Recently, I seem to have reserved the deeply human issues for talking with...humans, oddly. As a result, what few online conversations I've had have come out slightly more...telling and worthwhile than what I've written, or considered writing, here.

A bit of conversation with Jeremey from tonight:

FieryGwenivere:
MidnightShaman7: I agree.
FieryGwenivere: how are you?
FieryGwenivere: that wasn't supposed to be big
MidnightShaman7: I'm okay.
MidnightShaman7: Ish.
MidnightShaman7: How are you?
MidnightShaman7: I tried to call you.
FieryGwenivere: I don' tknow. I don't think I'm well. And I
got the messag,e thank you for leaving one
MidnightShaman7: What's wrong?
FieryGwenivere: I;m not sure. Things. A sad song stuck in
my head. I don't like (hate) my body. It's hot. Each time I lose
Casey temporarily, I lose a little bit more of him permanently (I
think I may be out of pieces of him). My head hurts. I need
glasses, and I can't figure out the inner workings of my new
(crappy) health insurance policy in order to afford them. Gilmore
Girl's is playing repeats. I haven't had an orgasm in probably a
month, even with the vibrator. My neck hurts.
FieryGwenivere: A week ago, I was worried about *edited for content*,
but I haven't talked to him in a while. I've been using a guy at work as a substiture
for the drama
FieryGwenivere: I need something good to die for. To make
it beautiful to live.
MidnightShaman7: What about something good to live for?
FieryGwenivere: what I said was a line from the song stuck
in my head. That line...,I think it's what's really wrong
MidnightShaman7: Oh.
FieryGwenivere: that song is...I don't know, one of Zack's.
FieryGwenivere: We got into a fight or something of that
nature one night, and even when it was over for me, I could tell
something about it wasn't over for him. He said he just needed
to listen to a song, so he got his MP3 player and sat on the
floor.
FieryGwenivere: It was a particular song, "The Flow" by I
don't know who. Trying to find it on his harddrive now
FieryGwenivere: he sat there and listened to it, like a zombie,
until about halfway through when he started crying, silently
until it turned into something akin to laughter. And then, once
the song was over and the crying was over, he was back to
normal. I asked to listen to the song
FieryGwenivere: It was a good song, but I had a difficult
time enjoying it, because i thought it made him sad at first, then I
thought it made him happy, and ultimately I realized that it was
just something I didn't understand. Just a part of him that didn't
have to do with me, and I was threatened by that, as always.
FieryGwenivere: And there was this one line.
"I want something good to die for,
To make it beautiful to live."
FieryGwenivere: He said later that it was his favorite, and I
read into that that he could relate to it. I wanted to believe that
he could relate to it from before he met me, and that I helped him,
but the fucking...me, myself, the way I feel about myself, all I
could really think all that time was that it's how he feels now,
that he's still empty inside.
FieryGwenivere: That I don't complete him. That I don't
come close.
FieryGwenivere: And I tried to hint at the way I felt, but I
could never get to him to say it.
FieryGwenivere: not that it would have mattered, I guess.
MidnightShaman7: So just ask him.
MidnightShaman7: If it's bothering you that much, get an
answer.
FieryGwenivere: I used to feel similar about "Dead Leaves
and the Dirty Ground", so I asked him and he said he liked it
because it reminded him of me
FieryGwenivere: but now I can dissassociate the feeling of
insecurity. Now every time I heard "And every breath that is in
your lungs is a tiny little gift to me.", I just hear myself saying
that's not how he feels about me, that's not how anybody feels
about me.
FieryGwenivere: The answer won't matter.
FieryGwenivere: I don't know.
MidnightShaman7: So, when it comes down to it, what is
really the root of everything?
FieryGwenivere: I'm still trying to find it in his list of MP3's.
I don't know why I should care so much about somebody loving
me who also likes the song "A Horse with No Name".
FieryGwenivere: part of me will never believe he loves me.
MidnightShaman7: Don't be ragging on America, chica.
MidnightShaman7: Then you need to fix that.
FieryGwenivere: I enjoy America, to the extent of The Last
Unicorn soundtrack
FieryGwenivere: but jesus. I hate that fucking song.
MidnightShaman7: But...but...
MidnightShaman7: ...He's been through the desert.
FieryGwenivere: godddamn it.



A conversation I had with emily a few days ago has something of a similar theme, and I thought there were some interesting observations worth nothing. I should edit that for content as well, but I'm lazy, it's late, and fucking no one checks this site anymore anyway. If you're one of my voyeuristic fans out there, congratulations-- look hard enough and it's just possible you may see something that I didn't want people to know.

