Listening: (these are full albums)
Poe, Hello
Bjork, Homogenic
Linkin Park, Hybrid Theory
(actually just One Step Closer, Crawling, In the End and A place for My Head, the rest sort of try my patience)
Nirvana, In Utero
Dead Can Dance, Into the Labyrinth
Soul Coughing, Irresistable Bliss
Korn, Issues
Tool, Lateralus
Tlen-Huicani, Latinoamericano
(a group of amature musician friends of my dad's who do traditional and folk songs from Latin America)
Ani di Franco, Little Plastic Castle
Hole, Live through This

I've been mulling over this entry for a few days now and I hope it says what I want it to. I know it's long, so bless you if read it all the way through. It involves several people who are close to me and a few folks are quite possibly going read this.

So I want to get it right.

Last week I was having a particularly bad time dealing with depression in that I cried and was quite practically debilitated every day.

Then came Sunday the 3rd. It was my sister's 20th birthday and despite calling repeatedly no one could tell me what was going on at home. So I told them unless someone called me with a concrete plan I was staying in LA. The last time I got dragged home to assuage someone's feelings of loss I spent four hours watching TV. I made it clear to them that I could do that without driving 35 miles. (and Sunday day TV kinda sucks and I wouldn't be allowed to go rent a good (R-rated) movie.)

Still, I woke up rather tired, eventhough I'd had nine hours of sleep the night before. Molasses woke up with the alarm and decided to sit and read some Preacher before hitting the shower. I curled up under the blankets, half contemplating the things I ought to be doing - getting dressed, heading to my parent's house (so it's boring, it's still my sister's birthday), or else calling a friend to see if he had the day free. Molasses was planning on heading down to the Ice Cream Assassin's (not his real name) house. I think I'm going to change that nickname. Don't know what to, though. Anyway I was going to have to find a way to entertain myself without Molasses. Icecream's roommate, Space Dog, and I had been trying to find a time to hang out for quite a while so I was hoping that would turn into something.

Space Dog is a great guy and has been a good friend to me. He's one of those "if-only" types which I don't know how clearly I can explain by allusion without giving up my own "mystique."
If only other people weren't involved so closely, if only there had been enough time, if only we could understand each other better. Space Dog has a tendancy to hide his emotions under a lot of sarcasm and personal irony so that he might pay you a compliment and you would mull it over for days and days wondering if you had just been insulted. But for the most part he's a good guy and if he wants to insult you, he'll insult you and you'll know it. We've had long fascinating conversations that take no time whatsoever to turn to the topic of sex, usually involving some sort of "perversion." (I use quotes cause I don't consider *all* of it to be perverted, only some of it, and since the definition is my own I reserve to think of the stuff that I don't do, mostly, as perverted.) But anyway, the conversations are fascinating, and they usually switch to other topics over time, usually legal matters - Space is a lawyer and law is a favored past time of his, or maybe just reasoning everything - but often other random things, movies, comic books, gossip, occasionally politics and religion but I find that we agree so much on these topics we rarely get far before being distracted. Or maybe we don't agree so much as we can't stick to such ponderous topics. I doubt it though, we both love debating and politcs and relgion are great for such.

I was still getting over Saturday and felt pretty well low key. I dragged myself over to the phone and called up Space Dog and lay down next to the phone with my eyes closed and chatted with him for a little bit. Both of us can be good at rambling so as soon as we had settled that we'd hang out while Ice Cream and Molasses hung out and coded the day away I got off the phone. They've been working on a new Database for the Cam and their first draft was due Monday. By the time I hung up I was more or less awake though still somewhat weary. Molasses was in a hurry and wanted to rush the shower. The shower is the time to wake up and ease into a day for me, it's somewhere I can achieve a calming environment without necessarily losing touch with the sense of having to get somewhere by a particular time. So while I like going at a steady, determined pace, I don't like rushing.

