Getting Drunk.

One wine cooler. One shot of Midori.

Worried. ...

This is going to be probably an extremely honest to the point of offensive post, which is why I'm not friends-locking it. Time, as Votania says, for me to be real.

Too bad I have to get drunk to come sober honest clean with myself.

Some people are just fucking idiots. I'm probably going to lose myself a friend with this, but the fucking friendship was lost anyway, I was just being polite. Idiot. Polite is for sissies and diplomats and liars, in this sort of situation.

Sabrina, you've been a fucking bitch. I thought you were cool, dammit, but then you go and start acting like a teenage brat. I'm not your fucking mother and neither is Votania. Marx is pretty damn sick of your bullshit too. We all are. I think, honestly, that Neighbor is the person around here who gets along with you best.

Thing is, everything would have gone so much better if you'd just said OK, I fucked up the first time you did some shit you knew you were going to get in trouble for. It's forgivable, if you confess. The Catholics are down with it that way, totally.

It's not forgive and forget, it's forgive and move on. Forgive, remember, and never mention it again. We don't have a fucking reason to trust you. You're drunk, you're on drugs, you're sleeping around and not for fun with friends, it's in ways that's going to get you and other people hurt. Get you hurt, that's forgivable. Getting others hurt, that's bad shit. Real bad shit. There's very often no coming back from that. path, and we're damn pissed you're walking down it.

Mexico is a fucking mistake. How many times do I have to yell it? I think your mom put it best. She e-mailed Votania, and was quite polite and civilized. She may have done bad shit in the past, but goddamn, she's at least attempting to act like a human being now. You know jack shit about Mexico, and Mexico can be a damn dangerous place. You're a pretty little fayoumis, and it would be too fucking easy for you to get yourself killed or worse there. I think you have a damn good idea of "worse". I know you have your friends, but face it, the way you make friends and keep them (hah!) you're liable to get yourself in deep shit.

I don't know if you're in Mexico or what. Telling the truth, lying, who gives a rat's ass with you anyway? Obviously, me. I'm trying not to. Votania declared you burnt a long time ago. You pissed me off too. Now your aunt asked Votania what the hell was up, and Votania got in contact with your mother, and evidently I can't ignore your very existence like I was trying to.

I'd like to tell you to go to hell until you can grow up and come back. I'd really like to. That would do more harm than it would good, I think. You'll go to hell anyway, the hell that one creates in one's own mind in the absence of the Divine and the absence of anything one can truthfully call love. I hope like fuck you come back, because I miss who you used to seem to be, and so does everybody else who thought they knew you.

Practice

Sat with a woman, tonight.

Saturday I was in much pain at work, and, in my pain, hoped hard that work, my job, would finish up early, and let us go early, and let me go and not have to speak through my pain anymore that day. I had an inflamed tonsil and some kind of sore on my tongue (I may have bit it, it feels almost like that, only more swollen), and together those were making speaking, and especially reading from script, miserable.

Work let out an hour and a half early.

Penance: volunteering, astrally, to sit in hospital. John C. Lincoln, on 3rd Street & Dunlap. Sat with an old woman, and walked her through the Summerlands, a preview. I learned how I'm supposed to fly, with three sets of wings. The lowest set is for regret. They're a little greyer than the other two, with a few feathers missing. The middle set is strength, courage, power, knowledge. The highest set of wings are innocence and grief. My wings are white. Her wings are black with red streaks. She was wearing a blue, blue dress, and danced on the grass, wet beneath the feet.

Even after my prescribed penance is over (fifteen hours), I know I'll keep going back. There are so many people lonely and in pain who need someone young and strong and healthy to hold their hand, even though when their grandchildren do finally visit them and they speak of being visited by an angel with three sets of wings who took her on a brief flying tour of Heaven, they'll think Grandma has gone a bit off her rocker. If I can't get there in person, and I have a cold too often to volunteer, I can still donate time and energy and caring.

Bible as Literature Discussion!

http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?journal=wiredferret&itemid=122977

Whee! Debate! Babble! Good ideas! No flamers, please.

One of those weird days.

Again, last night, I could not sleep. I had weird, weird dreams that clashed with waking. I drank much too much water, up and down every half hour to fifteen minutes. This time I had having drunk too much as an excuse. Stumbling on the rug, stumbling on Adam, crying I was sorry, every time I gasped and leaped out of bed, needing a drink of water right then or I might die.

The lack of humidity here is killing me. I'm trying to not let myself get dehydrated, but I just can't keep water. Adam's suggestion that I find a humidifier is a good one, I think. Close my window, stick a towel under the door so it won't interfere and dehydrate Votania, and let my skin and lungs soak up water.

I'll never be able to live in Arizona permanently.

My nightmaredreams involved getting some bad HTML, or a bad script of some kind, stuck in my head, possibly by malicious forces. I woke up, stuck in an endless loop -- there was no break command that I could find, stuck taking a Microsoft debugger style quiz for "What sort of computer am I?" Tried to break it, tried to break it. Even Darkside could not entirely clear it out of my head.

When I finally did wake up when Adam left for school, the bad code got cleared out and I was able to think of Darkside, and sleep.

http://www.deadlounge.com/poetry/

hatred desire


I am chained here, shying from the night:
falling through this silent void,
heart so bleak and bleeding.

this desire so betrayed,
a surreal abyss,
forgotten;

yet I wish for
your skin so pale.