"hopeful for the next"

I make the switch to dw, and immediately all the words dry up. I wrote, long-hand, like crazy at both melissa ferrick concerts, but the rest of the time I'm mainlining a stupid tv show on netflix, or playing pinball on Light's new device.

Funnyface is eating again, and I refuse to be optimistic, at least until the biopsies are back, or at least until she puts some weight on, or maybe never. And once again, I find myself back to the place of desperately wanting there to be an afterlife, some way of meeting her again in the future, or someplace where when she's done being with me, she gets to go cuddle with Princess again.

Well, that made me cry. Good times.

Having reviewed my entire closet, I've decided that I am no longer allowed to purchase shirts, skirts, tank tops or dresses. However, I desperately need a pair of jeans that fits and some new bras. Guess which things I enjoy shopping for at secondhand stores, and which things make me feel horrible? Jeans make me feel ugly and ill-shaped, bras make me remember that I still kind of hate my stuntboobs some days.

I'm wearing thigh-high purple stripey socks, I'm about to go see Rebecca Loebe open for Ellis Paul, I'm really enjoying Railsea. Things and stuff, world at large, things and stuff.

"to govern the rolling tide"

There's all sorts of things I want out of 2013. And many, many of them are unachievable, unattainable, unrealistic. But some of them aren't, and seeing live music is one of them. I'm hoping to see as many shows by Rebecca Loebe, Coyote Grace, Pesky J Nixon and Melissa Ferrick as I reasonably can. (my definition of reasonable waxes and wanes on no particular schedule).

What do I want that I don't have? What do I have that I want to be more sure of?

I want smoother, saner routines, working, cooking, cleaning, the gym, the library.

I want to be wanted, I want to feel wanted. I want to find a way to keep making myself a better person, the world a better place, without this feeling of self-worth being a mechanical rabbit I'm never going to catch up with, no matter how fast or how many times I circle this track.

I want order, I want routines. I want date nights and sometimes I want other people to plan things. I want to be more important than, or as important as other things. My mother told me I'd never be as important to her as my father is, my father told me he wanted a boy, and I want to get rid of all the metrics I'll be able to change. Of course I think all truth are comparative, everything is a scoreboard, and of course I always think I'm in danger of slipping off the bottom of the scoreboard, I'll always be left at the library waiting for a ride that's not coming.

So I want certainties, I want guarantees. I want every other thursday, I want something to look forward to, I want to be assured I'll be thought of, missed in my absence. I want to be petted and cossetted. I want to be told stories, I want to be read poetry, asked thoughtful questions, I want to have things explained, I want to be charmed and charming.

I want to tuck my toes under your legs when we're on the couch. I want to talk recipes and childhood traumas and gossip. I want to be blissfully unconcerned with relative status. I want to be able to make assumptions, the way I believe Light's always going to tell me to sleep instead of clean, the way I believe Chile's going to come on the Illuminations tour, weather permitting, the way I believe that I'll see Hands and Hips next weekend, or the weekend after, that I'll see Curmudgeon and Becoming for Thanksgiving. (apparently, I want all the traditions)

I cling to the disappointments, Semicolon kicking me out of her room because she didn't want to be on my suicide watch, Red telling me to go get the morning after pill myself, Lesson telling me it was too much to work be with me, but if I hadn't left New Hampshire, he might have been willing to try, Brenda telling sixteen year old me, "Sometimes when we need love the most, we deserve it the least", Iceberg telling me he couldn't take me home with him for thanksgiving, because his parents expected even his friends to be pretty and happy and smart. Semicolon telling me it was okay if I got a tattoo, but she couldn't because she had a future, History telling me I was a bad friend.

And it helps when my therapist winces when I tell stories, if it hurts as deadpan, it's okay that it hurt as a life.

Bedtime now. Getting back on my real schedule is going to suck mightily.