Sunday, September 22, 2002

Jeff, whom I love more than I can say, and this is not just something I say because of the following, bestowed upon me yesterday two gifts, one a bookmark with a Jack Vettriano painting- "Dance me till the end of Time", I think it's called- on it and the other "So Much Shouting, So Much Laughter", a new Ani two-CD set. He got both for free (the CDs were a sent to St. Joe's radio station as a promotion), but even so, I am deeply, deeply appreciative. Mostly because of the evidence they present that he knows me, perhaps better than I worried he did, being that he knew I'd them.

At work, I don't really have a long time to go into the fact that Jeff is amazing, or that my paranoia- or perhaps rational fear- that people do not know me as well as I would hope they do- is something that defines me perhaps more than anyone knows, but one song has struck me enough that I can't rid myself of my desire to write an entry about it. "Gratitude". Not actually expecting all of you- all two of you, more likely than not- to visit that site and read the entirety of the song, I will quote enough of it to give you an idea of it's essence:

"...thank you for half of your bed
we can sleep here like brother and sister,
you said

but you changed the rules
in an hour or two
and i don't know what you
and your sisters do
but please don't
please stop
this is not my obligation
what does my body have to do
with my gratitude?"

I need a motto like that- 'this is not my obligation'. I need that as my tagline. I need to practice saying that so I can when I need to. I need to feel the ability to say it when it's turning through my head like so many squeaking hamster wheels that shriek on and on to no avail. I need to work on getting better similes.

The last time I really felt as though I couldn't distance myself from a sexually uncomfortable situation despite my every desperate desire to was the night before I left for New York with Heather- we stayed at Torrie's that night, and her creepy roommate took an interest me in the midst of the bachanalia. While I managed to get away before I did anyhting that would constitute cheating- with him, anyway- he made quite the effort to seduce me by rubbing various parts of my body- leg, neck, back, GET THE FUCK OFF ME- and all I really wanted was to get away and to never, ever see him again, but I couldn't so much as turn to the guy and say "Hey, I'm not interested." I felt bad for having "started it", I guess- while jammed onto a couch with him and out four other people, I reclined and stretched my legs over his lap. Will I never learn?

Evidence of my feelings of sexual obligation more recently came tonight in the form of tears that I shed at a most inoppurtune time- at the time, I said I didn't know why I was crying, and I don't take this back now: I really don't understand it. But if I wanted to guess, and I'm not exactly sure that I do, or that this is the best place to make my first guesses public, I would say that it was perhaps vaguely related to the idea that, well, that the time I'm taking with certain things might be outweighing the patience previously involved. I am reluctant to talk about this here mostly because it seems to sound more like an accusation than what it truly is: my admittance of the paranoia that is plagueing me constantly when it comes to relationships, sex, anything like that.

I have issues. I need to deal with them. And I need a tagline.


But cleaning the floor sorta I'm off. On with it.