this won’t be posted on my site, and in fact, after making it plaid (and earning blog babe of the week), it’s been interesting to see that more my life becomes more complicated, the more i choose NOT to write it.
oh, it’s the twine history of mine, it is. you’ll notice (if you wish) over the last 3 years of steady journal writing, I’ve skipped over large periods when really GOOD stuff was going on — you know, the drama, the intrigue, the etc.
stuff that makes life.
what I’ve been thinking about actually, is that in the last few weeks or so, my heart has been aching. not medically but emotionally. i feel pain. pain is good, is it not? it, at least, renders us alive and verifies that we can feel. i know why i feel pain, and there are many reasons why I’ve been feeling this way but lately, it’s nothing i can talk about seeing as when i have discussed it, shit got fucked up in a major way.
looking at my life from the other side of the fence, it looks pretty damn good. I’ve got a great job (and I’ve been there two years — stable in these Internet times), i live in a great apartment, drive a brand new car, make decent money, and I’ve stated this before.
usually when writing online, i was never afraid to make it known who i was — i was me. lisa rabey. I’ve fucked up a lot, loved a lot, did a lot and was never afraid (so i thought) to show it. i wanted the attention, I’ll admit that — I’m human. Paul’s been saying this a lot. he’s been saying how much i want to be adored and appreciated and loved. I’m an exhibitionist in a very true sense of the world. i climb high, and damnit, i want you to watch me climb and if i fall, i want you to feel my pain and make me feel paid. i want to be able to have that kind of power over myself and over others. i want to control and be controlled.
I miss a lot of things. I miss Danny. I was walking around target with my neighbor Chris tonight and they have all the Halloween decorations up. He loves Halloween like Paul loves Christmas. what the fuck is it about the men that i love that love these holidays? Paul has started, since October 1st, playing Christmas music and watching Christmas movies. he says it gets him in the mood, and i say, that it drives me batty. Don’t get me wrong, i love Bing just like anyone else, but Paul takes it to a new level. I bought a T-shirt at Target that says “evil” on it. Because frankly, that’s how i feel.
i have this uncanny ability to wall myself up and for a long time i wasn’t even allowing myself to feel everyday things. i worked like a robot. this is what you get get get get get. i felt myself like a princess enclosed in a castle with the fire breathing dragon waiting outside. YOU MUST PROVE YOUR WORTHY before i will let you in.
before, I’ve said this. before everything.
the world is this mix and i used to think i was the blender. i could shake up a martini like no ones business. but it was my own special mixture. now i feel like I’ve left out a few of my own ingredients and i have to find a way to piecemeal it back together again.
hubris. i like this word.
long ago, and far away in a bedroom on Paris ave in the city of grand rapids, i still have the vivid imagery of writing in longhand with a shelf over my desk and desk light illuminating the room. flash forward a few years and I’m sitting at a desk, with the same type of wall-fabric, with a shelf over me and the desk light being the only illuminating object in the apartment. but now instead of sitting there writing with a 50 cent pen on 2 dollar notepad, I’m writing in a cracked email program on a 2000 laptop (that i have bought for 600).
i was to have grown, but i seem in many ways not to.
it was there where i wrote and it was there where i wished. it was before i met Danny. before i had gotten myself a computer. before a lot of things.
perhaps i am afraid.
i have become distracted by things that have happened while i was writing. i have often found that chain smoking creates yellow stains on the walls and water not only is a diuretic, it also cleans your face.
Today was Paul and I’s two year anniversary.
Could you tell?