He jumped out and dressed while I was still toweling off. He was about ready to leave but I asked him to stay with me for the couple of extra minutes while I pulled on my clothes. I'm a pretty unfussy dresser, often enough I wear yesterday's jeans - same pants can go for two to three days and when jeans well...if they get a little dirt it's hardly a big deal and I don't forget my wallet as much that way. Then find two socks (a matching pair is a bonus) and grab a t-shirt and I'm ready. He agreed to wait but he still fidgeted. Then we got down to our cars and saw that the outlet from Grattan (the street I live on) to Olympic was closed with police lines and I smacked my head for forgetting that it was the day of the LA Marathon. We sighed, quickly discussed alternate means of getting our cars the two miles south that didn't involve any of the obvious routes such as crossing Olympic, Vermont or Figueroa. All I could figure was getting on the 110 and heading south a couple of exits. Molasses shook his head with that look of "that's so unbelievably inefficient I won't even entertain it." We got in our respective cars and headed up to James M Wood and headed east. I'm not quite sure where I lost track of him but I realized while I was merging onto the 110 south (which was a bitch because there was a LOT of people trying to exit at Olympic) that Molasses wasn't anywhere near me.

I shook my head and kept going. Saturday was fairly different in this respect and yet I felt about the same. Saturday had involved getting up and hitting the shower without Molasses. Actually getting out of bed took longer than I would have liked and that threw off my timing for the day. I kissed him goodbye, reset the alarm for him and went to work. I always miss him when he doesn't come up to get lunch with me on Saturdays, but this time it would have been logistically very difficult and would have involved a heck of a lot of needless driving on his part. So I just sucked it up like a big girl and dove into my work. As a workday it was fairly bland and I pushed myself as hard as I could so I could have some spare time at the end to work on a few personal endeavors.

I've been working on a document (well a package of documents) to explain the concept of Mage to someone who has never played. It's fascinating and fun for me but I'm finding that some parts are hard to procede without the rules book in my lap, and it seems I've misplaced it. I could have sworn it was in the backseat of my car. I'm pretty sure it was there after the car had been broken into, since a week later I ran a mage game and I know I had it with me then. *sigh* Disorganized Girl strikes again! I also walked to a grocery store a couple of blocks away to purchase some hairspray and barrettes. My hair isn't typically unruly but it often looks nicer when it's put back and out of my face; when the part is a clear line and there aren't whisps sticking up here and there. Normally I can't be bothered to even brush my hair but I know when I'm headed somewhere nice and having messy hair just attracts unwanted attention and causes people to jump to certain opinions. Clean, well-behaved hair allows me to concentrate on other things. Of course my hair is usually pliant when it's something like brushing it, however when it comes to spraying it or anything more daring it puts up a fight.

I was expecting that getting ready would take no more than ten minutes so I was hoping that when Molasses called at about 5.20 I'd be able to run to the bathroom, toss on my dress and comb my hair, spray and apply barettes and dab on the make up. Silly me. I have too much hair for two or three barrettes and any more look silly. So it all took longer than ten minutes to finally stick the damn things in and gather my things and head to the lobby where Molasses was waiting. I was irritated with myself that I couldn't get everything under control in a timely manner and thought that Molasses might be mad that I had kept him waiting. I checked my watch and found that it was six on the nose. Damn. So I was irked but not at Molasses. My only thought was to toss my stuff into my car and head to the restaurant and pray that I didn't miss too much of the ceremony.

Sunday when I got to Ice Cream Assassin and Space Dog's house Ice Cream met me outside, phone in hand. Molasses was lost somewhere in the Wilshire district and getting very frustrated. Things like that frustrate him and I can't say that I don't get it. It's just that, for some reason they don't follow me around. While I'm lost or stuck in traffic and feeling like I need to be somewhere else I can get into a foul mood but I typically forget about it once it's over. Molasses tends to curse whatever concievable organization or institution might have gotten in his way. It gets a little frustrating because I don't notice being lost or in heavy traffic if I have someone with me. I mean I notice but I don't feel anything bad about. Molasses will get into a deep dark mood that tends to scare me a little bit.

