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balance (2): vodka

Tuesday, September 14, 2010


my bf of sorts (i explain to everyone i don't have time to hang out with in text) says what i lack is a room with a door, in my head. i have multiple hours of video of me yelling at him to shut the fuck up about this room with the fucking door (rolls eyes. yes, another egomaniacal, but brilliant, partner for me…) it's where i am supposed to put "things", but i have yet to figure out what those things are. there is something to this i think, that i need to learn, but i have to learn it by myself, not with stinky jesus my pseudo-shrink preaching at me (i'm such a rebel). once i create or discover this magical room, my stifled artist and repressed childhood emotions will suddenly and dramatically reverse themselves out of me, and copious amounts of vomiting in both a literal and figurative sense will ensue and i will emerge from the sticky stench a changed girl with sparkly thigh high boots, curly lashes, and tattoos, lovers on both arms and some sort of writing contract. more balanced, more sexual, more blatant, more expressive, more focused, more alive. wonder me.

ok. despite my protestations that he is just trying to convert me to extroversion, he has a point. and i am good at learning. what i am learning right now is that for all my meticulousness (yes i can rightfully be accused of being anal to an almost OCD degree) i have no focus. and an absolute lack of confidence (damnit thailand! and damnit people who call me a dumbass, you know who you are). i wish i could start my life over at 21 and go down another path- one that was parallel to mine but was more amazing. in some ways it really is too late for me. but that is the past…

these are always artists who tell me these things. and even if i am not an artist, i am amazing just as i am. my life is amazing. i do have a voice, whether i choose to broadcast it or whether people choose to hear it or not, it's there, so there. i have a great apartment i pay for with a great job (which i grumble about until that nice check comes in the mail). i have fun friends who actively love me (i hope anyway, they are all boys!). i am happy in NY even without traveling for months at a time. i have seen a lot of greatness in my time… and maybe as an introvert i also love just being a witness. fuck whoever tells me i am not clever, or that i am not doing enough, or tries to change the core me. who smokes my weed, eats my food, stays in my apartment all the time now, tries to swindle me into helping me with his work and supporting him since he's broke (for now)… who keeps me from my real life and self, who smothers me all the time with his prolific greatness (which admittedly really is great). who like all artists i have known is kind of a slob, an animal even …why do i end up with these semi psychotic manipulative people, whom since i love i find very hard to get rid of? who latch on to me like i am a mama bitch?

but then again, there is that love bit. bf-of-sorts drives me around on adventures. binges happily with me in several ways (there is that dangerous challenge). is super fun to cuddle with and kiss and bite. is patient with my ridiculous sexual hang ups… oh, i decided not too sleep with him right now, dear conscience-slash-blog-stalkers. he is enough in my face that i don't need his terrifying *penis!* on top of everything. and he's married still. i found him a couples counsellor to take the wife to this evening, come what may (so grown up and repulsive, even the concept). maybe wifey wants him more than i do. maybe i should let her have him…. if not she might kill me someday soon (she's a destructive alcoholic ballerina from a rich family), but i am trying to be fair. she knows about me and how to reach me. i am not trying to take her man. her man is definitely the one trying to get me.

anyway… he can be shockingly and even annoyingly sweet. cooks elaborate crap in the kitchen and brings it to me to sample with little decorations. laughs uproariously at my favorite british comedy with me, and flops around analyzing my favorite science radio show. tells brilliant stories of his own- acts out historical battles or science fiction with accents. crawls onto and plays very talented music on the bed in the middle of the night. has an interesting life in which film crews follow him around to document him, and he gets free trips to play festivals in brazil (to which i think i will latch on in turn). & he seems to like me a lot more than i like him, which is always good, but suspicious.

maybe i am just scared, sigh. relationships are both a yummy comfort and a tedious bore. at least when you are by yourself you have no one else to blame or resent. but i have been complaining about not having someone to share things with too, for the last year, so maybe i should try to enjoy the good parts?!?!?!? maybe i should open up and fall madly in love with him because he came along in just the point of my life that i need him and am ready for him. but that would mean a lot of years of breaking out of my shell first (to the point where i have to be aggressive and tell him what's up so he doesn't swallow me), before it's balanced. is it worth it? sounds so monotonous! blahhhhh life. why can't i just be happy in a miserable relationship like everyone else? pshaw.

anyway another thing bf-of-sorts helped me with, was to me drag my lonely 78-year old neighbor fred to an ambulance when he called me all bloodied and drunk from the floor upstairs, with his balls hanging out. second time this has happened. poor fred- depression trigger extraordinaire. as they drag him down the stairs he yells his life story to me- his dead daughter, his evil ex wife. his calendar has written on it vodka. with an underline. every day of the week. sigh.


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