The Monster

When the denizens of Burnaby managed to win a Supreme Court ruling against Kinder Morgen for cutting trees on Burnaby Morgen for a pipeline, they received a letter within a week detailing the company's alternate plan, to route the pipeline through a residential neighbourhood, instead.

One woman commented, "It's like being told you're going to lose a limb, but you get to choose whether it's an arm or a leg."

The Corporation Beast, stung, reared its head back and roared. Its neck snapped forward at lightning speed and snapped its teeth so close that the city could feel the hot stink of its breath, feel flecks of burning spittle spray the town like rain.

They had bought themselves some time.

Lah.

A Spiral Spinning Apart

What an evening. What a weekend.

Thursday was Noah's birthday. As he pointed out, it was the first birthday in years where he wasn't absolutely miserable and regretting everything about his life. I was pretty happy about that, and pretty happy to participate in that happiness. The celebration that night was for "family only," meaning that there was maybe 10-15 people there instead of upwards of 20.

Among others, it was wonderful to see Emma, who came to visit Noah for the weekend. She looked so pretty and feminine with her delicate features and flowing layers and brilliant smile. It reminded me of my old style before I began riding my bicycle around as much, with the mermaid skirts and the long loose tops and scarves, layers of flowing beauty.

The next evening, and the next party, was a different experience. From the beginning, like last time things went awry, the energy was funny-feeling and strange. Although in the last year there has only been one really one person who has been ridiculously drunk and flaily and passing out everywhere (surprise: Ananda), this party had no fewer than 3 of them (and perhaps more I'm forgetting), so it seemed that whichever room you entered, there was someone being over-the-top drunk. Karl sat on the coffee table, on top of the powdered ARAs, no less, scattering them to the floor. Gary flailed around and finally passed out in the middle of the corridor in and out of Noah's room, half on the bed. Later, he peed in the fridge.

And then there was Zed. Usually a calm cuddly large dog, he had apparently snuck into a room momentarily where some powdered drugs had been upended and lost into the ether of the floor, and sniffled around. Next thing I know, he's panting and moaning and squeaking (in a frankly heartwrenching way) as he sits awkwardly in place, trying to climb into his owner's lap. James explained what happened and I suddenly realized that the dog wasn't just shuffling, he was humping! Humping the air, and trying to hump James. James kept joking that at least the dog was going after him, but I kept seeing him sprawl and get closer to Isla, still humping, and she was obviously VERY uncomfortable about it.

Isla was visiting from the boonies of West Sechelt, still newly a nonsmoker. I had a date with Lucy, and her with a couple of ciders. Later she explained that her very first acid experience, and the reason she has been forever cautious about it, ended with her waking up on the floor to being pinned underneath a large humping dog.

Who'd have guessed?

Time moved funny though; for the most part it crawled, but every time we went out somewhere to take a walk (Isla was surprisingly energetic!), time seemed to hop ahead and everyone seemed to get exponentially more inebriated, while we stayed the same. I decided that time was moving slowly and I wasn't caught up in the whirling energy of the evening, so I took another hit of acid and continued my evening.

Time's turtlelike advance added to the disorienting weird energy of the evening. Even the music seemed to reflect the mood, with what seemed like hours of unmelodic rhythms of drum and bass, DJed by the usually smooth Terry. It put me on edge. Also, I lost my backpack, with all my essentials including my party favours and cozy comfy warm change of clothes. That set me on edge from the very beginning, and I'd stop to search every once in a while.

Casey was very drunk very early and acting out some of my worst saddrunkInga memories, except insecure where Inga might be rebellious and scornful. I had no patience for Inga in that mode, but we had years of sisterhood to fall back on, instead of mere days of friendship. Casey interpreted any lack of compassion on my part as rejection. She kept freaking out over Gus and whether or not he was into her, but all in drunk over-dramatic generalizations, grabbing my arm to tell me "Oh my GOD Sayata, the worst possible thing EVER has just happened to meeeeee. He HATES me!!!!!!!" and later even exclaiming that she was worthless and had nothing desirable or of value in her body and her self.

