Me: I want someone to wake me up and tell me that in that shakey lil kid's voice they get when they're nervous
Armand: aaww... looks like you're a romantic after all
Armand: i knew ya had it in ya
Me: I've always been a romantic
Armand: hmmm... i'll have to ponder that one
Me: it just usually ends up hurting me a lot.
and I usually end up with people who think romance is a bunch of flowers and a bottle of perfume.
Armand: a romantic with an aversion to the cathartic aspects of life...
Me: *my* catharsis is just not YOUR catharsis, Armand
Me: ::knockin his noggin:::
not everyone finds meaning in walks on a beach
Armand: i know... yours is sites of the weird and unmentionable
Armand: yeah... that's it... the only one there is
Armand: life is a beach, mon
Armand: and on that note, i'm gonna go find mine
Armand: cheer up, sweets
Armand: it's gonna happen
Me: I don't have that sort of luck
Armand: the hell you don't
Me: GO walk your dog.
don't make me cry
Armand: ohh honey... wanna meet me?
Me: nah. I wanna bury myself in words.
and then I want to bury myself in margaritas.
Me: cinco de mayo ya know
Armand: yup. i know
Me: I'm feeling like a writer today
Armand: then do it outside
Me: can't write outside
Armand: it's called pad and pen, dear
Me: it's called "too many distractions, can't ignore the outside"
Armand: oh. ok
Me: i find myself writing about leaves and grass and ... beh... there's enough neo-classic pablum about that stuff to last a lifetime
Armand: already... true
Me: To find your beach, man
Me : I don't wanna keep you and I have nothing interesting to say
Armand: not to worry.. i leave soon
And he did.
And now I'm sitting here wondering why the hell I am in this mood. Last night I was ready to shave my head and get a big tattooed, "FUCK OFF" across the back of my noggin and sink my money into leather gear and insinuate myself with the bikers across the street and let myself be passed around amoungst them like a good lil biker bitch and get all their names tattooed on my inner thighs and start wearing mid 80's pre ripped belly shirts and get a perm and invest in blue eyeshadow.
But this morning, I'm feeling different.
I'm feeling so utterly... in need of things. And I'm comfortable with the needs. I'm contented. I'm serene. I am at one. OM.
well, heh, not really.. but as close as I ever get to contented and serene...
I'm sort of loving being me today because I rock somethin fierce. It would be good if more people would recognize this, but hey, as long as I do, that's all that counts, right?
I can't even listen to my angry music today. It's been op ivy thus far and it shall continue to be op ivy, unless of course the de la finds its way into the cd player.
I'm out of cigs, but I'm dealin.
Stood outside mike's house this morning and yelled at the windows that I was coming in, that I requested that no shots be fired and that, as a pseudo-medical practitioner while within the house, I should be allowed safe passage in order to wash the stiff lil funk off of the manburger.
The neighbors didn't like it, but Sean actually smiled at me when he opened the door and I think that's a far cry better than the "you are a dirty whore" and snarling I caught just two days ago.
The boy has anger issues. And Tim makes him feel inferior just by being around. And I am a reminder of rejection. So it all gets funnelled at me when all three of us are together.
How the hell do I get it through to them that I won't be changing my mind about any of them? They all live in the same house, fer chrissakes.
They comprise the vast majority of my roster of friends but they're also so... unmanageable. And blind. BLIND BLIND BLIND. and emotionally stunted and prideful.
That's probably why I like them. I see a lot of me in them.