Something is gonna explode...

But what? Head? Heart? Uterus? What an exciting game of wait-and-see for me!

Sometimes I think I'm certifiable. I know I'm not, cause if I was I wouldn't consider it as a possibility. Still, though...

Was he right? Is it self-pity? At least he called it Irish self-pity, which sort of takes some of the responsibility offa me, like. I can't help it, you know, I was born this way.

I do have a certain predisposition to tragedy. Which sucks. I suppose I wouldn't have it any other way. It's certainly intense, tragedy. Nothing much comes from it except tears. If you had asked me 5 years ago I would have said self-awareness comes from it - but even then I would have followed up with self-awareness doesn't really do anything except make you aware of why you do the stupid things you do. There is no ounce of prevention in self-awareness. Unless I've been doing it wrong. But that can't be - I'm so good at it.

6 October: I don't want to see other people. He doesn't know if he can handle that. Because he likes to sleep with lots of girls.

By then I had already thrown myself into Sextober in an attempt (a super well thought out and mature one) to prove that sex is just sex and what I have with him is way more than that. *Note to self - I already knew what was going on with him. And it was not just sex. I was only half conscious (and remain, to a certain extent, half conscious) of the fact that it was also a defense mechanism. Whatever, I'm grown, I'ma do what I wanna. Yeah. Still, don't feel bad about it. I'm a grown woman. I can do what I want. Was it the best approach? No. Was it the scared approach? Si, certo. He doesn't need me, fine, see? I don't need him either...

27 October: Our friendship is theoretical because we've only ever seen each other in our respective homes and he can't divorce our great conversations from our kinda mutually neurotic ("not the right word btw") sexual relationship. Okay, is there some sorta Madonna/whore thing going on here? And if we don't do other things it's cause he's relegated us to late night lonely insomniacical companionship - which doesn't always include sexy time.

I'm not what I would describe as conventional. I never seem to do things in the right order. I was with junkie ex-boyfriend for 9 years. That was the longest one night stand ever, I think. Cause that's what it started as. So yeah, this is what I was trying to get him to admit - that there is this intense intimacy. And that is as real or whatever as whatever... I don't have words for this, at this point. Do I love him? Gods help me, I do. Fuck me fuck me fuck me...

And, further: he wants to bed at least one of the recent college graduates he knows cause they share a certain emotional retardation. But he's seriously looking for someone to be monogamous with. What? So are you or aren't you? And why are you telling me this? And why get upset when I accept what you are telling me as is? I mean, you just told me that, right? I believe you. Of course between you and me, I know there's a load of bullshit in these conflicting statements... but that is not for me to point out. He's responsible for him, I'm responsible for me. Whatevs.

Um, hello? I'm right here. Why again am I excluded from being the one you want to be monogamous with? Cause you're saying one thing and then acting a completely different way... And how can you be doing both - being slutty and desirous of monogamy? I know he feels the same thing I'm feeling. Scared are you? I don't know what else could be going on with him.

And then we drive around and he takes me back to his place and its so obvious that something serious is happening between us its ri-goddam-diculous.

And he has my Siouxsie and the Banshees CDs. Which is whatever. At this point I'm ready to give him all kinds of stuff just so that I know I'll get to see him again if for no other reason than to get my stuff back. But I accidentally left $20 there. And I'm pretty destitute. So I need that back.

And tonight was stupid almost Halloween. Actually it was last night, as its 7:44 in the a to the m. The streets of Minneapolis were rife with slutty and I'm sure he brought someone home.

Or did he? Cause he's really not the player I think he wants me to think that he is. But it was almost Halloween, which is like getting laid at a wedding. In that it's easy to do.

Ugh. Why? Why is this so fecking complicated? It's not me, it's really not. Its totally him.

Here's how I see it: people meet and hang out and see other people, that's dating. Or whatever. If something develops then a meeting is held to discuss moving on to a mutually exclusive pair bond. I'm there. I have no idea where he's at. It's not me subjugating my needs cause I won't demand him to "be my boyfriend" - its actually quite magnanimous of me. I'm okay with where things are now.

