Thursday, March 13, 2003

"All I am is wanting you."

This song is Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack.

People just keep on posing challenges for us...and the sources just keep getting more credible. This is unfortunate for me, being that it's hard enough to keep those goddamned cynical voices at the back of my mind quiet when I'm the only bastard on duty. But with help, this just keeps getting harder for my bettter half...and for my better half, come to think of it. Freaky double-entendre sneaking in there, and it's not even sexual- where's the fun in that? This shit is messing with me, and it's getting harder...but it feels better when I write it, when I can read what I wrote. It feels more true to see it in words. Let's go over it all, shall we?

We're young. I still believe it.
We're nuts. I still believe it.
We're inexperienced. I still believe it.
We're uneducated. I still believe it.
We're totally different. I still believe it.
We're too alike. I still believe it.
We haven't told our parents yet. I still believe it.
We're living in a soceity where this sort of thing is damn near impossible. I still believe it.
He's not a Matchbox Twenty fan. I still believe it.
He's not making up his own mind about things. I still believe it.
He doesn't love life the way that I do. I still believe it.
He doesn't love Christmas. I still believe it.
I really want to make him love christmas. I still believe it.
I'm trying to change him. I still believe it.
He's changing me. I still believe it.
The sky is falling. I still believe it.
The world is ending. I still believe it.
The Red Sox won the world series. I still believe it.
We're in love, I am losing the core of my cynicysm, and I am happy with it. Hell has just frozen over. I still believe it.

We'll try it, we'll make it, we'll love it, he'll love me. And I'll believe and believe until the day it's all diminished beneath me, and if it's a mistake, then I'll tell everyone- with their satisfied looks on their sad little faces- what I told him a few days ago: if this all blows over, if it all goes down, this was still the best time of my life.

"And I wanted you to know
If you reap what you would sew
I would take it blow by blow.
All I am is yours."

On with it.

Tuesday, March 11, 2003

Please forgive for the relative twice-ness of that last post...had a bit of a boo-boo with the html, and now I can't freaking get rid of the thing...pity, really, I'll perhaps try later, but I really must sleep.

On with it.
Talked to Emily and Elorza tonight, two people that I do not get anywhere near enough of anymore. It was nice to talk with Emily, to touch-base: what's new in my life, what's new in hers, all the trials and errors and all the victroies and celebrations. So much has changed, but so much stays the same. And life is good.

Me: oh god, it fucking messes with me to want him as much as I do.
Emily: why?
Me: not just sexually
Me: just, in general. Because I never realized how bad it can be to be truly, deeply cynical until I heard that voice in my head derriding every beautiful belief I try to have about him and I and forever
Emily: ha
Me: All I can think of is the same shit all my bullshit Ex's would remind me of if they had the chance.
Me: Not that I really think they're all, really, just the bullshit sides of them
Me: oh, and I'm not referring to you at all, sorry
Me: :-P
Me: I mean the testicled ones.
Emily: ha, yeah, no testicles here, thankfully
Me: them and everybody else, I guess. All the people who think the same stuff about being young and trying to make it that I used to think.
Me: I want kids now, that's the latest indignity.
Emily: wow
Emily: wow
Emily: that's crazy
Emily: where'd that come from????
Me: Being so in love with someone that I'm dying to see what some combination of him and I would turn out like, that's where.
Me: Looking into his eyes and seeing my unborn children, like that fucking song.
Me: except he's not a woman...
Emily: oh man... you're getting cheesey
Emily: whoa
Emily: ha
Emily: :-)
Me: I am, and I hate it. But, in the end, that's the shit that ends up being true.
Emily: is it?
Me: So far.
Emily: good
Emily: that's much happier stuff
Me: yeah, but I still can't get rid of the rest. And I still can't get over the thought that one day, I won't be enough for him all by myself.
Me: Or that he won't be enough for me...though, to a lesser extent.
Emily: :-\
Me: And, I don't know, I don't really like the new me, I'm not comfortable with it...I love him, I love the fact that he's forcing me to change, but- god almighty!- who am I and what happened to Linda H.?
Me: I hate having to admit that all those other people who thought their clich├ęd thoughts about love and life and motherhood and how I'd be when I grew up were right. I hate giving them the satisfaction
Emily: haha
Emily: that doesnt' surprise me
Me: :-) I wouldn't suppose it would.

