Heh.
Yes, I've had to be veiled and secretive. But one possible lurker has just sworn on a stack of bibles they'd stop haunting the place. And I believe him. So, you know who you are, if you're reading this right now, shame on you, it ain't gonna do ya any good, and it's just precisely the very thing I've told you I find disrespectful and unappealing AND, there's a difference between deceit, and keeping secrets, and simply wanting mental privacy; allow me to have my thoughts. They'll only hurt you if you sniff around where you oughtn't.
Anyhoo.
Quite enough on that.
I am currently AT Table Top, and have resigned to the fact that I probably won't see Julian today... Just a feeling... I dunno... It being the holidays and all I wasn't even sure if he'd be in town, but I lurked the parking lot and indeed I see his car. Well, who knows.
About the Christmas card--- next post :-)
Merry Christmas everyone. Or did I already... I dunno... I don't have any plans :-( Sad, huh? I'll do something though. And Elena's coming here for 5 days for new years!!!! Wahoo!!!
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
30 Days of Truth-- Day #4
Maybe this is my being lazy but I think it's actually the opposite.
Plus it seems to be a perfect sort of introspective exercise right now.
So I'm jumping on the bandwagon with Bathwater (who discovered the bandwagon through hope dies) and doing this 30 Days of Truth thing.
Today's Day 4, something you have to forgive someone for.
I scrawled something on your page BW but I'm gonna think about it some more and answer it more fully....
Plus it seems to be a perfect sort of introspective exercise right now.
So I'm jumping on the bandwagon with Bathwater (who discovered the bandwagon through hope dies) and doing this 30 Days of Truth thing.
Today's Day 4, something you have to forgive someone for.
I scrawled something on your page BW but I'm gonna think about it some more and answer it more fully....
Thursday, September 9, 2010
hey Bathwater, pssst!
Sorry I'm probably just retarded, but I can't figure out how to follow your blog or post comments? Retarded? Or like set that way?
nm i figured out commenting. latin. but still can't find the Follow option.
nm i figured out commenting. latin. but still can't find the Follow option.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
comments---
Hey guys! Just wanted to say that I really appreciate all your support recently and your comments, they mean a lot to me, really. *sob* and I always try to comment back but sometimes it takes me a bit cuz I don't see them there for a while, but, just so you know...
love and late responses,
S-O
love and late responses,
S-O
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
don't know if people read comments post commenting--
but i said:
so NOBODY thinks that waiting a few months, and the fact he's probably estranged from his wife (theory strengthened by no ring, telling girl he was single, AND a friends cyberstalking that shows wife changed last name from his to hers 5 years ago and he moved into a new house...), and affirmed my feelings, might lead to dating?
Nobody even considers this possible, and possibly good?
I know you all have the best wishes for me- I really do- and appreciate it... that's just kind of a bummer... but it's understandable. and i'll quit whining about it.
xo
s-o
so NOBODY thinks that waiting a few months, and the fact he's probably estranged from his wife (theory strengthened by no ring, telling girl he was single, AND a friends cyberstalking that shows wife changed last name from his to hers 5 years ago and he moved into a new house...), and affirmed my feelings, might lead to dating?
Nobody even considers this possible, and possibly good?
I know you all have the best wishes for me- I really do- and appreciate it... that's just kind of a bummer... but it's understandable. and i'll quit whining about it.
xo
s-o
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Cyberstalking
I need to tighten the reins yet again, on my cyberprivacy.
This loser ex of mine, the one who i stuck with for 9 months but is, as J would say, an "ineffectual basement dweller"... just found this blog by way of some seriously psychotic searching, read nothing but anything he thought might be about him, and then decided-- entirely unaware of what's real and what's fiction (AND WHO CARES MAN, it's over) that I cheated on him, and texted me at 1 in the morning to call me a bunch of names. We haven't spoken really in almost a year.
So, Ineffectual Basement Dweller, if you're gonna read my blog at least become a follower and show some respect.
Hahaha.