And of course clearly I'm not. I'm not okay with his telling me "don't forget I'm an asshole," - cause that's the lamest cop-out ever. He's a fool, and he may act like an asshole, but just because he's in the middle of his life and isn't ready to whatever does not him an asshole make.

What I would like is for him to just relax and enjoy it. It doesn't have to be about what's gonna happen, it can just be what it is.

And don't think you need to tell me that "you're going to break my heart" cause I knew that the moment I first sat on your couch.

This post was not gonna be about him, goddammit. Whoops.

I don't know life. I hate this blog. I hate not sleeping. I hate being vulnerable but recognize it as a good exercise in living. At least I try. At least, against all better judgement, I put myself out there.

Love. Right? Such a lonely mind fuck of a situation. But I'm powerless over it. I really wouldn't have it any other way. I rued the day I met him for all of like 30 seconds. At least I can carry him with me, even though memories pale in comparison to the moment. Which is what I'm trying to enjoy, if he would just stay outta my way.

Okay, that's enough of that. It's too much - there is just too too tooo much going on in my head and its all introspective and interesting but what's coming out is frustration. Which is good, I suppose. Vomiting all the frustration on virtual paper to get it out - that's a healthy purge, right? I am proud of how I'm handing the situation, to an extent. I need to me more honest, and more vulnerable with him. I'm lying to everyone, myself most of all, with this "whatever I don't care I sleep with other dudes too" protective armor I've created. I have to be genuinely myself if I want this to work out whatever way it's supposed to work out. I have no control over him. All I can do is enjoy it for what it's worth (which is kinda a lot). Until such a time as it becomes not enjoyable, at which point I do what I gotta do.

Its just so pure, on some weird level. But then that brings me right back to the tragedy of it all.

Whatever. One thing I do know is I'm an archaeologist. And that is still like the most bad ass thing ever.

Enough. Maybe for my next post I'll ruminate on something anthropological. Perhaps something to do with Glastonbury and the creation/perpetuation of a proto-Christian-cum-British mythology that reflects or parallels the formation of a cultural identity. The role mythology plays in the creation of the identity of a State. Going all the way back to Roman syncretism. Or something like that.

Off ruminating,

KBO

What's brown and sticky?

Two hours of laying awake in bed is enough. Insomnia can suck it. Suck it long, and suck it hard... Of course, by 5 AM I'll be sleepy. Then I'll have to struggle with the do-I-go-to-sleep-for-two-hours-or-should-I-just-stay-up-I-have-to-leave-for-class-by-8-anyway routine. Good times. Good fucking times...

So happy Sextober to all ya'll. That's what my best-friendy called it last night, and I love it. I've been trying desperately to fuck away this one guy I may or may not have accidentally fallen in love with. So far it's only kinda working. As of today Sextober has provided me with some "distractions," some far better than others, but all of them not this one guy. That's what I think I'ma call him: This One Guy. I did actually see This One Guy once this month, but yeah... not looking too good on that front.

Stupid This One Guy.

This One Guy doesn't know if he can deal with admitting there is intimacy between us. This One Guy doesn't know if he can handle it. This One Guy said he wouldn't freak out and disappear, but that if he did freak out he'd do it in person.

This One Guy is not a liar. This One Guy just gets too depressed to deal with life. This One Guy says he might not believe in the world. This One Guy calls himself an asshole, but This One Guy is totally using that as an excuse because he's too afraid to try. I can totally understand This One Guy. For all the good thats done me.

I offered This One Guy me - not a committed relationship, but rather pure friends with benefits. I like making This One Guy happy. I'm way too busy becoming an awesome archaeologist to worry about an official relationship. "Relationship" to me at this time implies loss of some freedom, or some sort of responsibility. That's not quite what I'm after. Right now. Right now I want a friend, who I can be with and then "be with" - in the biblical sense (wink wink). I don't want to worry about what happens when I'm not around, or be forced to attend couple-y events (nor to force someone to attend the aforementioned events, for that matter).

