MistWeaver: Stupidity. That's what my life is. That's what I am. Here's what happened since before. In a nutshell, we ended up being scheduled to go out on Wednesday. He canceled on Monday, since he supposedly had too much work to do. I asked if he was still coming to my party on Saturday, and he said yes, and that he wouldn't miss it for the world. Today is Saturday, and after all the freaking out about work, and the anticipation and the cleaning and the worrying and everything, he's not here. Apparently, he's had a bad week and wants to be alone. That's a reasonable excuse. That's fair. It would have been nicer if he'd called or something, rather than leaving it to us to call him four times before he's even home, and then find out that way. The whole thing is pointless. Stupid even. I can understand wanting to be alone. I've had a less than ideal week myself. I like Tasha, and I like Blair. But it's like the entire week was for nothing. I planned this party after asking and re-asking if he could come. I planned it to see him. I used this day as something to look forward to for weeks. I worried and stressed and freaked out over what I would do about work for the past week, finally planning extensively and calling in sick. Why? Because I'm stupid. Because I'm incredibly, horribly, fucking stupid. I should just shoot myself now and save the world a favour. What's up with letting my feelings be so hurt over a guy? Why do I care so much? I know it's partly because of the way what's-his-face did a number on me, and just ignored me until I got the message. But I can understand not wanting to call for bad news. It's always so tempting to just not show up to work and let the phone ring when they call without answering. Don't want to be scummed out, don't want to disappoint. Especially since he KNEW I planned the party with him in mind. When we called to find out where he was, everyone was around. I was so expecting him to have an excuse. But then he wouldn't even repeat what he told Kai on speakerphone. And everyone expected me to be mad and order him to come and stuff but I couldn't speak because I was trying not to cry. Sure, everything happens for a reason but just ONCE I wanted it to work out and I felt even worse because even then I liked hearing his voice on the phone when I should really just get the hint and leave him alone. I mean, why the hell would he ever want to get with a chick that's three grades older than him? And his friend's sister? And then there's the fact that my father is doing the DD, who just happens to be his mother. And still through it all I just want to curl up in a corner and cry and cry and cry, even though I hate crying and to cry over a guy is stupid, especially
Oh God what's the point? I'm stupid. And I'm stupid to cry and stupid to care. He just signed in, and I don't know what to do. I don't want to yell or get mad at him. Blair and Kai already told him that he was making me cry, in a hope that it would make him want to come over. But why would I want him to come if he doesn't want to? That would just make things even worse and besides like I said, I know what it feels like to want to be alone.
Hurt and lies and loneliness and sex and sex and sex.
Formerly "Conversations with the Mists." A place for me to come and meditate and celebrate, and bounce my thoughts off of the walls in the mist.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Back To Reality
Weaver: Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID.
Voice: What is it now?
Weaver: Why oh why was I stupid enough to call him?
Voice: Ah. I see now. So the phone call didn't go as expected?
Weaver: I can't even say that it didn't go as expected. I suck at calling people, and I suck even more at talking to them on the phone. It was like
Weaver: That's about when I started whacking myself. It's just that I'm horrible at phones, impressions, and just plain interacting with people. I have no idea whether he thinks I'm an alcoholic freak sex fiend or whether I should call him again or just pray that he comes online so I don't have to make a fool of myself on the phone again. Or maybe he'll call me. That would be nice. I like getting phone calls, just not sending them. I feel bad because I want to talk to him, but... Arg. I don't know.
Voice: It's amazing how the most put-together, self-assured people can be reduced to such a mass of conflicting emotion, is it not?
Weaver: I know. I hate my life. I like other people's lives. If only because they're not happening to me. I can help others, talk to others, watch others... But when it comes to my own life I'm a mess. Especially where the other gender is concerned. I've had a shower now, and I feel slightly better about it... I figure I'll get dressed reaaally slowly and then figure out what to do next. Capische? Capische.
Voice: You know--
But MistWeaver had already disappeared in a flurry of agitation.
Voice: What is it now?
