Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When Pianos Try To Be Guitars. My cat has a pink band of lipstick on the white plaze running up his nose, clearly evidence of my kissing him this morning. And today was uneventful, though I'm finding pleasure in the lack of events in my days. I'm checking the manipulative bitch that hides beneath my skin, checking her because she's just itching to get rolling again, just waiting for her chance to shimmy up to trouble and invite him in. It's rough to know your actions before they occur, and see the motivations clearly enough to prevent them. Once you start looking for things, you never find them. So the glaring truth is the next person I sleep with will not be my soul mate, and I'll be lucky, on this stretch, to even be attracted to them. Because the desire is for anything, something, not one thing. Guilt slowly follws for even having the thought of using a person like that, and it over rides all other impulses. In fact, I'm so reluctant to start any relationship in this state because my reasons are so selfish, it can only lead to no good. I'm faking busy. I'm pretending life now, looking at men, writing about them, talking to them. I have no intentions of following through. You should all know that. Ideally, I'd just have a friend to invite me over to their quiet house, quiet bed, and sleep with me. Maybe they would buy me coffee before I woke up, but finding a guy in my date-able age range that gets up before me just never happens. I'm not afraid of taking sleep, going to bed early. I know I'm not going to miss anything, I've been alive long enough to know better, long enough being disappointed with 4 in the morning. Ideally, my friend would live 5 minutes away, down the street, walkable. Ideally my friend would be the person I'm already friends with, 900 miles away, who doesn't believe in quiet and doesn't get out of bed on Saturday before noon. I think he's peaking at me here, but I've not enough evidence to prove it. . . . Isn't the world bad enough with bodies being found in rivers without heads, and babies found cold from water rushing? Isn't it bad enough without limiting yourself and not flying away to see people, and sit with them, and making yourself available for every thinkable joy? Isn't it bad enough? Why punish yourself, the world is punishing everyone without your added effort. . . . I really am a piano. Maybe that's what my laugh sounds like. 6:51 p.m. - 2003-04-18 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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