for some reason, I'm having the hardest time "making myself" write about the visit today, about having friends over... I am so incredibly confused that even talking *to myself* I don't quite understand what I mean. maybe that's part of the problem; maybe if I'd talk to someone else, I wouldn't end up going in circles. it also probably doesn't help that some of what I'm trying to understand (and "fix" - because it's so much better if you can fix everything ... oy) are emotional and circumstancial realities of the past few years. it doesn't do a lot of good to bang my head against the wall because I've discovered a few more things to regret. I would like to yell at the universe, "ok! I get that 'you'll never regret what you do half as much as what you don't do' message! stop throwing it in my face." I think so much about whether or not I'm going to do something before ever doing it that I have few regrets in that arena, especially over the last few years. but the things I've thought about and not done ... or the things that seemed impossible that I therefore never tried ... they've come back to bite me in the heart more than a little.
mystery guest. having a mystery guest is very, very weird. it was good for me, the girl who prepares so endlessly, who is known to plan everything from attitude to attire based on who she's around... so. very. sad. I did a lot better with that today regardless of the mystery person. meaning, I didn't try and clean my room until it sparkled, redecorate the apartment, et cetera. I remembered how laid-back it was the last time Shandi and Jason visited, (I also remembered that I cleaned like a crazy person, and they never set foot in my room), and I just sort of let things go after awhile. my room is quasi-clean. semi-tidy but lived-in. I was happy about that last night; one of the things I love about company is I always seem to get a semi-clean room out of the deal. (I have such trouble making myself clean without that incentive and that "deadline.") today it feels a little unnatural. weird as it sounds, I think I feel vulnerable, and feeling vulnerable - for some reason - makes me want my mess back. to stand between me and the door. to swallow me up so I can hide for awhile.
remind me not to tell the doctor this. I really don't want to think about the possibility that the not-so-clean state of my room has deeply embedded psychological roots. not right now anyway. not when I'm already confused as hell about other things.
how do I put this? let me just say that the visit rocked. it was great; they stayed four hours, and I didn't even think about the idea of them leaving before they realized they needed to. (as in, I wasn't even going, "this is fun, but I'm running out of energy; please leave soon"... which I sometimes do.) and it wasn't so manic as the last time they visited... I do feel sort of bad for Jason, as we talked a lot more about high school and high school people this time, and he's left out of that. but I guess he's meeting a lot of those people now, so hopefully he was ok...
anyway. I'm just going to muck through the mucky parts, having said that it was really, really great, and hopefully, I'll have energy to detail the great parts later. I'd do the opposite, but I don't want my brain to explode. I think the chorus of "fuuuuuuck" is more pertinent at this moment.
so this week has had some interesting sexuality shit. I guess I mean more than this week; I mean recently. there's my introduction to slash, for instance. there's the fact that I had the most wonderful bad-dream, only because during it, a certain (much beloved female) someone kissed me on the cheek, and right afterward, I remember a few other people came in... and she touched the corners of my lips because for some reason that made sense. when she did that she said something about having kissed me, and I started thinking how we had to explain to these other people that it was on the cheek, and then not explaining, liking it too much, feeling special... maybe wishing that it hadn't been just her fingers that touched my lips... aiy. (this is hard!) anyway, even when I woke up, I felt just wonderful... and when I thought about it, I got all tingly and happy, all dopey inside, and I thought about how I so rarely have kisses in my dreams ... at least not ones I remember, but then I know I've had and remembered a few with her. and I'd kind of like to tell her that someday; I think it's kind of sweet. (if it turns out to be sweet and not wrong-wrong-wrong-wrong-wrong, maybe I'll tell her.) I think it's kind of sweet that ... this relationship that could never happen ... "happened" in my head just enough for me to start understanding some things. I guess someday, if I'm sure, I'd like to tell her what a huge part realizing my feelings for her fit the "crush" description I thought I'd never met, did for my understanding of everything. what it does for me to - in the middle of beating myself up because I hate being confused and because I still get ashamed of something entirely acceptable - think about her, the real relationship or something that happened in a dream... to feel myself transform into a dopey schoolgirl, which forces me to laugh. because in the end, it's just cute, damnit. the way any silly-wonderful crush is cute.
there were other things that had it on my mind, or came up because it was, but I don't really remember them now. I suppose thinking about who the mystery guest would be brought some of it up. I had a horrible time trying to guess; I kept thinking of people and then realizing that they were Shandi's good friends from freshman year... not the same group she hung out with at the end of high school. I often forget that not everyone left N*land when I did. that February 2001 wasn't graduation. that is, I forget that when I'm not busy forgetting that we aren't still in high school. having been *in high school* so little while I was "in high school" makes things just the tiniest bit harder to follow. in an already hard-to-follow life.