Weaver: Why oh why was I stupid enough to call him?
Voice: Ah. I see now. So the phone call didn't go as expected?
Weaver: I can't even say that it didn't go as expected. I suck at calling people, and I suck even more at talking to them on the phone. It was like
Weaver: Hey, is Jordan there?Or something like that.
Mr. Reurink: Yeah, hold on.
Jordan: Hello?
Weaver: Hey... it's *Weaver*.
Jordan: Hey.
Weaver: So... I was just wondering if you still wanted to go to a movie on Wednesday...?
Jordan: Um... I won't know whether I can go until my mother gets here.
Weaver: *starts talking at same time as Jordan*
Weaver: Sorry. What time should she be there?
Jordan: *almost at same time again* She should be here soon though.
Weaver: Oh... Okay.
Jordan: *something Weaver doesn't hear*
Weaver: Sorry, pardon me? I have bad hearing... *grins ruefully at herself* And a headache.
Jordan: I said, I guess I'll talk to you later then.
Weaver: Bye...
Weaver: That's about when I started whacking myself. It's just that I'm horrible at phones, impressions, and just plain interacting with people. I have no idea whether he thinks I'm an alcoholic freak sex fiend or whether I should call him again or just pray that he comes online so I don't have to make a fool of myself on the phone again. Or maybe he'll call me. That would be nice. I like getting phone calls, just not sending them. I feel bad because I want to talk to him, but... Arg. I don't know.
Voice: It's amazing how the most put-together, self-assured people can be reduced to such a mass of conflicting emotion, is it not?
Weaver: I know. I hate my life. I like other people's lives. If only because they're not happening to me. I can help others, talk to others, watch others... But when it comes to my own life I'm a mess. Especially where the other gender is concerned. I've had a shower now, and I feel slightly better about it... I figure I'll get dressed reaaally slowly and then figure out what to do next. Capische? Capische.
Voice: You know--
But MistWeaver had already disappeared in a flurry of agitation.
Never Gonna Drink Again, Never Gonna...
Voice: Had a good time last night, I gather?
Weaver: If my hands were shaking any harder, I'd be a living vibrator.
Voice: I'll take that as a yes.
Weaver: Luckily, that's the extent of my hangover. Probably the fact that ever since the first time I got drunk, I've been somewhat careful about drinking tons of water with my alcohol to avoid said hangovers helped.
Voice: So what was the occasion for such indulgence?
Weaver: Well, no occasion really. Kurt and his friend Sandy came to visit from Vancouver, and a certain somebody's goal in life is to initiate me into the dregs of drunkhood and highhood. Obviously, he doesn't realize that I was initiated into said ranks several years ago. Not that I'm complaining. In any case, I have quite a few shots of tequila and 40-proof wine. Feeling no pain, indeed.
Voice: It was probably the tequila that did you in. You know what they say... One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.
Weaver: I wouldn't say I was on the floor. I did, however, have four tequilas. I think. Then I talked to Blair on the phone for a long time.
Voice: Oh? What about?
Weaver: v.v See, I'm a talkative drunk. At the risk of sounding cliche'd, I can control it though. Most people never know that I'm drunk. Years of wall-building and barriers have ensured that. But the desire is always there, and the ability. You see, the wall-building and such not only made it capable for me to keep things inside, it made me incapable of letting some things out. Alcohol helps to remove that particular barrier.
Oh, and on a completely different note, I'm proud of our generation. Kurt doesn't drink, because he doesn't like what it does to him. Rebecca doesn't either, for similar reasons. Although there are of course a lot of people who drink because their friends do it and such, I also know many people of this age like Kurt and Becca who choose not to no matter how many of their friends are doing it. And I respect that. They make me proud.
I don't imbibe or inhale because of anything friends do or say. Let's make that clear right now. I do it because I enjoy it occasionally (not all the time) and because I think it's both good for me (again, occasionally) and it's a learning thing, weird as that sounds.