It's things like this that actually sort of reaffirm my confidence in my abilities, my potential, my future.
Thanks, IBD
This loser ex of mine, the one who i stuck with for 9 months but is, as J would say, an "ineffectual basement dweller"... just found this blog by way of some seriously psychotic searching, read nothing but anything he thought might be about him, and then decided-- entirely unaware of what's real and what's fiction (AND WHO CARES MAN, it's over) that I cheated on him, and texted me at 1 in the morning to call me a bunch of names. We haven't spoken really in almost a year.
So, Ineffectual Basement Dweller, if you're gonna read my blog at least become a follower and show some respect.
Hahaha.
It's things like this that actually sort of reaffirm my confidence in my abilities, my potential, my future.
Thanks, IBD
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Writing as changing the course...
Writing as magic... as the power to manifest destiny.
I've had some great suggestions from many of you to make this into a book, and one offered the added bonus that I can have it end how I like. And I've realized, that everything I wrote became something real, and everything real became something I wrote, and that, I've always been able to MANIFEST... when I dream of things happening they do... that's how I've done all this stuff... but I'm not... I'm a mess and I'm spacey and flighty and have in the past wanted some pretty dark things, and to be in some pretty bad situations, and with the good things I only wanted a taste... not to follow through and do the work... so... you know it doesn't become... but... that's the thing...
The wise thing to do right now, would be to write this blog, as if it's really happening, but to write what I want to happen instead. And then it will. Then I'll do it.
I just... I don't know what I want... I don't like to plan and... I don't know if it's the right time-- as I'm composing this symphony, for triumphant horns, cymbals, strings, for clearly the last movement, or for the diminuendo, the flutes, the quiet, relaxing pastoral movement.
So I just don't know???
I've had some great suggestions from many of you to make this into a book, and one offered the added bonus that I can have it end how I like. And I've realized, that everything I wrote became something real, and everything real became something I wrote, and that, I've always been able to MANIFEST... when I dream of things happening they do... that's how I've done all this stuff... but I'm not... I'm a mess and I'm spacey and flighty and have in the past wanted some pretty dark things, and to be in some pretty bad situations, and with the good things I only wanted a taste... not to follow through and do the work... so... you know it doesn't become... but... that's the thing...
The wise thing to do right now, would be to write this blog, as if it's really happening, but to write what I want to happen instead. And then it will. Then I'll do it.
I just... I don't know what I want... I don't like to plan and... I don't know if it's the right time-- as I'm composing this symphony, for triumphant horns, cymbals, strings, for clearly the last movement, or for the diminuendo, the flutes, the quiet, relaxing pastoral movement.
So I just don't know???
Monday, May 10, 2010
On Writing.
To change it up, introspection:
I started doing this, this writing business, a few years ago, when I was 19, at the behest of my then-boyfriend. He was a writer. Is a writer still, I suppose, of plays and films and that was how I met him, I was in his thesis film for college, about junkies. It was fun, and kind of beautiful, and kind of incredibly self-indulgent. But I was really in love with him, and he was really... troubled... naturally, and jealous, and alcoholic, and depressed, and he projected, and decided I had issues and encouraged me to write. And he used to drink and moan about how difficult it was to write "the truth" and all his writing was alternately "shit" and then so brave, the tortured artist and his terrible, terrible adolescence in a typical WASP well-to-do Midwest household with a LOVELY mom who drank a little and a rebellious, charismatic, LOVELY older brother who dabbled in the punk scene, and a downright Leave it to Beaver dad. (They were all sincerely lovely people. I'm saying this to undermine his suffering. Hah.) Anyway, he encouraged me to "write it all down," "the truth," "dig deeper." "Dig deeper," he always said, always warning me about the tendency to shy from the truth and just write "bullshit." It was a condition of our relationship, that I wrote this hideous truth and bare my soul thus ridding myself of all the demons that were dragging us down.