That was me when I headed to Kenny and Jen's wedding. I was so annoyed with myself that I didn't stop to think about exactly where I was going and what I'd be doing there. It seems silly to prep for going somewhere if nothing is really going to be expected of me there. But what I really need to prep for is lots of people. If I'm surrounded by people and I'm not ready for it I'll most likely ignore them. Situations like this involve crowded buses, airport terminals, theatre auditions and the mall. But it's a different story when a) the people include several folks I know and possibly several of my friends and b) it is a SOCIAL situation. A WEDDING is a social situation. The other situations I listed are presumably times/places where one is out to do something specific and meeting people is just a side effect. but things like weddings are specifically for people to come to gether and celebrate, usually it involves chumming around with other people, some you may know, likely, with many that you won't. But I suck at chumming. And if I'm not ready to be social, I really REALLY can't handle other people who are.

Here is my commentary on the wedding:
Absolutely beautiful. It was utterly amazing in how wonderful it was. The bride was glowing, the groom was grinning enough to split his face and both sets of parents were beaming. Jen's dress was gorgeous. (mmhhh Red....*drool*) And Kenny looked about ready to pass out from happiness. The ceremony was short and very sweet. Everyone stumbled over their words at some point but their meaning was clear enough. And that kiss *was* the best wedding kiss ever. Would kick Buttercup and Westley right out of the running. Everyone seemed to have a fabulous time. So this is sort of my confession to being the exception.

Sunday I was hanging out at Ice Cream and Space's and waiting for Molasses to find his way back. I had given him directions and he had still balked at taking the 110, but I assured him that the sluggish traffic he saw was people exiting at Olympic so he didn't have to wory about too much traffic. *sigh* I dislike being inefficient as much as anyone but sometimes he gets silly about it. Sometimes a cruddy solution is the only one that will work well. When he finally did show we were all pretty hungry but Space and I decided we wanted real food rather than pizza which is what Icecream and Molasses wanted (well specifically Molasses because he wanted something easy that could be brought to him).

So Space and I set off driving before we started considering where exactly we wanted to find some food. We settled for El Cholo on Western just south of Olympic. They didn't really have a breakfast menu and I was kind of hungering for some of my mom's style of breakfast. An egg in a crispy tortilla with salsa. Very messy, but very yummy. And menudo. Haven't had some good menudo in a while. But they only had combo platters of generic later-in-the-day type food. And it sort of screwed with my rhythm every time the waiter mentioned "this evening" ("what would you like to eat this evening?""would you like something to drink this evening, perhaps something from the bar?""Will you like any dessert this evening?") We got there a little after eleven and left by twelve-thirty.

When we were settling the bill I realized I didn't have my wallet and panicked, thinking I had left it at my apartment. I had taken a couple of items out of it the night before and put them in a little black velvet sack with a draw string close hoping that would be a little more classy than carrying my wallet with my keys hooked onto it (the wallet has the word "freak" on it for goodness' sake). Sunday morning I had tossed my wallet and the pouch into my car and then promptly forgot about them so at the restaurant and for a good chunk of the day I was sure they were at my apartment.

Space agreed to cover me and I'd pay him back when I could. We started to mosey on back to the car when we looked up the hill and noticed that Olympic was roped off and there were people carrying signs and other folks running past them. Curious, and hoping that the signs would be something interesting, we headed up the hill to take a gander. One of the many things that is really fun about Space is his eagerness to check out things that might lay otherwise ignored by other people. It's something that I truly like about him because it makes for a lot of good adventures and fun anecdotes plus I find courage to try things cause he's along that I couldn't do otherwise. He showed me where the local Oddfellows temple is and we've both considered ways to sneak into the corner house on his street because we've heard it has a secret room only accessible by a fake wall. When I was in Mexico and dreamed up my plan to drive around the two American continents he's been the only person who thought about how much fun it would be without considering the possibilty of failure or tragedy. Of course, he's about the only person I know who could afford to do it. Even if I had that kind of money I'd still feel rather intimidated.