That last one was a breaking point for me; I was already kind of stressed and on edge, and have a hard time focusing. I kept trying to connect to my place of endless flow of compassion, and struggling for once. Thankfully Erik was there, and stepped in passionately to defend her against herself and argue the case of her beauty. I was grateful, because I'd said my piece about my opinion of her gorgeousness. Beyond that, I had little patience to argue with her insecure blackout drunk self, especially when she quite possibly would remember nothing of this in the morning.

I kept trying to slip away to find peace, but each room I went into felt uncomfortable and crowded with drunk people. I saw Jack here and there, laughing, caught up in the flow of people. I saw Erik once or twice in passing, and he paused to touch me in a loving way, and it felt very comforting. I tried to convey my weird feelings, and asked half-jokingly, half-pleadingly, if there was somewhere we could find to be alone. He told me that he didn't know of anywhere that he could be free to give me the quality of attention he'd like to. I think he missed my mild distress.

We kept being parted by the flood of people, especially as I increasingly began to run away from individuals who kept trying to get my attention and ask for opinion/advice/involvement/reassurance/etc. We'd be separated because Erik would be drawn into the role I'd run away from, as I acknowledged my own inability to contribute meaningfully or cope mentally and tried to escape.

Isla and I touched base on the vibe of the party that we were feeling. Off-kilter? Definitely. Liking it? Definitely not. But we were both feeling in the perfect place to be around our friends, energetic and social and talkative. So we elected to duke it out a while longer. I knew I was going to be up all night from the acid and was afraid of being home alone and high and social as everyone else was sleepy and going to bed.

Finally I found a quiet corner by the laundry room, and made that home base for a while. Noah found me there and touched my shoulders, and we chatted quietly and I felt tension in my spine ease. He suggested I pull Erik aside for a quiet few minutes. It was a good idea, except that I hadn't seen him in hours.

Soon afterwards, I went into the living room and saw Emma? dancing, and tapped my toes to the beat--and found that dancing was the perfect occupation for my restless feet. I spun and twirled and stepped and let my body act out the disjointed pressure in my head, turning the drum and bass from chaotic input to relief-filled output. I danced and danced, skating on my socks, soon with the whole living room floor to myself. I twirled out a flailing variation on my ballerina dance, until I was mildly out of breath--and then danced more, giggling to myself, as I felt the acid trickling in. The tension eased out of me. I could handle this.

And then Casey grabbed me and pulled me aside for the umpteenth time. I steeled myself for another tearful Gus moment, flinching in my mind. I was so sure of she'd say that it took me a few moments to comprehend the words actually coming out of her mouth. My good friend Crash, another member of the house where the party was being held, had grabbed her jaw, pulled her forcibly towards him, and shoved his tongue into her mouth. She had clearly said no, and tried to fight him off, but was unable to--and nobody in the room had intervened or spoken up.

My stuttering brain tried to take this in. Her words spun in me, chasing each other around my whirling head, as I struggled to find some way to process this. Perhaps she had drunkenly misunderstood the situation, or perhaps I had misheard the name. Crash, of all people? He's 10 years older and I not only respect his opinion greatly but generally respect his choices and character/situation evaluations, finding them very similar to mine. Also, I'd had months to observe, get to know, and ultimately develop respect for him--and only a few days of Casey, with her spending most of that time upset, dramatic, or drunk.

My already distorted and distended brain started yelling DOES NOT COMPUTE! DOES NOT COMPUTE! and shutting down. Meanwhile, seemingly distressed by my lack of immediate supportive response, she continued to babble, growing steadily more extreme, and tears began to pour down her face. "Why did nobody do anything? Am I a slut?" she asked. "Did I deserve this? Was I asking for this? Should I just pack up all my things right now and leave, hit the road?"

