I looked up my Mayan astrological sign today. I am Red Rhythmic Earth. The Earth part makes a lot of sense to me. Red? Not so much. Rhythmic? Sure, why not.
My friend Gerry said "that sounds like sex and drumming." I said "I like that."
For the last four years, ever since I moved out of my last live-in boyfriend's apartment, my bed has looked like this. White, red, orange and pink.
About six months ago, I decided that I needed something new for my bed and started shopping. But I think I didn't really know what I was looking for, and that's why I couldn't find anything. A few weeks ago I found and liked this but they were all out.
But today I finally ordered a new black and white outfit for my bed. I can't wait to sleep in it.
I have a really good boy friend with whom I sometimes have slumber parties. Even though we sleep in the same bed, we never really do anything sexual.
On a recent Sunday morning we had just gone to his bed, and it was around 6am. His door bell rang. He didn't hear it and kept sleeping. I knew who it was but was hoping that she would just go away when ignored. A few minutes later there was a knock on his apartment door. Apparently she still had a key. Again, he didn't hear the knock and kept sleeping. Again, I hoped that she would just go away when ignored. But she didn't. She used the key and came in.
She walked around his apartment and called his name. He still didn't wake up. I closed my eyes and pretended I was sleeping. I didn't know what else to do. I hoped that she would just go away when ignored. My heart pounded like crazy.
She walked around his loft bed and climbed up the stairs. She said "Oh shit!" He was still sleeping. I pretended to be sleeping.
She turned to leave but then changed her mind. She kept calling his name, louder and louder, but he wouldn't wake up. She reached over me and shook his body. Finally I opened my eyes and looked at her. We had only met once. I didn't say anything but laughed, looking over at his body being shaken by her hand. A faint smile crossed her face but disappeared quickly as she shook him harder.
Finally he woke up. She told him that she needed to talk to him. He told her that he was sleeping. I was hoping that she would just go away. But she insisted on talking to him. Finally he got up out of bed, and they went upstairs to talk for an hour or so.
The whole thing had made me extremely uncomfortable. I didn't know what to say or do. I felt like it wasn't my place to say anything because this was between him and her.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was also about me. After all, I was there. I was as much a part of that encounter as he and she both were.
The other day he invited me to a get-together that she was going to be at. I told him I wasn't ready for that. I said that after what happened at his apartment that morning, I wouldn't be ready to face her for a while. It was just too uncomfortable.
"Or maybe I should face her and tell her what's up. Tell her how fucked up that was," I said.
"Maybe."
"Maybe I should have said something in that moment. I really wanted to say 'Just leave. Please just leave.' Maybe I should have done that."
"You shouldn't have though."
"Why not?"
"Because I think that would have made things even worse."
"Yeah, but I was right there! She was totally disrespecting me. And I wasn't doing anything about it. If she had had an ounce of respect for my presence and privacy, she would have left the second she saw me. Maybe I should have done something about that. Like: 'Get the fuck out of here! I'm in my underwear!'"
"No, you shouldn't."
"You mean, you are glad that I didn't, right?"
"Yeah, that's what I mean."
"There is a difference between saying I shouldn't have and saying you are glad I didn't."
I was supposed to be doing cutesy things in the background while the Butoh dancers were doing their stricken things, so as to leave spectators thinking "What the fuck was that?" So here is me trying to be cutesy.
I have had a sore throat for over a week. On Thursday I had the brilliant idea that hey, maybe this has to do with communication. There is something stuck in my throat that wants to come out. So I had a conversation with a friend about something that has been on my mind for a while. The next day my throat felt a lot better. But only for a day.
Then it got much worse. And I had another brilliant idea: Hey, maybe I need to take a break! I have been too busy working, partying, staying up late, living this fabulous life. So I canceled all my plans starting with Saturday night and have been curled up at home ever since.