Ironically, or maybe not, he would barely let me stay alone in his apartment for fear that I'd read his crap, about which I honestly couldn't give a flying fuck. He did it a few times, reluctantly, and I had no impulse. It didn't really interest me too much, and I'd read his plays, and it was private to him, and I respected that.
And the one time he stayed at my place when I went to work, I had a pit in my stomach a few hours after leaving. I called him and he told me, in a thick strange voice that he'd been sat there the whole time, reading my shit. I'd left my e-mail open. He read it all. Everything. My personal letters to everyone. To John. My doubts about him. Everything. There wasn't anything to really hide... it was just my thoughts, my voice, my SOUL that freaked him out. He left. I came home and my room reeked of smoke and I was just grossed out by everything about him, but I tend to cling onto people, and, I clung onto him, and we reconciled, on this condition that I "dig deeper" and write the truth. That he was always struggling to write, that ached him and scared him too much to confront...
And I wrote it, boy. No. Fucking. Problem. It was cathartic and exhilarating and put a Devil-may-care spring in my stride for a while, and I gave it to him to read, at his crappy day-job as a doorman downtown, and of course he didn't call me as I white-knuckled waited for him to do, and so I called him and he said--
"Well. It's not bullshit."
"No." I said. "And?"
And I don't remember what he said. He was probably silent for a while. We dissolved after that. I don't know where the hell he is.
COWARD.
COWARD. COWARD.
My writing has always gotten me into trouble. Okay, I'm an exhibitionist. And obviously it's not just the writing, it's dancing, it's across the board, it's music, it's my face on some screen, lighting someone's face at 3 a.m looking at some screen, warm in the glow of radiation.
But it's the writing that freaks people out. I think every boyfriend I've had, except Sean, has read it, my private correspondences, scoured the internet for old blogs, sat at my computer and opened up My Documents and helped them-goddamn-selves. And freaked out, and obsessed, and couldn't stop, and looked at me when I got home like "Who are you. Who are you. WHAT are you." And left, afraid of their shadows and out the door.
And not just boyfriends. Family members. Old classmates.
And it's flattering, huh. And it makes me nauseous.
And I'm driven, my whole existence, is driven by these conflicting impulses to lay it all out and spread it all out on a giant screen, and to guard my privacy at all costs.
And none of them could handle it. And none of them can handle me. And nobody ever can.
I started doing this, this writing business, a few years ago, when I was 19, at the behest of my then-boyfriend. He was a writer. Is a writer still, I suppose, of plays and films and that was how I met him, I was in his thesis film for college, about junkies. It was fun, and kind of beautiful, and kind of incredibly self-indulgent. But I was really in love with him, and he was really... troubled... naturally, and jealous, and alcoholic, and depressed, and he projected, and decided I had issues and encouraged me to write. And he used to drink and moan about how difficult it was to write "the truth" and all his writing was alternately "shit" and then so brave, the tortured artist and his terrible, terrible adolescence in a typical WASP well-to-do Midwest household with a LOVELY mom who drank a little and a rebellious, charismatic, LOVELY older brother who dabbled in the punk scene, and a downright Leave it to Beaver dad. (They were all sincerely lovely people. I'm saying this to undermine his suffering. Hah.) Anyway, he encouraged me to "write it all down," "the truth," "dig deeper." "Dig deeper," he always said, always warning me about the tendency to shy from the truth and just write "bullshit." It was a condition of our relationship, that I wrote this hideous truth and bare my soul thus ridding myself of all the demons that were dragging us down.
Ironically, or maybe not, he would barely let me stay alone in his apartment for fear that I'd read his crap, about which I honestly couldn't give a flying fuck. He did it a few times, reluctantly, and I had no impulse. It didn't really interest me too much, and I'd read his plays, and it was private to him, and I respected that.
And the one time he stayed at my place when I went to work, I had a pit in my stomach a few hours after leaving. I called him and he told me, in a thick strange voice that he'd been sat there the whole time, reading my shit. I'd left my e-mail open. He read it all. Everything. My personal letters to everyone. To John. My doubts about him. Everything. There wasn't anything to really hide... it was just my thoughts, my voice, my SOUL that freaked him out. He left. I came home and my room reeked of smoke and I was just grossed out by everything about him, but I tend to cling onto people, and, I clung onto him, and we reconciled, on this condition that I "dig deeper" and write the truth. That he was always struggling to write, that ached him and scared him too much to confront...