I guess the only drawback is listening to him go on about not being in a relationship and missing being close with a woman. From the sheer amount that he talks about it, it must bother him a lot. I wish I could help him but usually the situation I'm in when I'm trying "help" is to advise a girl to leave her guy cause he's no good for her. Getting people together is not something I have the first clue about doing. Slightly irritating thing is that he has *always,* and for as long as I've known him, been complaining about this. The frequency is begining to both him too and he's sort of tried to find a way to fix it, turning to Internet personals and such. But the sort of girl he's looking for, who would be looking for the sort of boy he is, is kinda on the rare side. She'd have to be smart, together, cleave only to him and yet still be willing to entertain the idea of maybe swinging one day or heading to a nudist beach, saving up for some suspension contraption or system that otherwise involve a coital position that always looked a bit painful to me. She'd have to be mostly normal except for this area of kink. Then he'd have his match. Except, of course, that Space Dog would probably not be interested in the long haul. By his own admittance the type he falls for is the kind that's usually already in love with a completely abusive dickhead and if she ever got with him she'd totally rip out his heart even as he swore to alleviate all of her life's problems. Yes, ladies and gents, Space is a fixer.

I'm not entirely sure why I've gone into all of this detail. Quite possibly Space would be mad if found I've written it. *shrug* maybe. But I want to explain that this is Space Dog. He's got some issues, but don't we all? Space is a fascinating guy so I like hanging out with him. We were at the intersection of Pico and Western checking out the people running slowly by and the sparse but happily cheering crowd and I realized I was feeling the best I've been in a long time. He was hoping someone had put up a fun sign or two saying such inspiring things as "It's just too far, turn back!" or "The PAIN, Will it NEVER stop?" Slightly sadistic, always intriguing. }:>

The signs were cookie-cutter signs that Honda had printed up that left blank the spot where the name of the person the sign-holder was cheering on. So the signs were mostly identical except the names on them and the way they were written. At this spot on the race the runners had just finished heading up a long hill, southbound on Western and at Olympic were rounding the corner and heading east. This was near the 23-mile mark so many of them were very nearly home-free. I'm pretty sure that by the time we were there someone had already crossed the finish line, but it was still rather impressive.

I mentioned my apartment was maybe two miles away. We decided to walk there so I could get my wallet since I was sure it was there, which meant my driver's license was too. It was a very beautiful day and I was very glad to be outside in it.

We chatted about several different things, usually somehow tangentially related to sex. Now there are issues that I normally have when the topic of sex comes up in coversation and these are often issues that I don't even remember to consider when I talk about it with Space Dog. One is that having sex for me pretty much involves someone else. Thus talking about sex involves talking about someone *to* someone else. Some people get weirded out by this, I'm not sure, but I think I'd be uncomfortable if I knew any of my partners talked about me with other people, specifically when it came to such predelictions. Additionally a certain amount of comfort must be achieved between me and someone else to talk about, usually it's the same amount and kind of comfort that comes with the willingness to have sex with them. (No small wonder that once upon a time I could talk with Space Dog about the subject, and then play around with the actions.) This is harder than it seems since there have been several people that I could sleep with but couldn't actually talk about this with. But the two it has been an easy discussion to have with have been Space and Molasses, although the nature of the conversations have actually be radically different. With Molasses the conversation revolves almost entirely around our own actions and what we prefer. With Space it's almost exclusively talking in generalities so that as much of the subject can be covered. Of course the boy is interested in a lot.

So this hesitancy to talk about this with just anyone. Probably why I'm dodging writing down specifics of our conversation here. Of course I've already uncovered one secret - When Space and I were together I had asked him to refrain from mentioning it to anyone else. I was even nervous of Ice Cream noting I had spent the night. I'm still trying to figure out why that had made me nervous while other actions had made me nearly brazen. Even now I hope there are some who don't find out. Hmm, even to me this sounds like I'm embarassed of Space. I'm not, I'm more embarassed of myself. Often enough when I am with friends (especially those that are older than I) and we're talking about something that is mostly innocuous like gaming or movies I'll be okey, but when we get into topics like politics or international news I'll start to feel slightly out of my league, cause well the other folks are older, they should know more, right? So I do everything I possibly can to stay informed, and carefully slice away my intuition and emotional responses so that only reason is left, and then I can play. But I know when my emotions come up, I know when I fall short, and I know when I goof. I know when I allow my desire command me instead of the other way around. I've never been sure if sleeping with him was a goof or not.