Her words spurred me to immediate automatic response. "No." I said. "You did not deserve this, nobody deserves--" but my mind was still struggling and words don't always work so well on acid. My mouth, on automatic, wanted to comfort her but shied away from lying--and I still didn't know the truth, forcing me to try again, "if it did happen the way you say, then that's not okay--" My words and sentences stumbled against each other, falling flat between us. I settled for just putting my arm around her in comfort, and building a little energetic comforting wall between us and the party flowing around us. Except that I was melting inside into discordant pieces and I'm sure she was picking that up.

I'm not sure how I disentangled myself from her but I found myself moving through the party, reeling. I knew I'd have to talk to different people and sort it out, but I knew I couldn't talk to anyone in the state I was in; my mind shied away from the whole topic, unable to think, unable to turn it over in my head and rearrange the pieces I had to make it make sense, to explain what had happened, why Crash had done such a thing and how it could have been okay with everyone else, why the party was still going on like nothing had happened.

The one clear thought that rose in my head was that I'd already been teetering on the edge and this was the last thing I'd needed. Probably not a constructive thought to surface because with my short term memory evaporating my brain latched onto that thought. I'd see glimpses of Crash or Noah or Casey again and flinch away from dealing with the situation and sorting things out. I'd see Jack, smiling and glassy-eyed, caught up in the whirlwind of the party.

I felt afraid to approach Jack, too. At first I told myself that it was because I didn't want to disturb his enjoyment of the party, since he has such a hard time convincing himself to be social. I realize now that I was afraid that once he found out just what a bad state I was in, not only would I have to explain what was going on in detail (which my mind was still shying away from explaining to myself) but he'd be freaked out/concerned/confused/worried and therefore completely unable to handle the social party aspect of the situation, and I would feel pressure on myself to help him and support him and ease his way.

But there was someone everywhere, and nowhere to just be alone for a few minutes. Every room was full of dangerous thought. Finally I came out of Noah's room to see Erik, his rounded facial features clear and handsome, with a fresh shave stark against his dark wavy hair. He looked at me inquisitively, his usual calm intelligent-eyed self, the very picture of a comforting stable force amongst the chaotic drunken melee. I hadn't seen him for hours, and rushed the few feet towards him, burying my head for a moment in his chest. I lifted my head and we had a brief conversation with our eyes where I made no effort to hide my urgency and upset, and then his face turned to a thundercloud as I collapsed into tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked. I heard, underlying, Who did this to you? Where can I direct my anger?

I tried to speak up and stumbled over my words. Someone pushed past me and I felt crowded. I grabbed his hand, led him through the house and wove through people face-down, making no eye contact, as if I was at a crowded show. I pulled him into the quiet corner and opened my mouth. Nothing came out. The kitchen filled with Casey and some boys. I tensed up, afraid that they'd see us. He grabbed my hand and pulled me unseen into Chris' nook, protected by a curtain of blankets.

I gave up on trying to hold it together and sobbed. He tried to ask me again what was wrong and I managed to squeak out that I was too high to talk. So he wrapped his arms around me and spoke nothings about it being okay and being there for me. My world narrowed to his chest and my tears and I cried for what felt like a lifetime. As I was trapped in my own mind, unable to think, unable to process, another part of my mind was listening to Casey and the boys right next to us, talking about the roast and meat. I recognized Jack and Dylan's voices in the group. She was explaining that she loves meat, and loves the taste of it, but it makes her ill. They spoke about how delicious it was, teasing her about being vegetarian and *almost* encouraging her to try it. She in turn began to crave it and tease them that she was gonna eat it and that she'd feel really shitty the next day.

I heard them teasingly telling her it'd be fine and encouraging her to eat it. The part of me that was listening started chanting no! no! no! I knew she might be okay with organic high-quality meat, but the roast was standard conventional beef, and pretty much the worst meat for her to cheat with other than processed. It struck me that if any one of those boys knew what I knew about her candida sickness and how shitty she would feel if she ate that meat, they would be discouraging her instead of encouraging her. And in her blackout state, what she needed was not a push out of the box but a firm hand to snatch it out of her grip and say no.