This particular time, however, I happened to get online and speak to Jordan. Jordan, for those of you who haven't been involved intrinsically in my life, is a guy. More specifically, my brother's friend's brother, if that makes sense. Around my age (a bit younger, actually), and long story made short, the object of my affections. Recently, I found out that the sentiment was returned. Of course, only time will tell what becomes of this, since I suck, period, at relationships and my first and last one previous to this was with a guy who wanted to keep our relationship quiet because he thought his friends would make fun of him for hanging out around me. Me, the stupid idiot that I am, agreed. Even keeping it quiet soon wasn't enough for him, I guess, because he soon started avoiding me and ignoring me until I got the picture.
But he's dead now.
Voice: Sounds like a jerk. There are so many things wrong with that, I'm not even going to start on them.
Weaver: I know, I know. Or rather, I know that now. But my point is, it's even worse now because Jordan is technically my brother's friend, and I'm afraid his brother and my brother are going to mock him. Not only do I not want that, but I wouldn't blame him if he wanted to keep it quiet because of that or even break it off altogether.
Voice: Sounds a lot like the last guy. Are you willing to face that again?
Weaver: Ignoring the fact that Jordan is absolutely nothing like him, it's also a different situation. I knew most of the last dude's friends, believe it or not. And they all (well, most of them) liked me. His embarassment stemmed, I think, from his own problems with me, and had nothing to do with his friends.
But barring the circumstances, much as I like Jordan, I'm not sure I could handle that again. I won't blame him at all (or at least, not much) if he decides he doesn't want anyone to know, but I don't think I could continue with it. I think my brother (who told me directly that if I was going to keep bugging his friend Xtian to come over--Xtian owns one of my favorite movies of all time and I always want him to bring it--then I should just go and ask the guy out because his parents think I'm nuts) will accept it with only minor ribbing, but I have no idea about Aaron, Jordan's bro.
Voice: Sounds like you're thinking too much to me. You should probably just relax, let it flow, and accept that whatever will come, will come. Now what does Jordan have to do with your alcohol last night?
Weaver: Man, I don't want to just let it come, though. I want to see him, experience everything, know for sure. If something happens with this guy, I think it will hurt a hell of a lot more than the last dude. Wait. Alcohol. Right. That's what I was talking about. Yeah, so I did the honorable thing and warned him straight up of my condition. Then told him to take advantage and ask me anything, since I would probably answer honestly and completely (and not remember much of it later). He told me he couldnt' do it unless I did the same for him. Or at least, I think that's what happened, because I remember taking turns. And I also remember being damn proud of that boy. For once he shed his utter niceness and asked real questions, the kind you think about but never actually come close to voicing for fear of getting slapped.
And before you ask, Voice, no I don't care to share. In fact, I think it's time I go downstairs and splash water on my face before finding my glasses (I appear to have lost both pairs last night) and then call him because I remember asking something about a movie on Wednesday. Then, off to bug Kurt and Sandy (or rather, wake them up), and get ready for work.
Weaver fades as she speaks, already losing herself back into the mundane world.
Voice: Hasta luego.
Weaver: If my hands were shaking any harder, I'd be a living vibrator.
Voice: I'll take that as a yes.
Weaver: Luckily, that's the extent of my hangover. Probably the fact that ever since the first time I got drunk, I've been somewhat careful about drinking tons of water with my alcohol to avoid said hangovers helped.
Voice: So what was the occasion for such indulgence?
Weaver: Well, no occasion really. Kurt and his friend Sandy came to visit from Vancouver, and a certain somebody's goal in life is to initiate me into the dregs of drunkhood and highhood. Obviously, he doesn't realize that I was initiated into said ranks several years ago. Not that I'm complaining. In any case, I have quite a few shots of tequila and 40-proof wine. Feeling no pain, indeed.
Voice: It was probably the tequila that did you in. You know what they say... One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.
Weaver: I wouldn't say I was on the floor. I did, however, have four tequilas. I think. Then I talked to Blair on the phone for a long time.
Voice: Oh? What about?