And then, there was my conversation with Elorza. This was unbelievably wonderful. We talked about so much, as opposed to our normal delapitated conversation- his writing, I convinced him to let me edit some of it, and I hope so much I'll be able to help him with it, show him the potential of what he can do and get him excited about some facet of his life again, because he can do so much, and I love it so much when he's trying and living and not getting frustrated by everything the way he sometime is. We talked about seeing each other, exchanging massages- such a happy thought- and about...whether Zack had read some story about a cat or something, and about Willie Damon's profile. And I told him I loved him over and over again, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel, at all, the need or the desire for him to tell me back, I just relished in saying the words to him, letting him know how lucky I am to know him, and it felt fuzzy and amazing when I said it. There's only so many nights like this one to be had, and we can't always connect this way, but while I'm on this high, let me shout it from my own personal rooftop, right here, that he is spectacular, that he is in my thoughts, and that I love him.

Tonight, tomorrow, always. You are the greatest, Darling.

On with it!

Monday, March 10, 2003

It's 3:40 am (twenty minutes till early) and I am so ready to be in my bed I can barely sit up, but I am here deleting scenes of Jeff and I discussing blow jobs and other less-than-wholesome things from my family's video camera so that I can then rest without fear of my mother discovering the true nature of Jeff and I, left to our own devices. We spent the better part of an unrelentingly long evening trying to figure out how to take the audio from a DVD of a Metallica concert he has and burn it to a CD. We started this before dinner at around 6:30 and have just now finished- not even finished, but gotten to a point close enough to the end that it was safe to stop there and allow him to take the progress home so that he might finish it on another night, when at less risk for falling asleep behind the wheel. To be fair, this was not the whole of the evening- we let the computer do some of it's own "demuxing" work while we went off and had fun hijinks returning/renting videos, as well as forgetting to actually take them out of the store and not discovering this until arriving home, then having to go back to get them. (You'll pardon my language, but at this hour, and having had this much computer-related stress tonight, my mind is not working entirely well.) I also took the oppurtunity to put the first of what will undoubtedly be a series of post-it notes on Jeremey's car, parked in front of Kacie's house, and I wonder what his reaction to that was. Jeff delighted in finally being able to be the one posting, as I have posted his car several times.

I wish this goddamned recording would hurry it's motherfucking self up. Piss, shit, motherfucker, cocksucker, tits. I just feel like being profane. I feel like eating, which I frequently do when I'm bored, but I'm attempting- albeit, failing- to diet.

Jeff felt guilty for making tonight more about ripping a DVD than about anything interesting, and I wish he didn't- I'm sure I've done similar shit to him, and I wonder how fattening that leftover KFC biscuit would be- gah! No attention span at all at this time of night. How much fucking shit did we record? It's just us ripping Metallica! BAH! It's gotten so I'm not even concerned with swear words, so long as there's nothing blatantly sexual to delete. Oh, oh god, he's got a close up on my chin and there's all this bullshit fat underneath it- fuck the KFC biscuit! Fuuuuck it! I hate the way I look when I'm not thinking about the way I look, in order to conceal my problems...or whatever. I don't deserve Zack....aaaaaugh. I meant to check his site...please GOD let him of written something, to keep me awake and just a little more entertained. Nothing nothing nothing new, not that I really expected it, but we've gotten to the point of the tape where Jeff and I are focused on the task at hand, and so this chore should soon be over, and I am re-reading things Zack has said about how much he loves me, and it's harder to believe than it is to doubt, and I want nothing nothing nothing more than for it all to be true so we can just love each other, all perfectly, and FUCK the sound of my own laughter bothers me. Anyone who surfs on nowish and reads these first couple of posts is going to think that this is the way I always write, and that bothers me, as well. I am easily bothered at 4:03 (it's now officially early, folks!) AM- bothered by my laugh, my inability to trust the fact that Zack really loves me as much as he proports to, bothered by the fact that I'm not sure if proports is a word, bothered by the fat between my chin and neck- that I inherited from my mother, gah, I do not want to grow up to look like her, I'm inheriting too much of her and the rest of the world as it is (wanting kids, suddenly, what the hell is with that? MEH!), bothered by everything, but finally! Finally this damn thing is done.

And nothing else I could have to bitch about as is important as trying to get to sleep and- most likely- failing miserably because of the morning light--- is that me bitching again? Shut up, Linda. On with it.