"I'm eating it!" she cried. "It tastes sooooo goooood. I'm gonna feel SO horrible tomorrow!!!"

The active part of my mind couldn't disentangle itself from the part that was collapsing in on itself over and over, and my mouth-brain connection was clearly nonfunctional. I looked at Erik helplessly, unsure if he was even hearing the conversation or whether he was entirely focused on me. Our eyes met and I realized that he looked upset now, too. Murderous, in fact. I absorbed the murderous-helpless-upset look and then it melted and he was the one who collapsed into tears, and I held him.

At this point I was freaking out a little, and for a different reason. I realized just how deeply my meltdown had upset Erik, and abruptly remembered that he was probably wasted too (he just hold himself together so much better than the flails). I abruptly regretted choosing to lose myself in his arms, but felt confused and stuck to my choice--I needed support, and he had offered it.

Of course my memory of this is a bit murky with all of the intensity of emotion flowing through me. Just noting.

I surfaced and even smiled a brief second chuckle over a flash of a silly thought passing through my head, and then got caught in a loop of trying to get up, explain, say I had to pee, and exclaim "she can't eat the meat!" at the same time, only getting out that last. Erik looked confused, and I felt frustrated but still couldn't talk to explain what was going on. In fact, my short term memory was so nonexistent that I had forgotten exactly what had sent me into this loop of crazy--but I did know I couldn't face interacting with them, and I had to pee, and I couldn't even speak loudly without them hearing, and to get to the bathroom I'd have to cross the kitchen and pass them... and Casey, wasted, probably wouldn't understand I was upset.

"I have to pee," I said, and laughed at the ridiculousness of my plight. I got up and tiptoed to the door to outside, and opened it, only to find mounds of garbage and cans blocking the usually-clear veranda. Of course. Why not? Everything else had gone wrong. I closed the door, turning back to Erik only to see him emerging through the curtain, presumably to stop Casey eating the meat?

I said a mental Fuck it, and tiptoed, socked, through the trash to hop until I could find a place to squat. I almost tipped and steadied myself with my hand, then contemplated my situation. I was still trapped in that corner, unless I went around the outside and re-entered the front door without those in the kitchen seeing. I did that, and then my memory hazes until I remember re-finding Erik and cuddling on his lap in the big chair, facing into the empty music corner, still crying a bit. I looked up to the striking image of those clear features in a thundercloud, his arms crossed over me, his mouth set in a hard line.

Regret tumbled over and through me again, nearly sending me full-blown into another meltdown. I still wasn't together enough to explain. "I'm sorry," I squeaked out from my tumbling brain. He eyed me. "I'll take that," he responded. "This is kind of a buzzkill."

I started to crumble, and then flipped to anger. I'd tried to handle things on my own for hours before I'd fallen over the edge and melted down. The inside of my head was going crazy, and he had plenty of parties and plenty of good times, and I'd interrupted one of them with a genuine crisis. How dare he be mad at ME for being upset?

Then I realized the silliness of being upset at him for essentially accepting an apology I'd offered him. No more words were spoken though because just then Casey came stumbling up to us, oblivious to the tension and the expressions on our faces.

"Erikkkkkk," she cried. "Why'd you let me eat that meat?!? I feel terrible!! My gut hurts so much!!" She was so pointed about it that I questioned whether she was sincere or just drunk. Erik raised an eyebrow and responded, his tone still clipped.

"Well, Casey. You still have the option of removing it from your gut by vomiting."

"Nooooooooo," she drawled. "It's getting digested, and it hurts, it's punishing me." She switched gears. "Erikkkkkkkkkkk, come out for a smoke with me. I need to tell you about how terrible my life is."

I couldn't take this and jumped off Erik's lap, stumbling blindly away for anywhere. More haziness. Eventually I found Isla and she called her phone so we could find my backpack. It turned out to be right near my vape. I grabbed it, thinking I might go home, and ended up setting it up instead to benefit from, as Isla put it, that comforting blue glow.

