Lens · cap · off

First time I've listened to Radiohead extended like this in over a year; all the old was on the old computer. Just snagged the rest of it, and OK computer is taking over my life today. I love it.
Thom Yorke can make himself one hell of an experience.

Horrifying cramps, but I'm spending the day cleaning and getting my shit together so that I don't have to do it later. I feel like shit so I'm glad I'm home, and I'm glad I'm cleaning.

Len let us off an hour early today: "Awhhg, FUCK IT. I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE. GO HOME." (It wasn't like that at all, really; at two he just kind of. . . locked the doors and turned off the lights and said, "All right guys, see you on Monday!" and Anna and I just kind of left. It was really weird, actually. I think he was just tired.
That's fine, 'cause I am, too.

GHAHRHJH NONE OF MY PRESENTS ARE HERE YET
I mean not -mine-, but the ones I got for everyone else.
Fuckyouholidayseason.

Len actually got me a leopard print Snuggie. Fuck yeah, my boss. Oh, and also some ugly ring he claimed to have found in the parking lot one day: "HURRYAGO." ('Scuse me, asshole.) But the one he was serious about was a Norman Rockwell hardcover antique book. That book is the second-best gift I have gotten in thoughtfulness and awesomeness-- he wrote, "From a pair of 'Original Rockwell's to another: my favorite is <--- and the fold outs on page 78 and 64. Speak to me, too, Merry Christmas!" This was because I once told him that he and Marie were basically a Norman Rockwell painting manifested in human beings.

I have to say, though, that the first in thoughtfulness and awesomeness was absolutely the Citizen Kane and Picture of Dorian Gray pair that Damon got for me, which were probably the most thoughtful I have ever gotten-- beyond how fucking stoked I am to simply have a copy of a film that I intend to watch in its entirety a great number of times. God, I can't wait to do that! The reasons behind blow me away, though; really make me stagger. Thought processes are really fucking amazing sometimes; make such an impact when manifested a certain way. He's one that is capable of knocking me on my ass. There aren't many.

Clay's going back up to Fort Collins for a week. I forgot why. I hope Danielle isn't going with him, though, because I kinda really want to hang out with her before then.

God, Radiohead. Fuck. Jesus Christ I love you so much.

I just lost one of the closest friends that I have ever because he is the only one who understands what an intimate make-out session with a certain ex-boyfriend implies about the kind of person I am.

The reasons, the reasons, the reasons, all the reasons.

How incredibly bittersweet. Far more bitter than sweet.

This is the most horrible and unrewarding cry I think I may have ever had.
First time I've thrown up from something other than drinking or illness. I think-- it does nothing for me but make me feel melodramatic and kinda weak.

Back to the all-time low, yeah?
Dear Leah,
Figure yourself the fuck out.
You're not a victim, either, so don't you ever think you are.
You either evaluate the reasons you do shit you do and like them, or you decide why you don't and you fix it. Because you did this. Don't you forget that. You are no fucking victim.
Love,
Leah.

Drove over to Drew's yesterday morning. Day off. Weather was bad, so I stayed the night.
We watched A Streetcar Named Desire, and then Ghost; made cookies and stirfry, went shopping, went out to lunch, drank coffee, cuddled, talked, did as we always do. Shared a Kiss Me Peppermint at 3:30 AM.

Things are different enough between us for them to be better and not worse. But they're still so INCREDIBLY the same. He knows all the old spots to light me on fire. We sit the same, talk the same, act the same. We're good friends, but there is trust and so still desire. Compassion. Respect, concern, understanding.
It's nice.
He has a lot of common sense.
When we're both in a position to make it work, it's nice.
We addressed some things. Even though we fell into a few old patterns, we don't expect too much from the other. Still love each other, but there's room. It's open. Free. Exploratory. It was tender, familiar, comforting, desirous, playful, safe, understanding, deliberate, passionate, sensible, risky, and wonderful.
We're both a bit more damaged than usual, but it works for us right now.
We're both a little too sad. But it was a good time.

Bffs, is my point. Gotta take a shower, go to work.

-- AND I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT I HAVE MY WORDS BACK. Confidence, some manner of eloquence, interest, motivation, a lack of entitlement, desire, worldly fascination, better priorities, some manner of objectivity, less resentment, better reasons, less fear, less dramatization, a more open head, far more capability, and more appreciation. Among a great many other positive (or at least less negative) things.
However, I think I have lost a bit of the natural reflex of being INCREDIBLY affected by things, emotionally (but hopefully not intellectually or psychologically). Likely a safety measure of some kind, but in lieu of all the other things and falling-into-place that has happened within me in the past few days, I think it's probably okay for now.

I'm the most stoked about feeling like I can use my words again, properly. Effectively. Beautifully.

(I finally cried. Earlier today; early in the afternoon. ;] Couldn't tell you the trigger, but now I feel like the color yellow, and, obviously, like much less of a trembling wreck and much more of a perpetually stable human being.)