So we were walking eastbound along Olympic looking at the runners, looking at the people along the sidewalk, checking out the buildings that we've driven by but had never actually seen. We remarked on the runners and the supportors cheering them on. We grinned at the kids that ran out onto the street to great their daddy and run with him for some thirty feet. We pointed at the guy with the elaborate flag commemorating 9/11. We considered the logistics of putting together a drum circle that would stretch the entire distance of the route and make the entire city throb to one beat.

And I was thinking about The Wedding.

I don't know what started it exactly. When we walked in the door to the restaurant we were greeted and invited to sign a red silk piece of cloth. I could feel something in me sliding. I directed my attention to writing - it was actually harder than it looked because the cloth would slide with the pen and nothing would get written, just a large ugly splotch. I turned around to greet everyone and say hi specifically to the folks that I knew. There were probably eighty people there and I knew ten, including the bride and groom. With all of the people milling about I became aware more intensely of the grip that I was losing. I was trying desperately to align my mindset with the environment but something kept missing.

Have you ever found yourself falling and scrambling for something to grab onto just to feel it slide under your fingertips, maybe clipping your nails on the way down? I was starting to feel that way. I said hi to Kenny and Jen and was introduced to Kenny's parents and two of his brothers. Molasses asked if I would like to have our picture taken since the guestbook was a page for each photo and whatever the subject(s) of the photos wished to write. I thought of my hair and my mood and hesitated before asking if I really had to. It was one thing to allow my mom to take pictures of me becuase I was with Molasses in them - it seemed to me she would take my pictures whether I liked it or not (and I really didn't, but Molasses gave me a reason to smile and suck it up), but it was something else to have the option of just saying no. It's just that saying "no" seemed really negative in this situation (odd, that), and more than a little rude. So finally I said yes and smiled at the camera. I didn't wait for the Polaroid to pop out of the camera I found my seat and settled in. I couldn't get a single thought to finish forming completely that wasn't something overwhelmingly crushing. I was jealous of everyone because they looked beautiful and fit, their beautiful traditional Chinese gowns, their perfect hair, I was jealous of the joy evident on their faces. I felt like I was starving and I was watching people eat at buffet on the other side of thick glass wall. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't reach through it to the other side.

As people gathered at the table I was seated at I receded into myself and was aware of observing everything from way behind my eyes. Molasses was seated to my right and the guy who sat to my left was named Roger and was very loud. He wasn't particularly crude, at least not where I could hear but he was trying to be social and many of the others at the table were entertained. I just couldn't really deal with it. I felt it bubbling up and I tried to sit as still and as far back in my chair as possible. I was a fallen leaf and this was the forest floor. But my emotions still found me and I had turn my back on the table for some privacy to cry. Fortunately the only thing behind me was a curtain through which I could make out figures of people walking outside and cars going by. This was oddly calming and I watched them and idly wiped my tears.

Molasses eventually came by and sat down. He was thankfully silent and held my hand and occasionally wiped the tears away. That was the start of a very bad night for me. The only time I wasn't miserable was during the ceremony and then well afterword. I was trying my damnedest not to make a scene but I don't think I was successful. After the ceremony everyone lined up to be recieved and I was trying to talk myself into smiling when Molasses started prying. Dammit, he's a boy. I *know* he knows about damming up one's emotions, about shoving them down and putting them away when it's time to do something. I just hadn't completely finished closing the floodgates when he came along to see what was what and I wasn't strong enough to close them while he ws distracting me. So there I was standing in line with all the pretty people and I was trying to feel fine, or at least look like I did and trying to asure Molasses I'd be okey. But in reality, I couldn't breath, the more I fought them, the more the tears would rise up. I tried to apologize for being such an idiot, but I couldn't say anything or make any noise beyond a hoarse whimper so I did the only graceful thing I could think of and turn tail and fled back to my seat.

I sat and wept and gulped air when I could. My nose was stuffed and though my eyes wouldn't stop producing tears they felt oddly dry and prickly. Molasses held my hand, wiped more tears and held me close. When I calmed down he looked me in the eyes and said he had to go to congratulate Kenny and Jen and would I be okey with out him? By this point I was more than a little angry with myself and wipd my face on the napkin and got up. When Molasses stood and looked at me a startled look came on his face as he saw me smiling and pointing the way. Through the line I kept up the smile and was happy and joyous for the couple and greeted the parents with sincere pride. I *was* happy to see them married and wouldn't have missed it for the world. Not being able to *feel* it was a temporary hitch.