And I wrote it, boy. No. Fucking. Problem. It was cathartic and exhilarating and put a Devil-may-care spring in my stride for a while, and I gave it to him to read, at his crappy day-job as a doorman downtown, and of course he didn't call me as I white-knuckled waited for him to do, and so I called him and he said--
"Well. It's not bullshit."
"No." I said. "And?"
And I don't remember what he said. He was probably silent for a while. We dissolved after that. I don't know where the hell he is.
COWARD.
COWARD. COWARD.
My writing has always gotten me into trouble. Okay, I'm an exhibitionist. And obviously it's not just the writing, it's dancing, it's across the board, it's music, it's my face on some screen, lighting someone's face at 3 a.m looking at some screen, warm in the glow of radiation.
But it's the writing that freaks people out. I think every boyfriend I've had, except Sean, has read it, my private correspondences, scoured the internet for old blogs, sat at my computer and opened up My Documents and helped them-goddamn-selves. And freaked out, and obsessed, and couldn't stop, and looked at me when I got home like "Who are you. Who are you. WHAT are you." And left, afraid of their shadows and out the door.
And not just boyfriends. Family members. Old classmates.
And it's flattering, huh. And it makes me nauseous.
And I'm driven, my whole existence, is driven by these conflicting impulses to lay it all out and spread it all out on a giant screen, and to guard my privacy at all costs.
And none of them could handle it. And none of them can handle me. And nobody ever can.
Passive Aggressive Response
BLOGGING: The Top 5 Worst.
5. Ironic comment-leavery: You don't gotta do that. Really. Is it strange not to want unpleasant criticisms of my lifechoices, my thinking, or my writing, on my own page? Call me a weirdo.
4. 3D-->0D Stalkery: If I made the mistake of sharing this link with you ages ago when I realized neither how personal it would be, nor how preposterous YOU would be, please don't.
3. Cyberoblivion: My own lack of awareness when writing that this particular here Diary is for the world's eyes only.
2. Cyberignorance: My inability to know who is going to read this, search this, memorize bits of this to bring up in conversation.
1. Ultimate High Self Absorbency Towelettes: Hey! Don't skim this looking for something about yourself! You're not in here! It's boring! You'll be bored out of your mind! My life is boring to you- and YOU. Are BORING. To ME. That's right. I'll prattle away all day about my fantasies sooner than write about those few dull hours I wasted listening to you bullshit about your accomplishments. So move it along, please.
Extra Credit: Why Am I Doing This Again, Anyway??? I really don't know. I am an exhibitionist. I guess. I like that lovely people and writers from out here are interested... I like that. Knowing that it's engaging enough to read sometimes. Makes me write more. But again- PLEASE- if you're a real-life person and any of the above objections ring a bell- just QUIT IT, will ya?? Or don't. Keep on keeping on...
...But know that I know you're doing it, and I think you're an ass, and if that's your passive-aggressive way to get on my nerves, this is my passive-aggressive response for you to F off. Cool? Cool.
5. Ironic comment-leavery: You don't gotta do that. Really. Is it strange not to want unpleasant criticisms of my lifechoices, my thinking, or my writing, on my own page? Call me a weirdo.
4. 3D-->0D Stalkery: If I made the mistake of sharing this link with you ages ago when I realized neither how personal it would be, nor how preposterous YOU would be, please don't.
3. Cyberoblivion: My own lack of awareness when writing that this particular here Diary is for the world's eyes only.
2. Cyberignorance: My inability to know who is going to read this, search this, memorize bits of this to bring up in conversation.