Ah, Isla. When she finally found me in Noah's room, she hugged me and told me not to worry, she'd come home with me whenever I was ready and not until then. "Tonight, I'm taking care of you for once," she told me. In her words I thought about it and couldn't remember a single time in all of our 4-5 years of friendship that I had gotten too inebriated and needed to be taken care of.

I collapsed into tears again. Isla didn't ask what was wrong, simply put aside everything going on for her and held me to her breasts. My world disappeared again, and I sobbed, heedless of the others in the room watching and more still who might come in.

After I'd calmed down, told several people I didn't want to talk about it, and leaned my head against the vape tower, sitting in the middle of the corridor to Noah's room.

Off to work. Will finish this later. It's turning into quite the long story...

Love and harmony.

--
The power of context - Why someone does something. Why I badtripped, why Allen kissed her, why she flipped out, why Erik flipped out.

The context on Allen's side:

Later, even my quiet corner began to feel disbalanced as I noticed the mold on the back of the door and realized I could smell rotting vegetables from the laundry room.

The Glory of Being Alone.

It's one of those rare evenings when I have the apartment to myself, at least for the moment. I'm using it to be productive: a glorious feeling! Catching up on a million VCON-related things, like the new edition of my newsletter, the VCONversation. Editor-in-chief has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? :)

Lah.

Insecurity.

With Love and sex and the admission that maybe exclusivity is the best solution after all, comes that horrible demon Jealousy, fed from that little well of insecurity that takes ages to quash utterly, and has a way of popping up at the most insidious times.

Well, this time isn't so much insidious or unexpected, except that I thought I'd mostly moved past it. I guess it's the whole reassurance thing. I'm feeling insecure and stuff, and I ask for reassurance, and it isn't really given. I know it's silly because I'm the one here, with him living with me and sleeping in my bed. Shouldn't that be reassurance enough? Probably. Especially since I know that the capacity to Love is endless.

But I still feel poopy. She's coming to visit, finally. I don't really know when she's arriving, or how long she's staying. Indi professes to not care, seeing as how she's chill and all, and usually I would agree... but I like to know these things. And she's significant. Until I meet her and she becomes a real, tangible person who's energy I can sense and get the measure of, and his reaction to her, the insecurity persists. And the feeling of inadequacy. Is that what it is? A fear of being held up in comparison to a girl by someone that I respect and love, and being found wanting? I guess that is what it is, because I'm crying. He wouldn't want to be forced to choose, he says. Hardly reassuring. Do months of discussions, cuddles, arguments, experiences falter when compared to a few good memories and vibes with this magical girl? I don't hate her; in fact, I'll probably really like her. It's more him, and myself, that are the problem.

I'm so tired of hearing her name.

But I want to meet her, talk to her, touch her.

I don't want it to be a question at all.

But no, I'm needed for the Genesis Device. Because I'm good breeding stock. I'm intelligent, responsible, attractive. And we need to be together for the Genesis Device. So I needn't fear.

I don't just want to be breeding stock. I want a long shared life before and after that, not just because of that.

Not to mention I'm so expressly his. But he's not really mine, I guess. Is he? Is he just an idiot, saying the wrong things because he doesn't realize?

And so the insecurity creeps on, slinking in the cracks.

Bleah.

Lah.

Revolution.

Come on, Love: Bring it on, bring it on.

Even as I sang it, I knew it wasn't the best siren song to be sending out, but I'll never know whether it caught me because it rings true, or whether it rings because I chose it.

Both, probably. In any case, the end result is that I find myself here, as I am, with Life and Love straight up just smacking me across the face. You know, open-handed slap. Not the one that sends you sprawling over on the floor but one that definitely makes you see things differently.

First it was Christian. Yes, back to the boys. Because it's always the boys, it seems... or at least they are what drives me to discuss. Love is all, after all. So the X came, and I pretty much threw myself at him. Then he left, presumably to come back, and into my life sauntered Indigo. And even though I saw the road warning signs, I just couldn't stay away. Still can't stay away. Christian was a long time coming, but Indigo was no time at all because right away something in me recognized him. And he felt it too.

