slouching toward babylon
Yes I was jealous
Because you are sworn
How could you come undone to a word so strong
My beating heart the anchor to a ship so warm
You're supposed to have the answer
You're supposed to have living proof
Well I am your answer I am living
~Cat Power "Living Proof"
today was a fortune in the eyes of the night before. this morning i manifested new friends yet i already dread the long night ahead, for my near future is full of boxes, some taped by the very hand i rode upon the night before the end of my life in austin. to unpack them is to remember foolish endeavors and the present hijinks...it's absurd, really, to expend any effort trying to understand how i got here or why i came. hey you--yeah YOU. i know i created this. and it's not because i like to be in pain. i'm just looking for my bliss, man, and all that matters now is the assimilation of fact and the proof of my existence is all around to remind me that it must be done. i don't like being connected to a mess or accused of being tiresome. i don't judge others for their wanderings or for being lost...i been TCB on my own for some time now and i got sidekicks to think about. mama's tired and confused...i wanna be the only one sometimes, that's all.
last night i met with an old acquaintance. we met years ago while i was gestating Thing 2 and she was baking her third wee muffin. it was through an international unassisted childbirth support group and she lived hours away so we're not "friends" in the traditional sense...nonetheless we share many key commonalities and are compatible. i called her up when we moved to longview this week and we made plans to meet for a drink and "supper" (that's what they call it here, y'all). after catching up over a few beers at my mom's house, we hit a mexican hole in the wall, dining on shitty tex-mex and conversing about our oddly similar circumstances. in addition to being unconventional about our simultaneous pregnancies, our breakups with the fathers of our offspring coincided and when discussing the facts behind it all, we spooked one another with the similarities. we even had the post-breakup-fell-hard-for-the-unlikely-guy-who-helped-reacquaint-us-with-our-inner-harlot in common. i guess it's a trend. seems to me that, in addition to moving through the seven stages of grief, following the demise of a longterm relationship one must often navigate a hairy obstacle i like to think of as the "horndog phase". 'nuff said.
we wound up going to a club. actually, we went to THE club in town and it was mind-blowingly grim and possibly one of the ugliest spectacles i've had the misfortune of subjecting myself to. allow me to set the scene...fat men in cowboy gear, twirling fat women who look like men around the dancefloor. skinny men in highly starched cowboy gear with belt buckles the size of pizza pans looking to dance (ahem, grope openly). obese women in sparkly tanktops the size of carnival tents, behemoth breasts defying gravity in trusses which resemble lacy ox yokes...dirty dancing (moxie ain't no prude but this shit was not okay) together as if they might whirl and grind against one another hard and fast enough to break the barrier between themselves and the girls-gone-wild they so desperately wished they were...
god, it was bad. the lite beer, the rolls of fat and french manicures, the coiffures and wranglers...ah, despair, i nearly lost my bowels when they started line dancing to "...my neck, my back, lick my pussy and my crack...". i got the fuck out of there as soon as i could but not before having been accosted by a few of the patrons, despite my mirror shields (maybe i need to upgrade the sheilds o' drunk asshat east-texas strength magick?). in the parking lot, my cell phone bleeped at me, indicating a voice message. back in the safety of my car, surrounded by the soothing sounds of familiar music, i rolled up a smoke and listened to what turned out to be the longest, most lovely message i've ever gotten. it was a friend from austin, one of my sister teachers at ye olde granola cruncher school, calling to tell me how bereft she felt at the school without the presence of myself and the girls. she described us so generously, spoke of our beauty and light, jocular and maudlin with a voice that reminds me of a cozy bed....she poured her heart out and i cried, cried, cried, with nobody but the honey moon as my witness.
why did i leave? why do i need to do these things--hard things, always? i wonder if i have a hand in making things more difficult that is necessary. is it me? ok, maybe it is. i know i have a proclivity for losing sight of my goal in favor of fun and have been known to become so enraptured by a particular detail that the process unravels, tufts and threads around my feet. i have been blinded by the thick veils of obsession more than once. i get sidetracked by things that feel good and in an attempt to deny the difficulty i have with being linear and taking care of my responsibilities i embrace the wanton pleasures of drink and carnality to the detriment of my obligations. i have a hedonistic bent in practice that my rational mind just can't get behind. i rebel against the constraints of time because i am so fucking pissed about being culpable and bound to external forces . epicurean pursuits are too rigid and i envy those who have the ability to balance between acsetisism and bacchanalian endeavors. i engage in pleasure seeking, yet so it is written in the charge of the goddess "all acts of love are my rituals". i am an aphrodite woman. does this make me exorbitant and vainglorious? that is my fear. it's a private thing, and flaunting these facets of my innerworkings is an onerous task but it is one that must be undertaken if i am to surmount the challenge. i have been under my own lens, scientist and subject...observing and wondering if his criticism bears any weight.
this narcissism is savior and the devil in stereo. it's a fine line there between self preservation and megalomania.