1. Ultimate High Self Absorbency Towelettes: Hey! Don't skim this looking for something about yourself! You're not in here! It's boring! You'll be bored out of your mind! My life is boring to you- and YOU. Are BORING. To ME. That's right. I'll prattle away all day about my fantasies sooner than write about those few dull hours I wasted listening to you bullshit about your accomplishments. So move it along, please.
Extra Credit: Why Am I Doing This Again, Anyway??? I really don't know. I am an exhibitionist. I guess. I like that lovely people and writers from out here are interested... I like that. Knowing that it's engaging enough to read sometimes. Makes me write more. But again- PLEASE- if you're a real-life person and any of the above objections ring a bell- just QUIT IT, will ya?? Or don't. Keep on keeping on...
...But know that I know you're doing it, and I think you're an ass, and if that's your passive-aggressive way to get on my nerves, this is my passive-aggressive response for you to F off. Cool? Cool.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Bigot Bloggers!
I comment occasionally on this one super-intellectual-geekout blog and they hate me even though I just say nice, normal things. Prejudice in cyberland where I don't have a face? I can't even say they hate redheads. :-(
Friday, January 22, 2010
Play.
Heavy-lidded, thirsty, headthrobbed and humble, I blog.
I ran six miles today, mostly in the rain, it felt so good, it feels so good, just running, just running, why does it feel so good, all those things that aren't supposed to feel good, or that are, but are chores to other people, work, and it's all I ever want to do... Run, play piano and sing, write, clean... I didn't used to be like this.
I used to love to play.
I still do. I love to go out dancing. I love to travel and swim and go out and make out and *$(&.
Trust me. I LOVE it. There's just... I just don't know.
So, I figured it out. (If I'm repeating myself I'll figure that out too and edit.) Julian is divorced, with a child, in elementary school. Maybe just separated, but I'm pretty sure divorced, and they don't live together. I figured it out last night after more obsessive, exhaustive sleuthing-- which is NOT, by the way, what kept me up, but just something I fell into after tossing and turning for four hours.
This makes Scarlet very happy. :-) I mean, not, because that really sucks, divorce really sucks, specially with a kid, and now looking back I realize how many times I mentioned I never wanted to get divorced because like everyone in my family has been... But, the thought that he was married, or married with children, really kind of upset me. I would never, ever mess with someone who's married. It's been tempting, I mean not that I was tempted but just I've had attractions/connections with married men but no, no way.
Ugh. Dan is calling. I'm writing. I never answer the phone... It's in excusable. But, ugh, I'm busy.
I talked to Elena for hours today and yesterday. Elena is my heart, my pulse, without her I lose myself. Sometimes beautifully, but, I lose myself.
I ran six miles today, mostly in the rain, it felt so good, it feels so good, just running, just running, why does it feel so good, all those things that aren't supposed to feel good, or that are, but are chores to other people, work, and it's all I ever want to do... Run, play piano and sing, write, clean... I didn't used to be like this.
I used to love to play.
I still do. I love to go out dancing. I love to travel and swim and go out and make out and *$(&.
Trust me. I LOVE it. There's just... I just don't know.
So, I figured it out. (If I'm repeating myself I'll figure that out too and edit.) Julian is divorced, with a child, in elementary school. Maybe just separated, but I'm pretty sure divorced, and they don't live together. I figured it out last night after more obsessive, exhaustive sleuthing-- which is NOT, by the way, what kept me up, but just something I fell into after tossing and turning for four hours.
This makes Scarlet very happy. :-) I mean, not, because that really sucks, divorce really sucks, specially with a kid, and now looking back I realize how many times I mentioned I never wanted to get divorced because like everyone in my family has been... But, the thought that he was married, or married with children, really kind of upset me. I would never, ever mess with someone who's married. It's been tempting, I mean not that I was tempted but just I've had attractions/connections with married men but no, no way.
Ugh. Dan is calling. I'm writing. I never answer the phone... It's in excusable. But, ugh, I'm busy.
I talked to Elena for hours today and yesterday. Elena is my heart, my pulse, without her I lose myself. Sometimes beautifully, but, I lose myself.
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