(no subject)
Feb. 28th, 2003 09:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
I wrote this last night, and got sidetracked by serenades coming from the room next door. So it gets posted today.
Nine inches of powder. Is it simplistic of me to feel that with nine inches of powder god is smiling on me? (Well, nine inches of powder, a freshly waxed board and a room mate with a car.)
I had a wonderful day on the slopes of Purgatory, which was why I sat down to write, but I just read my friends list, and now I'm wisting.*
I'll cut it, because I'm not sure how coherent the rest of this post is.
There's this girl back home, who's amazing. She's beautiful, wonderful, talented, vivacious, honest, friendly, ect. adnausium. She's a theater person a few years older than I am, and growing up on and around stage she was my role model. I wanted to be amazing and beautiful like the Thirteenth. (The Thirteenth was the (title) role she played in the only show we did together. Some crazy communist diatribe on free love.)
She's crazy in love with a guy.
I know this guy. I like this guy. He's fun, gorgeous, amazing, talented, wonderful and so forth, so on. I didn't really make the connection between the two of them for years. (Yes, still oblivious to subtext here.)
Together they're more than a little volatile. Maybe I only hear from them at charged moments in their relationship, or maybe the charge is what keeps them together. Either way, anyway, I read a long post from her today, about love and relationships and what keeps us all together.
I admire and respect the power of words. I'm also more than a little anxiousjealousenviousapprehensious of it. For whatever reason, English-as-a-third-language, dyslexia, not being able to sit still long enough to form a coherent paragraph, I can't twist words to my feelings.
Of course she can. Of course. And now I'm sitting here, wondering all the things I wonder at times like these. What happened? Why now? How did I manage to miss her birthday yet again? What's Mac up to? Why aren't I living out my grand passion? Wait, what the hell actually happened? Where's her phone number? I can't write, but maybe I can talk.
I just don't get it. I've never been in love like that, like this grand consuming passion that eats up your days and nights. I've never felt like I could define myself by someone else, and I don't really understand how (after writing that) I could look at a relationship outlined by those things and call it healthy.
She makes me confused, because I respect her so much and understand her so little. And now, now I am missing her, and the theater comunity of home, because theater here isn't the same. Really, I'm just a little homesick at the moment.
On the upside, package goes out to the Myster today, I am going to the art store, my stitches come out, and by gum, we're going to see Evita! Rock on.
*Wisting: the verb form of "wistful"
Nine inches of powder. Is it simplistic of me to feel that with nine inches of powder god is smiling on me? (Well, nine inches of powder, a freshly waxed board and a room mate with a car.)
I had a wonderful day on the slopes of Purgatory, which was why I sat down to write, but I just read my friends list, and now I'm wisting.*
I'll cut it, because I'm not sure how coherent the rest of this post is.
There's this girl back home, who's amazing. She's beautiful, wonderful, talented, vivacious, honest, friendly, ect. adnausium. She's a theater person a few years older than I am, and growing up on and around stage she was my role model. I wanted to be amazing and beautiful like the Thirteenth. (The Thirteenth was the (title) role she played in the only show we did together. Some crazy communist diatribe on free love.)
She's crazy in love with a guy.
I know this guy. I like this guy. He's fun, gorgeous, amazing, talented, wonderful and so forth, so on. I didn't really make the connection between the two of them for years. (Yes, still oblivious to subtext here.)
Together they're more than a little volatile. Maybe I only hear from them at charged moments in their relationship, or maybe the charge is what keeps them together. Either way, anyway, I read a long post from her today, about love and relationships and what keeps us all together.
I admire and respect the power of words. I'm also more than a little anxiousjealousenviousapprehensious of it. For whatever reason, English-as-a-third-language, dyslexia, not being able to sit still long enough to form a coherent paragraph, I can't twist words to my feelings.
Of course she can. Of course. And now I'm sitting here, wondering all the things I wonder at times like these. What happened? Why now? How did I manage to miss her birthday yet again? What's Mac up to? Why aren't I living out my grand passion? Wait, what the hell actually happened? Where's her phone number? I can't write, but maybe I can talk.
I just don't get it. I've never been in love like that, like this grand consuming passion that eats up your days and nights. I've never felt like I could define myself by someone else, and I don't really understand how (after writing that) I could look at a relationship outlined by those things and call it healthy.
She makes me confused, because I respect her so much and understand her so little. And now, now I am missing her, and the theater comunity of home, because theater here isn't the same. Really, I'm just a little homesick at the moment.
On the upside, package goes out to the Myster today, I am going to the art store, my stitches come out, and by gum, we're going to see Evita! Rock on.
*Wisting: the verb form of "wistful"
no subject
Date: 2003-03-01 01:05 pm (UTC)I am back in town, by the way.
no subject
Date: 2003-03-01 05:28 pm (UTC)You were gone? Where were you?
Re:
Date: 2003-03-01 09:39 pm (UTC)