so anyway, I thought of a ton of people that I was friends with, to some extent or another, at some point or another, during school. I thought about how I'd react if it were this person, or that person, or this other person. what it would be like to see them. some people I knew I'd have to just suck up my breath and deal; most I knew I'd be glad to see. some I knew I'd relax instantly with; others I figured I'd be a little more in "performance" mode, but still happy to spend time with them. one of the people I thought of was Matt. oh, Matt. I was thinking last night that, if I am gay, there might finally be a way to tell him that I think he's one of the best boys in the world, without the sucky fallout of "as long as it's for someone else." (ok, there's really no way to tell him that without it sucking, which is why I never have... but bear with me.) I've always thought how I would have to say how I loved him, felt safe with him, laughed with him, how he was sweet to me, how much I enjoyed it, how great it was to just sort of lie against him, so on and so forth. and let him know how ridiculous I thought it was that all those girls so intent on falling head over heels were oblivious to him. the problem is, you can't say that to someone and then say, "but ... erm ... you know me, I'm weird, I don't date, I'm asexual. so *I* don't want to be with you, but really - I mean everything I said!" last night, I was thinking about the time we were in KC with Madrigals, performing at the Ren festival there... that's the trip where I all but fell asleep leaning on his shoulder and the trip where Joey and I went all over the grounds searching for this girl who danced with Matt the day before because I thought it would be cool to get a picture of them. we put out crazy effort to make it happen, and when we told Matt, he said, "You just think I'm never going to have a girl like that again." I was wounded. Spear through my chest. I was so, so sorry because no thought at all like that had crossed my mind. I wanted a copy of that photo, and I went to insane lengths to have it taken. (Never did get a copy.) why? it's one of those answers that seems obvious if I can understand that I have a sexuality and what it is (meaning it's still, "that'll make so much sense if..."). the day they danced I wrote a journal entry about how I thought I'd glimpsed the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen that day. I have a sketch of her somewhere. I wanted her photo is the truth of it... at least, I think that's the truth. and even though that does make me want to bang my head against the wall (it sucks to realize you had ulterior motives you were completely unconscious of) it also kind of strikes me as something I could say to him, in this hypothetical conversation we'll probably never have. that I wouldn't have thought twice about that girl, other than in reference to him - other than "smart girl, picking him out of the crowd" - except that I found her so astonishing. She was sort of pale, I remember, with dark red hair, curly, bobbed around her head. and she was wearing this blue-green madrigal dress I couldn't imagine her exchanging for any other piece of clothing. the colors of her, those two days, the reds and the blues and the white... were just stunning.
and I wrote a freaking journal entry about her. and I chased her down. and I begged someone to take a photo, and I demanded I be given a copy, all the time trying to "play it cool" because they kept asking me "why" and I didn't know why - I just knew it was important. at most, I knew she was beautiful, and you take photos of the beauty you stumble across on trips. you put them in albums or up on your walls. I don't think it fully occurred to me that she was a person. that would have required me to realize she was a person that was having a very interesting effect on me, and I damn sure was not about to notice that.
so while I was busy not noticing what was going on with the girls, I occasionally found some time to try and work with what was happening with (so few) guys. I always made a big deal out of it when someone stopped me in the hallway or leaned over during class to ask if so-and-so and I were going out. reasons: I saw you hug. I saw you holding hands. you just look like a couple, etc. ...I would tell them no, and then I would tell my friends about it - ha, ha, ha, guess what someone said to me today! as if it's possible, ha ha! - and then I would tell the so-and-so friend, with the same "want to hear a funny joke?" pretense... I don't know why, exactly. my relational habits were fairly desperate. I wanted so badly to be someone's favorite, for basically my entire life, and then when there became a way (after "best friend" sort of faded into "close friends") to be the particular person someone chose, it was by going out, and that wasn't something I was at all comfortable with, or something I wanted. but as far as I can understand it, I wanted someone to want it with me. not the way that creepy someones did. not the "hey, we just met, and you have a different pair of chromosomes - let's go out!" proposition. I wanted someone who knew me to want it, and so when another classmate would ask me if I was dating a friend, or someone would suggest that a friend of mine *obviously* had a crush on me, I'd talk about it a lot. (for me. I wasn't talking much at all in these days ... so relatively speaking, - ha, speaking! - it was a lot.) the one time someone did manage to convince me that a friend of mine like-liked me (I feel like I'm junior high right now, so I may as well use the lingo) I freaked out a little and backed off. because even though I wanted it in theory, I really didn't want it. and I didn't want to ruin a really good friendship by hurting someone "stupid enough to like *me*." oy triplicated.
[to be continued. I'm tired.]