stupid thought that made me giggle: “He’s moved right by James”

It seems Bill has moved. Found a place at Fraser & Broadway above a store. Two weeks ago. New number and everything. He didn’t tell me. I found out because I called the Deorksons trying to get ahold of him. I wonder when I was to be informed.

… I don’t know how I feel about this …

I am a fool. I called the number she gave me.

Well that hurt. This hurts. I want to cry right now and I’m doing my damned best not to. He sounds happy on his answering machine. I haven’t heard happy in almost a year. Just that lilt of voice I want to hug. My speech caught only a moment into my message. It broke, I know it did. I hope he calls me back in spite of it. I hope he was going to call me today anywas. I hope a lot of stupid things. I hope that one daya book will be dedicated to me. I hope one day that I’ll have inspired some art in a way that I’m in it. Silly selfish hopes. Why don’t they just go die?

Failing to inform me that he’s moved and has a number is slightly extreme. I am an idiot with those I love. One day I hope I learn to stop.

EDIT: I called back to the best phonecall we’ve actually had. I haven’t had him laugh yet, but now it’s alright. Things are okay, which is better than they were. I’m now really glad I called. *content*

they say nothing

All these beautiful people around me and they don’t mean a thing to me. I feel a bit bad, because I can feel these horrible moments where they would really quite like me to kiss them and I ignore it. I feel like I’m being impolite or something. Hah. I miss you. Complicated rhythms of ‘you aren’t around’. I’m reading your book, the broken spine on my fingers tells me that you’re out there breathing. Like I’ll roll the window down at a corner and you’ll be standing there waiting. There’s a tear in the fabric of my favourite dress and it’s you. The chaos is missing an element of tongue. Pull you down beside me for a sweet dark kiss. It’s a bloody week but I’ll taste the same. Two days left. Two days of waking to sudden red fishnets standing. Spiral colour hitting the shower, red, plum, together black into the drain. I want to take handfuls of this colour and throw it against the sky to stick. Arching back bow curve upwards and watch it slick slide drip down as rain leaving wet wet trails. A kitten lapping milk from the bowl. To make it perfect, I’d need red hair. Dark red, dawn red. Scarlet to match the drenching tide. Longer than it is now. Rinse these sheets in cold water. Bring them to the bathroom and soak them clean. I don’t know how to do pure, I don’t know raw or limitless, but I can learn. White sand on those beaches you dream of. Standing life drawing. Sunlight. This bend and that delicate curve. Vintage poses, dancer, raver, daughter of someone, the one who’ll lick you clean. There’s an exchange.

You’re it.

I laugh at myself, but I’m still confused

It’s sunday and I can hear my watch ticking the seconds past. People start coming over 6pm for the party. Depending on who comes, it’s going to be an odd crowd. The age spectrum on my friends alone will create some interesting patterns of interaction. *laughter* The ever present oddity of the social situations makes me happy in spite of the awkward.

Last night I went to Drag King Roller-skating with Beth. I’d forgotten how much effort there is involved, my lungs felt full. Supreme fun. I put on the fairy wings and dressed girly and moved boyish and it was great. Confused the hell out of people again. Yay! An acquaintance of mine was there who double-taked to find me at Dyke Night. I know that this news is going to go straight to a friend of mine who I denied being a lesbian to. It’s going to be interesting and lots of laughs when it hits all the way back to me. I tell people about Gavool and the news slips from their brain as if I never said anything so it’s more than possible that I’m going to end up a lesbian again to a group of people. It sways.

One of them as on-line last night, but he knows better. Plus, he was pissed off at his girlfriend. He’s never actually had one before, all his experience is with one nighter, two nighters and so.. get this.. he’s never dealt with a menstruating woman before. *chuckles* Guess what? She’s a “don’t touch me!” type around now. She’s also the kind of radical feminist I would like to hit over the head with a rock. *sighs* I had a long three hour chat with him that made me feel oh so much older than I actually am. It makes me feel weird a bit, like I shouldn’t have more knowledge of people. “No – you don’t get it. She’s on blood, so she NEEDS something. She may not even KNOW” “Of course she’d know” “NO SHE WOULDN’T” Arguing him out of stupidly lashing out from being hurt. I’m uncertain how comfortable I am knowing more. Pulling experience out of a hat when you’re my age? My head says that’s SO not allowed. I think in part it’s not so much because I’ve been in relationships so much as I’ve been in them with people who’ve had lots of them. *flutter* All those experienced older men.. *smirks*