Such that:

Texans wish they were Alaskans
Alaskans wish they were New Zealanders

I'm so fond of being fed up with touching,  lovely, hipster, indie love stories.  However.  I realize that it used to be there was no model for nontraditional (or at least normal, not super-romantic) relationships.  It used to be a lot harder to look at film love stories.  I mean comprehend them as being realistic.

That said, it's a lot more difficult than Buffy makes it seem to be a ginger lesbian witch in a loving committed relationship.  Up 'til about season 6 anyway.

a list of things that don't matter

all the fucking waiting
conversations I had while drunk

Things I Suck At These Days

• Cooking.  I just don't.  It doesn't make much difference if I'm supposed to want to be cooking or whatever.  I just don't.  I throw my hands up in the air and drink some tequila and then go watch I Am Love or Mostly Martha and fantasize about feeling that way again.

• Working it out on the dance floor.  This is the part where the record breaks down/ yadda yadda yadda/ I just don't want to get dry-humped on the dance floor because I'm boss at shaking my money-maker while the chick who's actually with the dude who's dry-humpin' me stares daggers at me and I am trying to keep my no-barfight-free lifestyle intact, okay?  Plus when that one guy was  "dancing" with me and I could feel him getting kind of hard and All The Drunk Overly Aggressive Peoples.  Probably just gonna work it out on the dance studio and give everybody a fake name at da club whenevers I get talked into going.  Anastasia Beaverhausen?  That work?
  
• Calling my brother.  Sorry, bro.  I love you I just don't know when a good time to call is.  Maybe we should just rekindle the relationship we had were he'd text me at 4 AM.
  
• Sleeping.  Haven't we all been going through something lately?  And isn't that something constant daylight?  Yes and yes.  I've also been having twilight dreams and waking up every few hours, having trouble getting to sleep initially, unsettling dreams, etc.
  
• Dieting.  I'm not sure what changed (five weeks off the wagon?), but it's been hella hard to get in the habit of monitoring my food intake.  Some moderate success with reducing alcohol consumption.  Very moderate.
  
• Venting about my "personal" life to real-life people.  You know.  Even when given the opportunity, being hinted at broadly and given the Kristen Wiig eyes, I can't seem to do it.
  
  Querent:  So, Clara.  How have things been going lately?
  Me:  ....
  Querent:  Anything new?  Anything you'd like to talk about?  How's [significant other's name]?  How are the two of you doing?
  Me:  Um.  You know.  Good.  Pretty good.  Things are happening. 

Arizona Ragtime Bible

Sometimes titles are that easy.  Arizona Ragtime Bible.  Band name?  Book title?  Short story?  Dance?  Or my journal from Mississippi through Arizona.  I've been re-reading it the last week or so.  There's a reason I keep them.  It's enlightening.  Sometimes when I sicken after the parts of the past I miss I forget why it was so important to move on in the first place.

Some of it I can't confront yet.  Not even in eternal light and green heaven.  Nope.

• breathing
• Forrest yoga
• teaching classes?!  What?!  Soon.
• Magdalena
• Toshiro-to-be
• water water water everywhere
• the creek behind the house
• editing music
• 1970s movies
• movies set in the 1970s
• lepus grazing outside the laundry room for hours
• black cat
• Carla Gugino chutzpah
• Rosario Dawson's eyes
• biking 'round Narnia on the Dawn Treader
• Skryim soundtrack <3
• psychedelic hoops
• Romance & Cigarettes
  

in this gypsy drought

If I wasn't so dependent could I ask for more?
If I weren't so dependent would I ask for more?
If I weren't so tired would I accomplish more?
If I were more intentional with my memory loss would I be happier?
Can I tread this ground between feeling neglected and being the one who neglects?
If I bought the flowers myself would I Mrs. Dalloway or would I be more understanding?
Does this Calcifer represent desire, or do I desire it?
What is the nature of desire?
What is the nature of comfort?
Are these things mutually exclusive?
What is the nature of loneliness - malign or benign?
Do we need to go into the woods again?
Why have I never believed what people have told me about myself?