To be fair, he did be good at first. And I always saw that it was there, that potential... and shied away from it. For all of five minutes, in the grand scheme of things. But I saw the crossroads: even while I was on the verge of extending a subtle invite, I saw the potential to pull back... why didn't I? Doesn't bode well for my feelings, is the immediately apparent thought. And once I had opened that door a tiny little crack, it came spewing open uncontrollably. In that hazy space between night and morning, drunk and sober, orgasm and sleep, as he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close, I suddenly felt a psychic nuzzle and heard a little happy noise, and knew I was fucked. It wasn't me making the noises, but I've made them enough to know what they mean.

And the fog forming on my window
Tells me that the morning's here
and you'll be gone before too long...

No... I'm not going back.

Ah, Indigo. This was just the soul-click. My feeling of doom sealed when I thought back to Christian and my heart still did a little flip. He comes frequently to mind and my love for him hasn't been diminished one bit. This, I believe, is partially due to mistake--no, turning point--number two came to pass. That was the next morning, when somehow Indigo and I had gotten onto the topic of love and I looked at him and said, "No. Love openly and freely: the more you give, the more you have." He looked at me and something changed. Barrier number two was broken. And now we're so tightly woven together it's strange. But he's not the only person I'm woven to, thanks to the shared love. But of course, the realities and frustrations had yet to come. In fact, they still have probably yet to come. But behind the hippie is a hell of a brain, and incredible observational skills. What's more is that he's not afraid to say whatever the hell he's seeing, only he points it out in such a casual unconcerned way that you have to do a double take.

He and Christian are so completely different, it makes it both simpler and harder. They compliment each other well in that each has qualities the other doesn't. And they both drive me insane. Indigo and I get into these conversations, and sometimes arguments, and he makes me rethink things that I take for granted and that other people just accept. Often I'm struck by the fact that he really is older than me in some ways; a thought that I don't have often from maturity alone.

But one of the strangest things about all of this--and yet, what makes the most sense, if only to my sense of hope, although I think it runs deeper than that--is that this thing feels permanent. As in, the thought of years passing, of other lovers and loves, and of all manner of drama in between doesn't even seem daunting because it has already been set. It's already happened, even? I don't know. What's strange is that we even discussed this, long after I'd realized it and admitted it to myself. What kind of strange relationship do we have? Pretty much in the moment but honest about the future. A relationship where we talk about sexual interests and potential loves and actually pursue them. Funny enough, this is when I happen to be reading the Millenium series by Stieg Larsson, where a similar relationship 30 years later is featured. Indigo and I argue often about timing. I believe timing is everything because time means nothing. I don't understand his explanation at all, and can't remember it... which is probably why we argue, heh.

And now, dancing fiend that I have become, I'm preparing to go out and dance some more, this time to a Columbian ska band at a hotel on the edge of the east. After being up at 5 30 this morn' and waking up at 6 30 tomorrow. Should be interesting!

Oh, but how I love to dance, though. Did I mention that's how we connected? And to go dancing with him... First, that he even loves to dance as much or more than I. Second, that he has rhythm and soul.

Heh.

Lah.

The Missing Month.

March? March? Wherever did you go? February stretched so incredibly long through the Olympics, and now it's April. Eek! And Inga and Jeff are here. As is Jules, for now. Yes, they've moved, and are out (theoretically) looking for jobs as I speak. And I am enjoying the blessed psychic silence and filling the physical one with music. Whee!

At least the next show is at the 340 pub... That's supposed to be enough of a dive that it might satisfy Inga. We shall see. I kind of think that the potential lower tolerance for utter belligerence will probably be good for her.

Mm. The Irish Cream wraps around my tongue and licks its way with tiny flames down my throat. Trance-inducing music. Onto another beat. It's in my throat now, settling down in between my breasts where it exudes and pulls in heat.

