it's 5:36 pm, on December 25, 2001 - a less abridged us.
~
Remember when I said, 'I have this whole entry about A Separate Peace that I'm too chickenshit to post' the other day?
Well, no, I'm still too chickenshit, because I want to see signs in things that may or may not be signs, you know. But I think I'm going to dig it out, and write the things that matter to you (is that about you? because I don't know what matters to you), and then I'm going to have Christmas dinner and tape the Backstreet boys and Spice girls for Cathy.
Let's see. Far-too-introspective-and-love-related-entry says, Right now I'm full of, "this is what I know of love." and I could keep going on that vein, but what I know of love now isn't what I knew of love that night, because what I knew of it that night was... trembling, also, more intense. And more blurry.
Little entry also said, There's this part in Buffy where Spike says to her, "give me something, anything, a crumb." And I think, I understand that -- because to get so much more than that, than a speck, a drop in the bucket, a crumb; it's just enough. You show me a crumb, and somehow survive on it for another few months.
Which I think, still has relevence. Also, I owe people Christmas packages, because, I suck. Which people will get in February, of course. Again, because I suck. But we know this, don't we? Yes, we do. I'm applying to be a social Catholic because I suck.
Random: I wanted to go to midnight mass last night. Because I've heard that Mass on Christmas is pretty.
There was some rambling about Gene, and comparing Gene to Dean, which was amusing, because their names are the same even though their names are both characters, and not the reality of the situation -- I wonder if Neal ever felt more, Dean-like than Neal-like because Jack wrote him that way. Odd thought.
I don't mind fic about me at all.
Also, the statement about literature and spirituality. I think, very true. Very, very, true. Can't be a writer. Have to pray first.
Am discussing Christmas loot with Matt. Missing Matt, also, Seraph. Wishing for convention. Wanting it down south, as usual. Trying to make this acceptable to Catholic mind.
That non-posted entry also said, "Monika says it's stupid of me to try and forget about it" because she knows me pretty well, and so, I figure I'll take her advice, and step back, and start thinking hard.
I think I'm incapable of writing about personal things in the third person. Like, "There was this big crash in my life, and this book was very frightening as well as it was, satisfying, and Gene was imagining guilt where he didn't need any, but--" I just, can't do it. I can say "I" and I can say "you", and there's really nothing else that I'm capable of discussing with any clarity or focus, unless it's characters but we know that they're both 'I' and 'you' and 'us' as well.
The last thing that entry says that I want to repeat is: --He was frightened, of course, that he was right about Gene, because he was never wrong about Gene, and yet could possibly have always been wrong about Gene, and sometimes didn't know it.
This is the holiday season, and I've had the nsync song 'merry christmas, happy holidays' in my head for the last few days, because Rae burned me the CD.
I have to think. And I have to figure out how prison sex stays burned in-- oh, I totally forgot until just now. Had a dream where there was another SC, and there was, um, really soft lips, and when I woke up I was so *angry*. I didn't want to wake up.
Chris can't help himself, looking over at Justin from across the table. He always makes sure that Justin has a Coke, or a water bottle, or a sandwich, or a shoulder to cry on or space to flex, but he can't make anything make sense, anyway.
This wouldn't be complete without a merry christmas, baby, and happy holidays, would it. But that's not why I'd put it in. It'd be because I want to.
~
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