Life is long. And you are hot.

One of my favorite Doctor Who episodes is courtesy of Sally Sparrow.  What a sweet, sad, horrible, notthatheavyonTheDoctor episode.  The Weeping Angels are the scariest.  That must be a personality test online.  Your Least Favorite Doctor Who Nemesis and What That Says About You.

Anyway.  It's spring.  And time for cleaning, and love and sex and blooming trees and Accomplishing Things and Drinking Wine and hydrating a lot and riding bikes and Fuck the Diet.  Well, not really.  I transgress...ish?  And then I remember that I make the rules and blah blah blah.  I can be sad (?) about my 1920s body when it's winter and I have to pretend to be Boticelli's The Birth of Venus.  In the meantime: all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.  Until the next crisis.  Duh.  Of course.

Alaska's been having a bona fide heat wave.
I'm trying to figure out how to reconcile Mae West with Debussy with Lykke Li with The Sex Pistols.  (That says a lot about me, I suppose.  None of it contradictory.)

So....  I have to write a monologue about something I wish I'd said to someone else.  Maybe in response to something they said to me.  Something I wish I'd done.  I interpret this as me not taking responsibility.  Being afraid.  I don't think there have been many instance of that in my life.  Time without number, sure.  Sometimes there wasn't anything to say that would have helped.

Sometimes I'm still not sure what I should have done.  Should have said.  The big important things I've tried to take responsibility for.  Relationships with parents.  Relationships with siblings.  Relationships with significant others.  ...with one notable exception.

I find that really what I would do, if I could do anything would be to erase.  Not a very flattering thing. Not a good thing, certainly.  But a true thing.  The things that have grown into weird shapes undermining the person I'm trying to be now.  The perfectly true processes I went through that are now jokes.  Bad jokes.  Because all the people who went through these things with me, who were my friends and who said they'd be my friends 4EVAR (God, that sounds pathetic, doesn't it?  Still hurts, guys.  Still hurts.).  Or at least for the next few years, I guess, are now involved in their own lives to an extent that gives me the icy shoulder.

That's the way things go.  That's a part of growing up, and it sucks.  With all this globalization and connectivity and the people who fucking SKYPE for Chrissakes....  You don't choose to text me back?  It's a choice.  It says something to me that is true and negative and that I take to heart.

And that kinda makes me not want to reach out anymore.  I think I've written about this before.  The  difficulty of connecting with new people when you really liked the old ones.  When the dimensions of experience available with the old ones was not nearly spent.  When the new people are just going to leave.  Or have needs you're not going to be able to meet.  Or die.  Or outright reject you.  Or attempt to make you change who you are for no apparent good reason.

Jill just plain got tired of my shit.  College was extremely socially awkward times, man.  Necessary, but God.  So sorry.  Totally get it, guys.

I feared Bri would judge me for the non-Christian life choices I'd made.  So I stopped answering the phone and eventually she stopped trying.  This was a terrible decision on my part, as I loved Bri and she was by far the most supportive friend I've had with the exception of Katie.

Roman got sick and left.  He was in terrible pain.  I had to disconnect to keep from going crazy.

Luke had a life in Chicago and then Las Vegas that he needed to connect with more than me.  Plus it's not necessarily healthy to live vicariously through ones gay ex-boyfriend, amirite?

I don't know why Tyler abandoned me.  Not exactly.  There are lots of possible reasons.  Maybe all of them.  This is a big problem for me, though.  Because he'd seen the worst of me and helped me through some hard things.  Maybe I'm just too big a problem to have around in a person's life for extended periods.

tbc.

alright; I'm off this train ride

Let's all get high and go to a con next year.  I'll start working on my abs and my costume now if you'll provide the Mara Jade.