Music today: Cyndi Lauper: "At Last"
Friday, Mar. 19, 2004 - 3:30 a.m.
Cost of the War in Iraq
WARNING!!!! if you know me personally, you may read my diary, but if you do, you take the chance of hearing things you don't want to know, misunderstanding what I've written and being hurt by it. If you are unsure if it is ok to read, save yourself and me the grief and heartache, and ask first!!! Please note that this is a DIARY, ie my subjective feelings, hearsay, suppositions, and outpourings of ranting of the moment. It does not represent objective news, the whole of what I think of a topic or someone, or even a thought-out representation of any of the above. Keep that in mind. Thanks. * Here is a Diary Etiquette Read Me.
Tears Tearing Little Tiny Holes
Mmm funny the things I forget I have. I was looking for some original color pieces of my comic book characters I did in England in '94 (jeepers time flies!) and found this huge stack of 11 x 17" laminated comics pages I made for my last book launch 5 years ago. Since almost no one came but my most devoted friends, I think I can make do with those, saving me mucho time finding new pages to hang on the walls, and mucho moulah in laminating fees.
I WILL of course put the original covers of the three books I have out on the walls... esp since the first two have come back into my hands for the first time since I did them... they were with the UK publisher for printing in '99, and then were shipped directly to a sort of "world tour" of a Women in Cartoons exhibit that Cartoon Aunty put together. I think they were in Vienna, Gijon in Spain, San Fran... oh who knows. I suppose I should ask her. I see I am rather bad on compiling the curriculum vitae thingie, sigh!
On a completely different front, lately though I am not feeling nostalgic, lonely, or even horny (someone left some comment about me needing a hottie... hahahahaha... poor hottie would get sent to dusting or some such), I HAVE been prone to tiny little momentary outbursts of sadness or little ouches from the past, little slivers in my broken heart.
When Jessica Lovejoy (Meeyapede) wrote about how quiet her house was and empty when Clinton left after a week of spending every single moment together, I choked up. Yup I did. It so reminded me of my trysts with ob, and how she would have written "I miss you, the house is empty without you" to me even while I was on the greyhound home.
There is a thread on M*dori's list about training someone to cum on command (I can hardly believe it, I cannot will myself to do it, let alone someone else... takes time and luck) but the descriptions of relationships, the intimate time spent together, choked me up again. It is hard for me even to imagine letting someone make love to me again, let alone often enough and in devoted enough manner to "train" me.
I just finished reading a lovely touching little book called "Clumsy" by the cartoonist Jeffrey Brown (scroll down!!). Mostly I enjoyed it immensely, but little bits of truth stabbed me. Little panels where the Jeff character wants to make love on the last night that they are together (the girl and the boy have a longdistance relationship) and she doesn't and he lies there beside her alone with eyes open. Or in other little panels where they DO make love for the last time in a visit.
Little bits of truth that make me wince.
There have been other little moments like this lately in busy productive days. Little windows of clear broken glass stabbing into some forgotten hole in my heart that is a deep well of tears and sadness and betrayal and missing. That I don't notice the rest of the day.
I can see from my entries how I am not stuck and am moving forward. But at the same time, like in the Cyndi Lauper concert, where she was like fifteen feet away singing "If you go away..."... "and if you stay, I'll make you a day like no day has been or will be again"... and I held my hand over my heart and cried the whole way through the song uncontrollably, I am scarred and it is deep and silent. "If you go away, and I know you will" she sings. It is the same song as "Ne me quitte pas" which has always torn me apart.
Thank god I am no longer the teenager who sat in a dark livingroom by the light of the stereo, headphones on, crosslegged, crying unconsolably to the Moody Blues, or the twenty-year-old who annoyed her friend who played the saxophone to try to console her by refusing to be consoled and sobbing without end. Or the thirty year old who walked the streets of London or sat on the British buses with tears running down her face. But I am the forty year old who is making peace with being alone, and that is perhaps the saddest of all. That I don't have a real hope or even a desire right now. It just seems safer and happier to be alone and cuddle my very good doggy and my fat kitties and take care of my house and garden and do my projects.
I suppose one day I will maybe feel that teenage giddiness of infatuation again. That trusting openness that allows the universe to pour in and next thing you know your heart is in someone else's hands to be cherished or dashed to the ground in a childish fit or neglect.
I suppose one day. But right now, those little shards of other people's lives open little tears of tears. (a gold star to anyone who reads that correctly... damn the English language anyways)
My first entry tonight about non-groping boy here.
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Goodbye Michael. May your next life be kinder to you. - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
*inspired by Chaosdaily