But I knew that my throat still had another message for me. And today on the phone my aunt consulted her German version of Heal Your Body by Louise Hay, according to which a sore throat stands for "Holding in angry words. Feeling unable to express the self." Oh yes. Nail on the head.
A few months ago Min Jung had pointed out to me that I don't ever get angry, I don't ever put people in their place, I don't ever get bitchy, I just kind of take it all in, am really nice, say things like "That's okay", "No problem" when sometimes it actually is. She said that I would never tell anybody that something they have just said or done is not okay. And she was totally right.
I have gotten a little bit better but just within the last week the following two things happened:
1. I was hanging out with a friend, and we were catching up, and I could not get a full sentence in without him interrupting me, either to try to finish my thought or to ask a follow-up question. It was extremely frustrating, and I did not say a thing.
2. I ran into a friend at a coffee shop, and just because it seemed like the right thing to do, I joined him at his table. But soon thereafter it didn't feel like such a good idea anymore because he was extremely caffeinated and would not stop talking when all I wanted to do was sit there quietly and stare. But I did not tell him this.
I think these are exactly the kind of situations my throat is trying to tell me about. It's saying: Dude, Vera. Stop swallowing your anger. It's making me sick. Just say something!
I got the message, my dear throat, and I will oblige.
I am home sick today and bummed out because of several instances of feeling left out, so I decided to seek consolation from All Over Coffee because it has worked in the past, and it certainly worked today.
Rich said he felt better after a friend told him, "Everyone has a box for problems in their head, and no matter what's going on in your life, the box always has to be full."
It made me feel better too.
So I'm passing it on.
Ditto. I have felt that box to exist pretty much all my life. Is it human nature, or the work of a pessimist?
The warehouse, as luck would have it, is in San Francisco's South Park neighborhood, an area of maybe six blocks which, if the newspapers are right, is itself about to explode, because this is where Wired makes its home, as do a handful of other magazines, mostly computer rags but also SF Weekly, The Nose (humor) and FutureSex ("cybererotica" (naked people wearing virtual reality gear))--not to mention countless start-up software companies, Web developers, Internet providers--and this is 1993, when this stuff is new--graphic designers, architects, all surrounding or very close to a small oval of green called South Park (no relation)--bordered by small Victorians and bisected by an active playground--within which sits, on its perfect lush green grass, an incredibly dense concentration of sophisticated and gorgeous youth--a green oval teeming with the vernal and progressive and new and beautiful.
And now it's 2007, and I have been spending a lot of time in South Park this year, and I feel like the quote very much still captures what it's like there today.
The quote goes on, and I would love to quote more, about the tattoos and the bike messengers and the money that's frowned upon, but that's when I realize that that's how South Park differs today--bike messengers really don't hang out there anymore, and there aren't a lot of beat-up cars anymore, but the one thing, which is my favorite part of the quote, that I insist is still the same today, is the part about the "sophisticated and gorgeous youth" because I hang out in that park, so of course I want that to be true today because I want that part to describe me.
Remember: Being goth/gothic does not mean you're obsessed with death - it means you find beauty in even the most dark and unusual of things.
"Come to the dark side - we have cookies" - Anon.
I am still coming to terms with what is going on with me. I am not sure why I am being called to the dark side. But I think it has to do with balance - balance between light and dark, nice and mean, happy and sad.
I first started noticing the call around New Year's 2005. I felt like a wild animal and wanted to hide in the dark. And I really LIKED that feeling.
I have no idea what will eventually come of this new orientation of mine. For now I just want to put it out to the world that I am looking for people who want to play on the dark side with me, and I am also looking for people whose wild animal inside wants to play with the wild animal in me.
On Saturday a friend and I listened to four albums by the Cure. My friend didn't know the Cure at all. This always baffles me but sometimes I can forgive people, especially if they are several years younger than me, such as he is. The rationale for my forgiveness is that they simply might have missed them.
While we were listening, my friend made some descriptive comments. When One Hundred Years started, he said
. Behold below.