This One Guy is so cool. This One Guy is a humble intellectual, which is a rare commodity. This One Guy is a humble artist, an even rarer commodity, if that's possible. This One Guy is a fantastic kisser. This One Guy is sexy as hell and the most amazing lover I have ever known. I really wish I could hate This One Guy.

I can no more hate him than accept his "I'm just an asshole" excuse. I recognize myself in him. I understand him. There is just something about him that is amazing.

Ugh, god. What does it even matter?

I was talking to my sponsor about this, because that's the sort of thing I do in these situations. I needed validation (hmmm... acknowledgement?) that I'm not simply justifying to myself a willingness to accept less than I deserve. I don't need a boyfriend. What I want is a lover. This One Guy was awesome. It was nice, naked intimacy - not just a mechanical booty call. She heard me. She understood. That made me feel somewhat better. Now if only This One Guy would do the same...

I decided a long time ago that I was over trying to convince people how awesome I am. I'm pretty fucking awesome, you know? I play with dead people, I'm arty, I'm smart, I'm sorta hilarious. I can be adorable. What's not to like? Man, I wish I was the sort of person who met awesome people like me all the time, so much so that all these awesome folk become disposable. How great must it be to be that person? Pretty fucking great.

I read something somewhere that said for men its less about the person than the timing. Okay, fine. That is understandable. I can intellectually grasp that, but I'm just not built that way. I don't believe in accidents, I only believe in on purposes. When someone is put in your path it's for a reason. People aren't disposable... and what I mean by that is that I'm not so ungrateful for what life chooses to offer up to me that I would turn something great down because the timing was off. Its not a for sure thing that you're going to just continue to meet awesome people, ya know? Its like when I was in high school and had a friend who wanted to be married when she was 30. What the fuck is that? I never got that. Who's to say that anyone would ask her by the appointed time? Someone did, but she was 33. Close, I suppose... I guess what I'm saying is that when something extraordinary crosses my path I don't want to just waste it... Its extraordinary, after all. The nature of existence is transitory, but I'm going to try to care for it and nurture it so I can enjoy it for as long as possible. And by possible I really mean mutually beneficial.

Don't even get me started on this "I have to protect you from me" bullshit. I fucking hate that. Who are you to decide that I don't want you after all? And who asked you to protect me from anything anyway? I'm going to make mistakes in life, thank you very much, and if you happen to be one of them I kindly ask you to step aside and let me take the chance. Junkie ex-boyfriend did that to me too. I HATE it. Really, you're not doing my any favors. Or yourself for that matter. This is life, we only get one lap. Ugh. Maddening. Its abosfuckinglutely maddening. And a little egotistical if you think about it. Go on - think about it. Do it now. Am I right? Of course I'm right. Gah!

Clearly I'm a fan of tragedy. I suppose I wouldn't have it any other way. What fun is simplicity when complicated and intense is an option. Why would I ever want to take something easy on?

Its not the end of the world. Its only been a week and a half. I really cannot see This One Guy just never calling me again. I just hate waiting.

I should really be studying for my History mid-term. Instead I'm writing a lame blog about my lame heartache. Lame, lame, lame. I should really be asleep actually, but here we are. I'll sleep tomorrow I guess.

I was laying in bed thinking about depression as an act of passivity. Not that it's not real, or horrible... I am intimately familiar with it. But the only way out of it is to take an active role. Which is tragically ironic, being that - aside from joy - depression robs one of just about any and every thing which might enable someone to take action to move through it. Couple depression with fear and yeah... Depression, fear and a vehicle to avoid dealing and you have one paralyzed person full of hurt and helplessness. Except they aren't actually helpless. It's just hard to realize as much when you're in that position. And fear? Fear is always gonna be there. Everything is scary. That's just no excuse for inaction.

I don't know.

In other news, A stick. Is brown and sticky.

Holy shit I remembered my password and everything!

Whoa! Depression returns after several years on sabbatical. I did not miss it, not even a little. Oh Seebo and you're paralyzing perfectionalistic procrastination and almost crippling tendency to use emotion over reason... the whole while expecting rational people to be able to make sense of your ramblings. Good times. Welcome back. I have missed these defects of character most of all.

