"the moon was always almost full"

i want to post something, i can all but feel the words itching to come out, but there are pieces of laundry i don't feel like airing, what goes on between me and Light is nothing that time won't solve or at least soothe, and as usual, the wonder still outweighs any pain by powers of ten. i'm afraid of talking about History, for fear that my words will shape my feelings, rather than the other way around. Lilo and host continue to be unabashedly wonderful, and the various and sundry other characters play out their assorted roles in turn, mostly for the good.

there's a picture on my fridge now, of Saint and Media attacking each other with T. Rex arms, photographic proof that they are the cutest couple ever. I almost made a girl in a candy store cry by giving her a five dollar tip, and now i want to go back and give her all my money. Charles DeLint is nowhere near as good at high fantasy as he is at urban fantasy. i'm still hoping that we get a little more spring before summer hits. our washing machine is fixed, our house may finish getting painted in may. If i'm lucky, ABG and Tulip can reschedule for the end of the month, and Feline will be unexpectedly in town as well that weekend. I've got that fifth bookcase, now i just have to put the room in enough order to build it and determine what the best new order for my books will be, and keep reading through my backlog before I'm allowed to buy any more food oriented books, even though I know exactly what my next purchase is going to be.

pictures of myself still throw me for a loop, and it's not just how unbelievably unattractive I find myself, but how outofplace i look to myself, even surrounded by my little brothers. i had a dream last night about them, we were all at Tampa's beach house, just the three of us, getting ready for something important. I still can't write about the vacation without tearing up, so you'll have to consult Light's LJ for the details, though he did leave out some important bits, like my fantastic bling-bling gamespot shirt.

there's more of the sweet than the bitter, and even when i'm feeling unlucky, there's still more good than ill, and sometimes it takes being ambushed by the creation of an LJ community to allow me to remember how far I've come. It's still hard to acknowledge that i've come some distance, it sounds too much like demanding the world throw me a parade for doing things that other people don't even have to struggle to do. but i'm still an ex-smoker, a college graduate, gainfully employed, owner of many books, three cats and a ludicrous bedspread.

Turning around to look at the landscape I've traversed has always scared and fascinated me in equal parts, and sometimes i wonder if it's as much self-adminstered mercy as it is self-adminstered medication at the time that i can't remember whole periods of time from college. And I know it wasn't all blood and bourbon and people chosing everything and everyone else but me, i can remember some of the kinder moments as well, but i'm afraid to explore them, for fear they end up leading me over cliffs. I don't expect to ever have any of the people from that period of time in my life again, I seem to recreate large parts myself every few years, like a seacucumber vomitting up its own intenstines. And I'm never sure if i'm more afraid of being forgotten or being remembered.

It's one of those pensive posts that always leaves me feeling like i take myself a wee bit to seriously, bordering dangerously on maudlin if not stepping boldly over the line. but i'll put it out anyway, believing that getting these things out of my head is invariably better than leaving them inside it. it seems like i'm learning more and more from this medium, luckier and luckier by the day, and what could have been simple exhibition has turned into both lesson and tool.

--

"the moon was always almost full"

i want to post something, i can all but feel the words itching to come out, but there are pieces of laundry i don't feel like airing, what goes on between me and Light is nothing that time won't solve or at least soothe, and as usual, the wonder still outweighs any pain by powers of ten. i'm afraid of talking about History, for fear that my words will shape my feelings, rather than the other way around. Lilo and host continue to be unabashedly wonderful, and the various and sundry other characters play out their assorted roles in turn, mostly for the good.

there's a picture on my fridge now, of Saint and Media attacking each other with T. Rex arms, photographic proof that they are the cutest couple ever. I almost made a girl in a candy store cry by giving her a five dollar tip, and now i want to go back and give her all my money. Charles DeLint is nowhere near as good at high fantasy as he is at urban fantasy. i'm still hoping that we get a little more spring before summer hits. our washing machine is fixed, our house may finish getting painted in may. If i'm lucky, ABG and Tulip can reschedule for the end of the month, and Feline will be unexpectedly in town as well that weekend. I've got that fifth bookcase, now i just have to put the room in enough order to build it and determine what the best new order for my books will be, and keep reading through my backlog before I'm allowed to buy any more food oriented books, even though I know exactly what my next purchase is going to be.

pictures of myself still throw me for a loop, and it's not just how unbelievably unattractive I find myself, but how outofplace i look to myself, even surrounded by my little brothers. i had a dream last night about them, we were all at Tampa's beach house, just the three of us, getting ready for something important. I still can't write about the vacation without tearing up, so you'll have to consult Light's LJ for the details, though he did leave out some important bits, like my fantastic bling-bling gamespot shirt.

there's more of the sweet than the bitter, and even when i'm feeling unlucky, there's still more good than ill, and sometimes it takes being ambushed by the creation of an LJ community to allow me to remember how far I've come. It's still hard to acknowledge that i've come some distance, it sounds too much like demanding the world throw me a parade for doing things that other people don't even have to struggle to do. but i'm still an ex-smoker, a college graduate, gainfully employed, owner of many books, three cats and a ludicrous bedspread.

Turning around to look at the landscape I've traversed has always scared and fascinated me in equal parts, and sometimes i wonder if it's as much self-adminstered mercy as it is self-adminstered medication at the time that i can't remember whole periods of time from college. And I know it wasn't all blood and bourbon and people chosing everything and everyone else but me, i can remember some of the kinder moments as well, but i'm afraid to explore them, for fear they end up leading me over cliffs. I don't expect to ever have any of the people from that period of time in my life again, I seem to recreate large parts myself every few years, like a seacucumber vomitting up its own intenstines. And I'm never sure if i'm more afraid of being forgotten or being remembered.

It's one of those pensive posts that always leaves me feeling like i take myself a wee bit to seriously, bordering dangerously on maudlin if not stepping boldly over the line. but i'll put it out anyway, believing that getting these things out of my head is invariably better than leaving them inside it. it seems like i'm learning more and more from this medium, luckier and luckier by the day, and what could have been simple exhibition has turned into both lesson and tool.

--