Weaver: v.v See, I'm a talkative drunk. At the risk of sounding cliche'd, I can control it though. Most people never know that I'm drunk. Years of wall-building and barriers have ensured that. But the desire is always there, and the ability. You see, the wall-building and such not only made it capable for me to keep things inside, it made me incapable of letting some things out. Alcohol helps to remove that particular barrier.
Oh, and on a completely different note, I'm proud of our generation. Kurt doesn't drink, because he doesn't like what it does to him. Rebecca doesn't either, for similar reasons. Although there are of course a lot of people who drink because their friends do it and such, I also know many people of this age like Kurt and Becca who choose not to no matter how many of their friends are doing it. And I respect that. They make me proud.
I don't imbibe or inhale because of anything friends do or say. Let's make that clear right now. I do it because I enjoy it occasionally (not all the time) and because I think it's both good for me (again, occasionally) and it's a learning thing, weird as that sounds.
This particular time, however, I happened to get online and speak to Jordan. Jordan, for those of you who haven't been involved intrinsically in my life, is a guy. More specifically, my brother's friend's brother, if that makes sense. Around my age (a bit younger, actually), and long story made short, the object of my affections. Recently, I found out that the sentiment was returned. Of course, only time will tell what becomes of this, since I suck, period, at relationships and my first and last one previous to this was with a guy who wanted to keep our relationship quiet because he thought his friends would make fun of him for hanging out around me. Me, the stupid idiot that I am, agreed. Even keeping it quiet soon wasn't enough for him, I guess, because he soon started avoiding me and ignoring me until I got the picture.
But he's dead now.
Voice: Sounds like a jerk. There are so many things wrong with that, I'm not even going to start on them.
Weaver: I know, I know. Or rather, I know that now. But my point is, it's even worse now because Jordan is technically my brother's friend, and I'm afraid his brother and my brother are going to mock him. Not only do I not want that, but I wouldn't blame him if he wanted to keep it quiet because of that or even break it off altogether.
Voice: Sounds a lot like the last guy. Are you willing to face that again?
Weaver: Ignoring the fact that Jordan is absolutely nothing like him, it's also a different situation. I knew most of the last dude's friends, believe it or not. And they all (well, most of them) liked me. His embarassment stemmed, I think, from his own problems with me, and had nothing to do with his friends.
But barring the circumstances, much as I like Jordan, I'm not sure I could handle that again. I won't blame him at all (or at least, not much) if he decides he doesn't want anyone to know, but I don't think I could continue with it. I think my brother (who told me directly that if I was going to keep bugging his friend Xtian to come over--Xtian owns one of my favorite movies of all time and I always want him to bring it--then I should just go and ask the guy out because his parents think I'm nuts) will accept it with only minor ribbing, but I have no idea about Aaron, Jordan's bro.
Voice: Sounds like you're thinking too much to me. You should probably just relax, let it flow, and accept that whatever will come, will come. Now what does Jordan have to do with your alcohol last night?
Weaver: Man, I don't want to just let it come, though. I want to see him, experience everything, know for sure. If something happens with this guy, I think it will hurt a hell of a lot more than the last dude. Wait. Alcohol. Right. That's what I was talking about. Yeah, so I did the honorable thing and warned him straight up of my condition. Then told him to take advantage and ask me anything, since I would probably answer honestly and completely (and not remember much of it later). He told me he couldnt' do it unless I did the same for him. Or at least, I think that's what happened, because I remember taking turns. And I also remember being damn proud of that boy. For once he shed his utter niceness and asked real questions, the kind you think about but never actually come close to voicing for fear of getting slapped.
And before you ask, Voice, no I don't care to share. In fact, I think it's time I go downstairs and splash water on my face before finding my glasses (I appear to have lost both pairs last night) and then call him because I remember asking something about a movie on Wednesday. Then, off to bug Kurt and Sandy (or rather, wake them up), and get ready for work.
Weaver fades as she speaks, already losing herself back into the mundane world.
Voice: Hasta luego.
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