would be the last straw for this sack of flesh and I'd likely down myself for the weekend, if not longer.

Went to see the Elephant Engine High Dive Revival Tour last night. Amazing, amazing poets. Bought three books, got them all signed. Went with the waitress from the restaurant, the red head. She's so wonderful to watch, so social, so confident. I love seeing her engage with people, without fear, without issue, walking up and getting to know them with the thought in her head that everyone has a fascinating story to tell and you just have to get them to smile and share it.

Which I agree with. It's just that my spirit animal is a bookworm.

True story.

I know I do this, but it was still interesting to watch myself switch into the behavior pattern again. When I'm out by myself, or out with someone less outgoing than I can be, I take over. I shift into social butterfly mode, become very extroverted, start working the room, the group, whatever it is, I'm on it. But if someone is naturally more outgoing than I am, I downshift. I become more mellow, more withdrawn.

Insecurity? Yes.
Knowing the principles of rarity and attraction? Yes.
Wondering what would happen if I kept my socializing level as high as my waitress friend did, how the two of us would work together with our blue eyes, her hair red, mine black, and our shared knowledge..? That could be fantastic. Conquering worlds.

But then, last night, the lack of sleep (yes, hello, eleven to twelve hour workdays, how are you?) and the emotional exhaustion from dealing with GV8 left me fried and withdrawn.

On the positive side, Hardwood Floors was at the show as well. Haven't seen him since February. He had put on muscle, let his hair grow out a bit. Still incredibly handsome.

His facial structure, though, stands out more when his head is shaved. Makes him look like a storm is under his skin, waiting to escape from his mouth.

Which it does, in his writing and poetry.

I used to hold him in such high regard as a lover, as a desirable (to sleep with, not to date) partner. He made my breath catch, and his words, his writing that was what continued to hold sway over me... I could simply read over and over again his emails, his poems. Beautiful.

He lost his shine.

He was still attractive. He was still hard and warm as we pressed up against each other in a hug and he sat next to me on the pew, his arm snaking around my shoulders like it has not been nine months since we last rolled around on the mattress on the floor of his apartment.

But... he wasn't... enough... anymore.

His words, his scent, his touch, barely penetrated. His rhythm, our shared motions that synched together, two hearts beating through sex, that was glorious.

But he didn't move me. I was stone, and he was not enough.

Because I had someone to compare him to, someone better. Someone who moved my bar too high, asking the men around me to prepare themselves for the polevault instead of the highjump.

Sex remains sex. Sex remains the route that will lead not to my heart, not to my head, but simply through me, like a tunnel. Without impact, just the echoes of words and winds as I allow access and they pay their toll.

I was talking with the Bassist yesterday, about my concern that I panicked with GV8, that I reacted poorly and that, with enough exposure (and pain), I could learn to have an open relationship.

And he reminded me that I have set goals. And he asked me if I had always had that one-man-one-woman dream.

Yes, yes, I did.

That ultimate partnership.

It's not the romance I seek, though I enjoy it.

It's the working together, becoming better together, striving towards being the best, experiencing the world, building a future, becoming four pairs of hands connected to one mind. Being beautiful and unstoppable, complimentary. Setting goals and knocking them down.

Unified.

No interruptions, no outside taint or influence.

Having someone to serve without ever making myself less.

I also am coming to realize that the Bassist doesn't make me feel good about myself a good chunk of the time. It's not that he's insulting, it's that he's unacknowledging. We email back and forth during the day and I'll share with him something that I find important, and he'll ignore it. He looks at about half the things I send him (links, music, etc). Last night, I took the waitress to his show, per his request as he has been lusting after her since I introduced them, and once I let him know that she was there, he essentially ignored me for most of the rest of the evening, did not even bother to hug me goodbye.

Which left me sitting there going, "Hey, I just brought this amazing and beautiful chick to your show so you could impress her with your bass-skills and band membership and possibly get her number and ask her out and you can't be bothered to give me a hug before I take off? Did you really just do that??"

I was annoyed and hurt. Also, wondering if I should even bother with having someone in my life that is so unaware and unconcerned. Probably not. If I did not love his band so much, I'd likely just wave goodbye in his general direction and exit stage left.

Unfortunately, doing so would make attending future concerts awkward.

I also spoke with the Waitress (capitalized now) about... her. About how comfortable she is in her own skin, how much men just gravitate towards her, about my recently ended relationship and how incredibly emo I've been.

She told me she is constantly emo. She always says yes when guys ask her out, no matter how disinterested she is, because she does not want to say no, because she's so easygoing. Gets stuck in these relationships with men she has no feelings for, finally has to end it, feels bad. That, since she started dating, she has not been single for more than a month (except once, where she reached two months) because of rebounds and being unable to say no.

It was... grounding for me.

I see these amazing people who are all shiny lights, who seem to be able to do anything, who have no fears or social anxieties, who know all the steps to all the games and drift through crowds without thought.

I look so highly on them, that they don't have to work at it. That they're naturally socially gifted. Wish I was like that. They seem so desirable, so intelligent, so perfect. I end up putting them on this mental pedestal where they end up (in my head) being amazing at everything. No chance of failure.

I cease to see them as human and with flaws.

You think I would learn by now that we all have flaws. We all have weaknesses.

I know, with my other blog, with the mini-fan base, and the emails with people telling me how amazing, strong, beautiful, vibrant, confident, whatever, insert-complimentary-adjective-here-that-I-don't-actually-see-in-myself-and-oh-god-using-the-hyphen-key-is-damn-annoying-and-I'm-going-to-stop-now, and I always email them back that, basically, they need to not idealize me, that I'm human and weak and I've got a shit-ton of issues that I need to work with/through and they're likely way cooler (or other adjective) than I am.

Sometimes I meet up with some of the emailers, the ones that live in this area, to show them that I am human and incredibly flawed... but it takes so much time for me to get them to relax, to calm, to see me that way. And it never really takes hold.

So I forget that others, the people I want to be more like, are human as well. And that they all have these backstories, these histories that effect them, that make them ashamed or regretful, that life isn't always easy and they have the scars we all have.

She reminded me of that.

She also called me amazing, which made my night. Silly, but true.

Went home, passed out, woke up, didn't bother to shower, and drove to help a friend I haven't seen in years pack up her recently passed mother's apartment. She was all kinds of wrecked.

It's hard to do that.

There's so much stuff. Food in the refrigerator that will not be consumed by the person who purchased it. Spices, dishware for holidays, antique cookware, old photos, stacks of books... what are you going to do with the bones of a life has left?

Box it up, load it into a van, the remainders, the reminders. Disperse among your relatives and friends, eating away at the sheer number of items that have amassed. Wondering what you need five ladles for, if you'll ever want that oversized cutting board, and if you can bear to give away the comforter that still smells like her, knowing that if you keep it that, one day, it will no longer smell like her, but like you.

Time to live.