Lah.

A Touch of Health

Here I sit, in Modern Brit Lit class. Somebody is eating something that smells delicious, and it makes me hungry. Then again, everything seems to. Perhaps it's because I smoke too much. Although only one type, now!

I've been trying to continue in the vein of my resolution and tread lightly. I did a detox a few weeks ago, and it did me a lot of good. It proved to me that I can indeed eat healthier! But I won't lie and say that it's easy now that I'm off the detox. There's a lot of crap that I get for free, especially at work, and I just can't bring myself to entirely ignore my cravings and deny what I'm offered. This makes it very frustrating to get on what basically amounts to the scale, that is, the Wii Fit. I hate how my weight always seems to spike up and down randomly, and asking you what you think you weigh and asking you the cause of your weight gain. It just puts a lot of focus on my weight, and I miss not having any idea what I weighed... it made me happier and less concerned about that and more so about how I feel about myself.

So after facing irritation and frustration for a few days after I apparently gained 6 lbs in 2 days, I elected to stop doing the daily body tests entirely and just move onto the exercise, which sacrifices my daily 'stamp' (whoop dee doo, I know). It saves me time in the mornings anyways! And I think I'm going to pick up a skipping rope and a weighted hula hoop, and do some on-my-own exercise. Hopefully I've got info coming about the hula hoop.... that's what I'm really looking forward to. That and the 100 jackknives I've been doing a few times a week, including this morning... I'm definitely tired, but in a good way! Hopefully what they say is true and I'll be entirely energized later on. Doesn't matter so much since I'm going home to cook and do homework after school. I'm just waiting for the Rocket to come.

Time is moving so quickly, as usual. The Olympics are now steamrolling over Vancouver and the big purple box of energy is almost fully in place, Reboot-style. I supposed I'm at a mix of excitement and hesitancy for the future to come, coming together in a general appreciation for the present. I'm still waiting for the heinas to come to me... It's happening slowly. But then, has it ever happened any other way? I suppose it has, but since time means nothing it doesn't really matter.

Class is almost over. Onto Spanish, and then Can Lit. I hear food calling my name... but the logistics might be a little strange to work out. But there's no denying: stomach always wins!

Lah.

My body gets very confused when I dream that I don't sleep. My dreams had a lot of things last night... there were fireworks that I could see from my front porch of Stampede, or something similar. I called Kim and Shawn up to see it but they missed it, and some other stuff hapened with them that I of course can't remember. Then there was teh work part of the dream, where people wouldn't leave work because it was the last day of Stampede or whatever and I was tehre until something like 3 in the morning, trying to close and finish up. It didn't have the desperation of other times that I've dreamt about work and being unable to close though... I was just tired. And then when I was finally finally done I came across Melissa Louette and went to her house to see her... she let me have a shower in her house and I saw her Mum and the handsome repair dude that she was now with... Melissa told me about how she doesn't really like sex and a few other things that we caught up on... we spoke of reading in the shower and I went into the shower to read. She lent me her copy of a Visionary's Handbook, which she had gotten from Chracters and I was surprised because I specifically remember selling it to someone else, so we must have had two copies. When I got into the shower, the drain was closed and I didn't realize it while the shower was on and I was fighting to put up the shower curtain, so the bath filled up and I sunk down into it, looking for the plug. It kept slipping back in and I was afraid the tub was going to overflow, which it did a teeny bit, but I finally got it to stay open and it drained a little. I decided not to read int he shower at all, just to get it over with because I hadn't after all slept all night and wanted to get home quickly to Goddad's house, where he was waiting for me... But I figured her knew I was an adult to wouldn't worry too much. For some reason it seemed to me that Kellin was waiting there too even though we were still broken up, even in the dream. When I finally finished the shower I made my way out to the main entrance and started sorting my way through socks, getting ready to go althugh Meli's Mum was locked in her room with her husband and Meli was nowhere to be found. Then Brian cam,e or called, and offered to buy me a carton of cigarettes for me to do with as I willed as long as he got some, and I thought about it, kne wthat his ocmpany would be paying for it along with the flight home, and regretfully said no even though I was tired and desperately wanted one after all this detoxing. I reflected that the vitamins and healthy detoxing must have been what allowed me to pull an all-nighter with relative ease. Then Kellin showed up somehow just as Meli came back inand I reluctantly introduced her to him as my ex-boyfriend and tol dher that I had to go. She was disappointed, and I was too, and hoped that I could stay and chill but I reminded her that I hadn't slept at all and did need to sleep sometime. I finished putting on my socks--which by the way were the nice dress ones I got for Xmas--and got up to go and then the damned alarm went off and I was left awake and stranded in this dimension for a moment, cursing that I hadn't actually been able to get to sleep in the dream, leaving me feeling tired even though I got a good 8-8.5 hours of sleep.