My FoCo trip did me all right.
Got my ass up there on Friday morning. First thing I did was turn off my fucking phone and crack a beer. Then we ran around and did some shit. Clay booked it to his studio to work on the devilbike, and I was miserable so I took a bath.
Got out, and went to talk to Danielle a bit. Just climbed out of the shower, wrapped up in a towel, and crawled into bed with Danielle, and talked about the dysfunctions of womanhood, love, aesthetics, companionship, hardship. Then we went to Clay's art reception (he had work in an art show!!) and went to the studio again to make the wine rack. Hung out there until ten or so, finished the devilbike, made the wine rack for Mom and Dad, smoked some cigarettes, wrote some shit.

Then I went and bought some gin from Aggie discount, went back to the house with DJ and Clay (Joe and Rain were over! Rain's got a babbbbyyy on the waaaay! It's so much better to see her full-bellied than waking up to her puking like I was in June. They're going to name it Ocean!), played with Gir, shared half my gin, and then took the rest of the bottle and went into hiding with my notebook. Greg was out so he let me sleep in his bed again (his room is like four degrees). I wrote like sixteen pages and drank myself to sleep.

Woke up and felt better. Rain shared her granola, I bummed Joe a couple, and then everyone booked it. I drove Danielle to her tattoo appointment, and we did some errands and everything, and then she and I and Clay drove down to her house in Denver on Saturday. When I finally DID turn on my phone, I found out they needed me for work on Sunday. Had Suki come over to DJ's, made some candles, candy, apple butter, drank some more. Clay and DJ went to sleep in the front room; Suki and I went to sleep in DJ's room.
She and I talked about some stuff. Good stuff. I like smoking in the dark, talking, smelling like paraffin and wax scent.
I made candles for people that I love.

Woke up, Suki booked it, I booked it, went to work, now I'm here.
The writing fixed me.
Checking into a hotel later.

--

It really embittered me, seeing the fact that Clay and Danielle have been fighting like dogs for a week, sleeping separately. The two people in the world who I thought might make it even have trouble, yeah?
I liked talking about it with her. Wrapped up in blankets, both of us naked in the dark, giggling, talking seriously, feeling shit out.

I realized that it's the desire to recluse and write and drink even though I have all the freedom in the world, that helps me reconstruct. It's that urge, that drive.

I wanted to cry. I've been wanting to cry for weeks and I still can't and I think that would complete it. It's not like I am not upset enough, it's that the process seems impossible. I simply cannot. I wish I could. I want to. I would feel more complete should I be able to.

Clay told me that it was his Senior year also, when he stopped being able to cry.

Dear the beautiful human that is my mother,
How can you sleep next to the man who keeps you in pain all the time?
Why won't you fight him right back?
Love,
Leah.

--
I don't understand her. She can do ANYTHING. She could do ANYTHING. And I know that. . . he's a fucking nutjob sometimes, and entirely irrational; I know that she loves him. . . but anyone who makes you cry out of anger and fear, with such frequency?
I just. . I don't. . . get it.
I hate watching her submit, and watching the way he just. .. douses the fire and the colour right out of her.

I hate watching them interact in moments of conflict, and it makes me sick to see them get over it because it's never for the right reasons.

I guess I could learn a few things.

Today, I woke up to my dad calling in a suspected burglary for the house across the street.

I also discovered that my hip-bones protrude further than my breasts when I stand up straight.

Oh. And that my mom makes some bad ass wedding cookies. Those things are killer. I love it when she bakes.

Watching cops kick in doors is a really weird experience for me.

--
Edit:
Kinda disappointed I'm not booking it up to FoCo tonight-- but I'll be up there tomorrow morning, which is good enough for me. Make that wine rack and drink.
Clay said we're coming back on Saturday.
Also, I signed up for English 1010 and and Ethics course. Mondays and Wednesdays, 8:30-9:45 for Ethics, and English is on Fridays from 8:30 until 11:45.

Only six credits, but with the six from Polical Science, I've knocked out a semester already.

( IalwayswritepoetrywhenIwaitforstuff )

Went to the most BRUTAL orientation today.
Four hours of the Metropolitan State College of Denver~ talking at me about finances, advisement, curriculum, options. Buh.
But! But. BUT.

I took all of my finals today.
Aced the shit out of them.
I am done.
I am fucking DONE.

Starting January:
I will go to DSA for my major some days.
I will go to work (hopefully) every day.
And I will go to Metro for classes every other day.

Hello, life! Hello! Hello! Hello!
It's not even really any different, but it's not everything that I know. Does that make sense?

I'm so stoked. For productivity. For a -new- productivity.
I'm stoked to do what I love-- to write, to make a chapbook, senior project, get published.
And I'm also stoked to be taking classes that will transfer to CSU in nine months. I'm stoked to be progressing. I'm stoked to be in a new environment, around new people, doing new things, being involved in a new community of different minds.

Oh, I love everything.
I'm reconstructing quite nicely and this is helping, too.

I get to sleep the fuck in every day I want from tomorrow until mid-fucking-January. AWESOME.
That is so awesome. Christmas break has never felt so appealing, and it starts right the fuck now.