Now if only anybody cared.


On with it.

With an hour before bed, the thought occurs to me in the shower that I have an oppurtunity to devote either an hour to the slightly urgent need to catch up on my reading for my Torts class, or an hour to catch up on writing, a need not of timely urgency, but of passion and intellect. One represents the practical progression of my life, out of fast food and small paycheckts and into a respectable working world. The other, the eager advancement of my skill and mind, or, at the very least, the slowing of it's regression.

The trouble is that, being an average American, I, faced with such a dillemna, normally end up spending that very hour in front of the TV.



Thus, a short explanation of why my blog has gone unupdated, and also why I won't score as high on my final as I did on my midterm



I am listening to a track of sentimental clarinette music, set to nature sounds. When I started this post, it was "It's a Wonderful World", now "Strangers on the Shore", or, as I like to call it, the song that the redhead learns to play during the montage scene in Mr. Holland's Opus. Next, it will be "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", a song I would almost go so far to say should only be performed on the clarinette, if not sung.

I love the restrained quality of the clarinette song, and have been looking for a chance to expand on this observation, in the most public and pretentious way possible. It's a strange tone, perculiar to the clarinette, the way each note seems to end as if there were something more behind it, something held back with the utmost care and control. To personify it, it's as though the flashy, provocative saxophone had a child with the conservative bassoon, making for a subtly beautiful and thoughtful child who's fantasy world is...jesus, I've taken this metaphor too far. I don't have that same "held back" quality, I regret to say.

A quick nod to the fact that I've been aching to play my saxophone lately, aching to practice and get some of what I never claimed when I was first learning, to let Zack here me play (for the first time, notably) and show him this whole side of me that has gone yet unknown. Unfortunately, I have two saxophones, one that's pewter and gorgeous and that produces a quality sound unlike any I've heard in any alto, but needs half a grand or so worth of repairs to be playable, and the other which is cheaper and sounds it, but working, which is unfortunately being undefinitely borrowed by a friend's brother. I sorely need to get that back (so that I can sell it to fund fixing the other one.)



The clarinette and nature songs are from a CD I bought for Zack's (natural) Dad for father's day. I opened the CD and ripped all the songs to my hard drive before we gave it to him, having toyed with the notion of immorality in this. Zack's other father, his Stepfather, was given the soundtrack to The Good, the Bad, and The Ugly. That was the movie we bought him for christmas, and both were my best guess, being that Zack rarely has much to say about presents. Before he met me, he was accustomed to giving his entire family Wal*Mart gift cards for christmas, a habit which I quickly broke him of. I bought my father a two CD set of Dean Martin music. For Zack's Dad (Chuck) and step-dad (Tim), the CD's were hand-delivered, an act which was accompanied by an hour's conversation, hugs, the works. Such was the reception when Zack showed up announced. As for my father, I called beforehand. My mother answered, and when I asked if Dad was there, she said yes but didn't give him the phone. She asked why I had asked, and I explained it was Father's Day and that I had a gift for him. She said to drop it off, they probably wouldn't be there, they had a very important trip to Wal*Mart to make. I ended up leaving it on the table with a note written on half a torn envelope from my credit card statement. A few hours later, I tried to call to make sure he'd found it, but they weren't home yet. I didn't bother asking my sister to have them call back.

Among other things, such as the fact that "they're just not my kind of people", this is probably why I feel so much resentment towards Zack's family-- I act like the cold distance is the way I prefer things, but, in reality, my jealousy over Zack's relationship with his family runs both ways: I've always been willing to admit that I'm jealous of how much he loves them (because love is love, afterall, and a girl always wants to be the center of her partner's world), but I'm also jealous of how much they love him. My family stopped really being a family years ago, when my sister first got pregnant, and it just went downhill from there. Also, I find it somewhat bitterly ironic that Zack has two loving and supportive fathers, and I have...my dad.

I should give credit where credit's due, though. Things have been a lot better with my father since I've been married and away. Someone, my grandmother I think, made the observation that when I got married, he realized how quickly I'd grown up and left home. Realized, perhaps, that he did love me, and that he'd just given up his little girl.

I wonder, but I don't think that's at all what it is. I think he just likes Zack, and likes me better now that I'm associated with him.


Who knows? All I know for sure is that this post is clear evidence that I need to work harder to stop the regression. Fucking stream of consciousness crap.


On with it.