A Conversation Unsaid

My very dear friend Andrew went on a vacation and left me his keys, so I've been staying in a space with my own real bed and a locking door for the last few days. There's a kitchen where the dishes stay clean if I do them, and I can play music, and a bonus cat. It's close to my friends and work, so there's no commute to keep me from sleeping or break to my spontenaeity.

I've been cooking meals for myself: salad, meat, sides. I've been petting the cat for half an hour a day. I've been going to sleep at 10 or 11 and feeling human when I wake up.

It seems like Blake is out now, but he's left some stuff and doesn't want to talk about getting it back. I guess that means it's my job to pack it up and either store it or throw it out. He would no doubt be livid if I threw it out. He also still has the keys, but isn't yet ready to return them to me, so things are not as well as I'd like. I've been popping by to feed and water the animals; tonight is New West potluck so I'll be staying there and waking there and trying to feel out how to best start the massive cleanup job that space requires.

I wish I had a little more money to get some nice house things. That went on hold for two years, it was so irritating at the time (he never even got a dresser for his clothing, I would have had to pay for it) but now there's nothing to lose or divide on that front. I want another book-case (for my canning stuff) and a rug for the front of the fireplace.

I have my bike back, and went biking with a rainbow-haired poly dude I met at the masquerade. I love biking, and it was so, so nice to talk about poly to someone who is independently coming from a similar set of desires to me: not dyadic or heirarchical is particularly a thing to me right now. I do not want to get sucked back into that ill-fitting trap.

My brother is trying to convince me to buy a juiced-up electric scooter/"bike". It's pink and lovely. See: I wish I had money.

I sat down to write about my experience of kink originally; I'd had a discussion with a friend where he said something about a belief or experience that it was usually less intimate than sex. That was so far from my experience that it spun off a lot of thinking that wanted to lead to talking, but by that time there was nobody to talk with.

I'll have to write it later. For now, I should go get ready for work. Be well, folks.

Always Titled

I want to write.

Usually night is a time full of words for me, but I've been spending nights with people, and the words have been spoken. Desire for conversation spins on a little while after the conversation has finished, then I sleep and care for my body instead of journalling. Now it's afternoon, a free hour or two in the plod of work, and I have my laptop. I've put on Loscil, a gift long ago from Graydon (it will always bring back the view from that apartment), and the music is filling my head nearly to the exclusion of all else.

Still, I want to write. Not, as so often, because my head is full of pretty words; now I want to write as a recorder, as a communicator, to engrave my current self on the basically uncaring awareness of my future self.

I want to say: I feel love. I want to say: people are beautiful, each in such diverse ways. I want to say: pressure is the enemy of desire. I want to say: I can't always control my future, but when I can it's less worth living. I want to say: you're right. I like the confusion. I need my world to be, not just bigger than I can encompass with my intellect, but roiling enough that my ribcage stays half-shut, sheltering my heart frm the maelstrom but not able to close up completely.

I don't know what will happen next. The present is a series of faces, overlaid with the narration of my own voice. Perhaps in time a pattern will emerge.

Anniversary

May 2013 was the 10-year anniversary of my livejournal.

http://greenstorm.livejournal.com/2003/05/28/ was the first day.

I've been thinking about many ways to compile a current cast of characters.

I really don't like the tone of my early writing, but I suppose that's unsurprising.

I've lived long, guys.