I'm an osteoarchaeologist now. So I have that going for me. Like for reals - its what I do and I do it well. Also, allora parlo italiano - ma non parlo bene.

I'm rethinking my rethinking of removing the baser sex from my life as it only serves as a constant source of pain and/or unwanted distraction. Since aprile I've acquired a Spaniard, who may be on his way out because my ability to want to be with him whilst not asking for anything from him (read: committment and/or monogomy) other than a lil bit of security and validation of my vulnerability (just let yourself like me you douche. You've been telling me for months now that you like me "too much" - so, um, yeah... go for it) might just be "too much to handle."

And now, if I may - and I may - wtf? Too much for you to handle? Oh you poor darling. There is nothing for him to handle. I'm the one that has to handle it. And will have to handle it when he decides that my loyalty and affection are super downers. Honestly. You like this Seebo girl too much, she submits to your sexual will 99.3% of the time, she doesn't care if you fuck other girls, and this is too much to handle. That's retarded. Is what that is. Re. Tard. Ded. I can't give him everything, unless he's willing to accept it. And I cannot stress enough how much I'm only asking for simple acknowledgement in return.

Believe you me I understand the difference between sex and intimacy. And what we've been doing for months now is hardcore intimacy. That's hard. Intimacy and vulnerability and all that - scary.

It boils down to this. You don't want to see me, cause you like me too much to use me for sex. However, if you'd just let yourself like me, and allow me a miniscule amount of security, you'd be free to have me and I don't care what happens when I'm not around. Cause it really has nothing to do with me. I don't want a boyfriend, I was happy with my lover. What I need is a PhD. And someone who can appreciate me.

An hour before I tried to tell him I wanted to belong to him, please and thank you, he was telling me about how our relationship was like that one movie... you know, whatsitcalled? Oh yeah... Twilight! I shit you not. Perhaps he meant in the "theatrical" sense, regarding the "theatrics" that is god only knows what. The D/s play? Or does it also include his telling me that he likes me too much to use me.

Okay. Clearly a lot of stuff to work though here. Its going to be a tear-filled, head-achy weekend. When you write it out and read it back, I sound like the retard.

Como se dice "I wish I knew how to quit you" en espanol?

There is the Russian. Who is a super sexy model. Who speaks Russian. Need I say more? Okay, I say more - he's a bit young. Sex. No intimacy. Fine with that. Couldn't care either way with this one. And that's easy and I can handle it.

I'm a trooper - I can handle anything.

Then there was Pretend Irish Boyfriend. Who was a real man, but only a "pretend" boyfriend. Irish men and their confusing of sex with intimacy and the cultural Catholicism baggage... Premature ejaculater. Gave excellent head. Was what it was.

Then there were the four guys over the last five days. I'm on a bit of a slutty kick. Fun, no hassle, its all good.

There seems to be a unifying theme of intimacy: full on hard core he can talk about it but I can't intimacy. Misdirected sex is intimacy and therefore wrong and weird. And Russia somewhere in between. Oh, the tall good-looking not so much for talking to as for fucking.

I have no idea. The Spaniard said he'd call. I believe that he believed it when he said it. I also think he might be a coward-cum-emotionally-bereft-wanker. Who is incredibly awesome, and is totally gonna break my heart, isn't he?

This made me feel better. Somewhat.

First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons — but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries. Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored-up love which had lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing. He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer. So there is only one thing for the lover to do. He must house his love within himself as best he can; he must create for himself a whole new inward world — a world intense and strange, complete in himself. Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring — this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth.

Now, the beloved can also be of any description. The most outlandish people can be the stimulus for love. A man may be a doddering great-grandfather and still love only a strange girl he saw in the streets of Cheehaw one afternoon two decades past. The preacher may love a fallen woman. The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits. Yes, and the lover may see this as clearly as anyone else — but that does not affect the evolution of his love one whit. A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp. A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering madman may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll. Therefore, the value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.

It is for this reason that most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover. And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain.”

-Carson McCullers

Yep.