Sex rocks.
[forgive a certain amount... I'm drunk as I write this.]
I have no idea if there is any correlation between me starting to blog, and my life becoming that much more interesting, but... wow.
Let me explain.
Today was Mustardseed's day. She and I were due.
Mustardseed has been away on vacation; five weeks in all. Five tortureous, long, weeks. She is, I have discovered, one of my very dearest, very closest friends -- an apparence that has only revealed itself recently, despite the fact that we have known each other (well) for a year shy of a decade. Friends, yes. Close, yes. Integral... not so sure until now, but now, integral. She is as important as anyone can be in my life, and I hope that I demonstrate that in how I treat her. I know that when she returned I felt relief, more than anything; but back to topic.
Thank god she's back.
And again, yet again, she's had a horrible (wonderful... Beautiful... Devastating) time; and she's reeling. It's part of the theme: "People Coming Apart At The Seams". I am not unfamiliar with this problem. Everyone is "coming apart at the seems" lately. (Except a very distinguished few.) Mustardseed is at least informed. She knows where she stands; knows how the violent emotions join the complacent streams of experience, knows that she is who she is, that the world is only so dangerous as it can be.
If it hasn't killed you yet, it's definitely making you stronger....
I admire Mustardseed. She is, at the very least, willing to listen to perspective, which is something I don't think I'm able to do so often.
So she's back. We manage to convene on a stretch of College St., meet up (by echoing -- echo, echoing -- each other by cell phone checks) and go for dinner.
She lets me know just how bad the last leg of her journey was.
I tell her about my problems: Parents divorcing. Personal identity self-destructing.
We're okay. Having a hard time. A really hard time, but... OK....
Wait.
Not really. Life sucks. Having to make choices, sucks. Why? Why do we have to limit ourselves so permanently, so continuously, with A or B, worst or worsening? Any amount of foresight just shows just how bad it could possibly get, not how to improve our options. And we discuss that, and this, the permutations of a slew of worst case scenarios, try to comfort each other with what we've got; and nothing happens. No good fairy comes down to take us out and forget. So we take ourselves out. Not to forget but to "giv'er a little".
... [truly... I am laid low -- drunk, drunkard, drunkening.... not to be listened to. Ciao, kids. Love you all, but I'll take this up in the morning, in which entry I will explain the sensational title of this one.]
I have no idea if there is any correlation between me starting to blog, and my life becoming that much more interesting, but... wow.
Let me explain.
Today was Mustardseed's day. She and I were due.
Mustardseed has been away on vacation; five weeks in all. Five tortureous, long, weeks. She is, I have discovered, one of my very dearest, very closest friends -- an apparence that has only revealed itself recently, despite the fact that we have known each other (well) for a year shy of a decade. Friends, yes. Close, yes. Integral... not so sure until now, but now, integral. She is as important as anyone can be in my life, and I hope that I demonstrate that in how I treat her. I know that when she returned I felt relief, more than anything; but back to topic.
Thank god she's back.
And again, yet again, she's had a horrible (wonderful... Beautiful... Devastating) time; and she's reeling. It's part of the theme: "People Coming Apart At The Seams". I am not unfamiliar with this problem. Everyone is "coming apart at the seems" lately. (Except a very distinguished few.) Mustardseed is at least informed. She knows where she stands; knows how the violent emotions join the complacent streams of experience, knows that she is who she is, that the world is only so dangerous as it can be.
If it hasn't killed you yet, it's definitely making you stronger....
I admire Mustardseed. She is, at the very least, willing to listen to perspective, which is something I don't think I'm able to do so often.
So she's back. We manage to convene on a stretch of College St., meet up (by echoing -- echo, echoing -- each other by cell phone checks) and go for dinner.
She lets me know just how bad the last leg of her journey was.
I tell her about my problems: Parents divorcing. Personal identity self-destructing.
We're okay. Having a hard time. A really hard time, but... OK....
Wait.
Not really. Life sucks. Having to make choices, sucks. Why? Why do we have to limit ourselves so permanently, so continuously, with A or B, worst or worsening? Any amount of foresight just shows just how bad it could possibly get, not how to improve our options. And we discuss that, and this, the permutations of a slew of worst case scenarios, try to comfort each other with what we've got; and nothing happens. No good fairy comes down to take us out and forget. So we take ourselves out. Not to forget but to "giv'er a little".
... [truly... I am laid low -- drunk, drunkard, drunkening.... not to be listened to. Ciao, kids. Love you all, but I'll take this up in the morning, in which entry I will explain the sensational title of this one.]
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