it's 1:52 am, on September 21, 2001 - surveys in the n-wilderness.
~
I'm trying to decide; is it arrogant to say, I think I sounded like so-and-so when he spoke of such-and-such?
Because Dex started talking about rain just now.
And I thought, 'hey. That sounds like me in a few years.'
It was an offhand thought, and immediately I felt, arrogant for it. Not that I can't get there, because I have confidence and arrogance to spare -- the thought that my writing can get to where his writing is, that's easy to come to. I am there.
But the idea that, he sounded as I do. I thought, 'that is an assumption you do not have the right or the will to make'.
~*~
Something completely off-track. I got an email from Randy just now that said, 'hey disa, I was searching online for information on jose villarrubia, and I found this'. Which is a gay league of comics fans. Which I can't decide whether I want to bring to light in the fanfic community, or ignore as being either (a) overly ambitious or (b) not internet-saavy. I can't decide whether I think their idea is just another glbt page, or actually something worth it.
But until I decide, check it out. Because what the fuck do I know. Decide for yourself.
Randy also said that Jose wrote back to him and said Grant and Peter weren't, in fact, lovers. It saddened me, but I'm still sure there's something to the innuendo. Possibly a bet. Something. Something creeping in the night, something secret.
I care, almost, less about sex than I do for secrets.
~*~
Hey, anyone in the Northeast, I've got access to pre-sale Counting Crows tickets.
It's good to be on band mailing lists.
~*~
Much much later in the day now; I think I've heard the whisper of something, now. I'm tempted to go downstairs and watch, something. Possibly something REM, possibly with Michael Stipe in a skirt.
I've been reading things that aren't R.E.M. though, mostly, and I've decided that this is something that I want to soak in for a while.
Yeah, a Lance/Justin rec.
I need to get back into OZ stories. I should be focused on.
No.
It's one fifteen am. I should be honest with myself. What I should be doing is writing or reading something that isn't on the computer; I should be writing something without characters in it.
--or I should be finishing the flood mythology.
Something with substance; it feels like I should be fading away without it. Which is pretentious. I want to get back into the gutter, just for the smell.
~*~
Changing tract again. It's one eighteen in the morning. I'm sitting here and I've got eight hundred ways to contact people and I never do; I have a landscape in my mind that I barely visit anymore.
Focus is good, but only when it makes one productive. It's stagnation, otherwise.
I'm thinking about going downstairs, getting a cookie, and then going to bed. Maybe, maybe.
'a world that loves it's irony must hate the protest singer'
I can't decide whether that apostrophe should be there or not, in 'its'. I don't want to put it there, but then, that might be because I don't like apostrophes. I use single quotations for too many other things.
Syntax. Grammar. Bedouins. Constellations. --bobby farms.
I miss all these things, and yet, they have been replaced in my mind. It proves what kind of media whore I am. It proves what kind of indecisive I am.
I want to say, I'm sorry, but I don't know why, and it makes me resentful. Because I've done something wrong. Hank has no forgiveness. Yeah. Hank must be lonely.
I want to write a story where, Chris realizes that Lance is dating him, but Lance is jibing, ever so subtly, about how he's better looking. But, Lance is afraid about how he cannot do the things in bed that Chris can.
I don't know.
Rae says she used to watch Punky Brewster all the time. So did I. I think I had a crush on her.
She did like, hella-surveys a while ago, and now I want to answer the one about numbers. Because I bet Lance counts up things like this. I'm sure Remy does. Chris Keller, too.
~*~
Number of times I have been in love: See, there's this thing where, I don't fall in love, and yet I do far too easily. So, I'll stick with my traditional number of three. Four. I don't know. Three I can look back on and go, 'yup, that was the real thing'.
Number of times I have had my heart broken: See. I don't know. I guess, once. Maybe twice, but it just might have been me, the second time. Maybe the first, too.
Number of hearts I have broken: Probably, Mike. Also, possibly? the girl of my dreams. but because I haven't talked to her, I can't tell. I won't ever tell. Maybe others. I don't know. I have a reckless abandon.
Addendum: rereading this entry, I forgot this other boy I cheated on and probably hurt really bad. Because I liked to know he wanted me. I don't know how much it hurt him, though, because I never asked. That should be important, but it's too far away now to count.
Number of boys I have kissed in my life: Fucked if I know. Probably only one kiss counted, and it was in my car.
Another addendum: I remember another kiss that counted. Strangely, with Mike. Or maybe not so strangely.
Number of girls I have kissed: Um. I was gonna say three and then I remembered that I'd played spin the bottle at parties. So. Six or so.
Number of continents I have visited: Three.
Number of drugs taken illegally: Two or three.
Number of people I would classify as true, could trust with my life type friends: Do I trust like that? --naw. Will. Sue, my ex-wife. Um. Like, more online, but they're not here.
Number of people from high school that I stayed in contact with: Tynan; also, Will. Sue and her posse, kinda. Morgan. Monika.
Number of cd's that I own?: like, 110 or so. At least two cd cases full.
Number of scars on my body: I have like, teeny lines on my left hand from when I cut myself in math class because I was bored, and then later in the day burnt them in with a hot knife. I also have scars from mosquito bites.
Number of scars on my heart: Dunno. I bounce easily, I think, but that might just be because I'm in denial. I'm sure Paris hurt, but I can't really remember.
Last addendum, I swear: I'm sure Paris hurt. But like I said, I think that might have been, a lot me, and a little him. Maybe I just think that because I couldn't ever think him wrong.
Number of people that have made me scared of what they could do to me physically: I don't know. I'm an abuse survivor. (Which doesn't mean, a lot, but I don't know. I can't think of any right now, even the abuser, but I'm sure at one point or another, someone must have intimidated me.)
Number of things in my past that I regret: I don't want to regret.
~*~
There's a fun waste of time.
My lips taste like lance. My stomach hurts. It's raining outside. It's time to go to bed.
~
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