But now that I'm up and about I do feel better.

Lah.

A dream.

An odd dream. I had to go back to Charles Perrault for some reason, and there were now Spanish studies going on there. I ended up meeting Dan there, or he came with me, and after all the coincidences it didn't surprise me that his sister/relative went there, and that he'd just finished going there, so we has just that one more thing in common. Many of my friends and people that I'd known there seemed to have younger siblings that were going there and I ended up meeting a whole bunch of people I knew there. The only one that sticks out in my head is Tracy-Lee... it felt like no time had passe dand we all kind of chilled and cuddled and I remembered how much I had missed them, how much we had shared. Of course tehre are parts missing here, but eventually we were in another place, and there was this one girl who didn't like me for some reason and was really upset, but it seemed liek it was over stupidity. Daniel didn't seem to be getting along great with the Charles Perrault people simply because they weren't his crowd and he didn't have the memories that I did. It gets all confused... I remember looking aoutside when we finally decided to leave and it was snowing. I remember separations, divisions... Feeling a bit of jealousy and resignation as he once again disappeared into another room to comfort her, she drew people around her in an effort to get attention or something like that. I remember being unexpectedly accepted by one or many. And hanging back for some reason and looking around and a whole other crowd or older dudes had come in... the older male relatives of whoever's house we were at?

I don't know. It gets all mezclado en mi cabeza.

Lah.

Bah.

Fuck you and fuck the stupid horse you rode in on. I understand busy-ness. But anticipate busy-ness. Explain ahead of time. Don't fucking make plans with someone that you know you can't keep, or keep someone hanging for hours after they find out those plans can't be kept. Because while you might be busy, they might be waiting. They might have been looking forward to it, whether 'it' be five minutes or a whole night.

Even five minutes would have been nice. I anticipated him overbooking himself, like an airplane flight. Of course, I'm holding a ticket but only on the wait list. All I was expecting was five minutes. But after fucking waiting and delaying and spending all that time and effort worrying, I'll be damned if I was going to ask for those five fucking minutes. "Please, even just to see your face? I'm forgetting what it looks like. And I dressed up nice today, I want you to see me with my twists so I can take the damned things out." How lame does that sound? More like "Bite me, asshole."

Arg. He's not even an asshole. He just overbooks himself. I knew that. But I got my stupid hopes up anyways. I want to punch him in the face now. It's stupid but he's also my distraction from the smoking... it's easier to forget about it and the cravings when I'm not home alone and brooding.

I'll get over it. Supposedly he's coming over tomorrow night. Woohoo. Know what that means? That means I have to do all my fucking homework tonight--which I no longer feel like doing because my good mood has been worn down by 20 lbs of new textbooks and a nearly maxed out credit card (to say nothing of him)--or tomorrow morning. And clean the house. Wait, scratch that last one. Fuck him.... why should I bother?

Rocky Horror and margarita time. Maybe a good cry. And early bed tonight. Things will seem better in the morning? I hope so. And I hope it's either stinking busy at work or completely dead. Either way, I just don't want to think.

Lah.