When that was overwith Molasses and I headed back to our seats and he mentioned liked that Roger guy. I turned and asked him if he would like to switch seats and he agreed. By this time my smile had completely slid off my face and all I wanted was somewhere dark to hide.

Keeping up appearances is like...I don't know. I once saw a man haul a train engine with his teeth. Imagine a train engine tied to your innards, imagine trying to drag that around. That's how much work smiling is when I feel this bad. It's just excessively difficult and I'm too tired to put up a fight. But, you see, I have a degree in theatre, and I'd like to think that four years of living at USC's DRC has made me believe that "the show must go on" is more than just optimistic crap. Some of the shows I was in *was* like hauling a train onto the stage with one's bare teeth.

So, dammit, I'd try. I just have no idea how I did. Mostly trying involves staring up at the Christmas lights that were hung from the rafters. Not to be morbid, but I must confess I originally looked up because I noticed the rafters and first thought "they'd probably hold my weight if I hung myself from them." But I blurred my eyes intentionally and saw the space between the lights and was instantly entranced. They made their own constellations and were tiny fists of blurred light. When my eyes were focussed they looked light pinpricks piercing reality itself and I didn't want to look away.

When anyone addressed me I answered as quickly and directly as I could and went back to looking up. It must have come off as stand-offish. Molasses later said that I was ignoring him and didn't want his company, eventhough when he asked what I was thinking about I told him about the lights. I didn't think I was pushing him away, but I guess I was.

The food was good, I guess, though the chicken was perhaps spicier than I thought it would be. The wine was very good and so was the pasta. I ate the pasta and had intended to eat the chicken but found myself full. I decided to skip the coffee, which is pretty odd for me but I decided all I wanted to taste was water. When most of the food was winding down I noticed a few of the people I knew running outside, presumably to smoke. Faith and her man, Sergei(not their real names) and a couple of others. I thought I mostly had a handle on things and wanted some fresh air. The restaurant was indeed lovely but with so many bodies it was quite warm and stuffy. I excused myself and made my way outside.

I made my hellos and realized I had nothing to talk about. Folks don't always believe me when I tell them there is a certain etiquette that goes with smoking and drinking even if the drinker and smokers aren't aware of it. One of them is if you join the smokers and you don't smoke (or you're not going to smoke this time, as was my case) you better bring something to the party or the others are likely to get nervous. I must have been eyeing the cigarettes because I was offered one and I said the first thing that came to mind, Blame Molasses. As if it's his fault. I made up my mind a long time ago that I didn't want to buy any more cigarettes. They were getting too expensive and I wasn't a heavy enough smoker to really make it worth the expense. Usually the last two or three in a box would get crushed or loose a lot of tobacco before I ever got around to them, it would usually be about a month after purchase and heading towards stale. So I stopped smoking. Well, I had stopped buying before I had stopped smoking. Hanging out with the same people meant everyone knew who the smokers were and so they knew who I was and offered me smokes. Being that my policy was just to not buy anymore until I really, really felt like it, I didn't turn it down. But this time I hadn't been offered a cigarette in quite some time. Actually, in January I was offered one by someone who shall remain nameless for having the gall to taunt me with it. The last time I had been offered I think was in May or June.

At any rate a conversation ensued about whether or not I really missed them and for some reason I neglected to mention that less than two weeks ago I had bought a pack and actually smoked one. I had been missing one, had an opportunity on a day when I would't spend any time with anyone who would mind terribly and I took it. Of course, all I need is one smoke to remember why I stopped. Why do the things taste better in memory than in reality? At any rate I'm still irked at having to pay over four dollars for that memory "refresher." Why aren't they sold in packs of ten, or even five?

Anyway people were still moving in an out of the building and at one point I found myself back inside at the table with Molasses. They had served dessert, and while I'm sure it looked good I just couldn't get myself to eat it. I had a taste but I couldn't bring myself to eat more. *sigh* some girls eat when they're depressed, that's about the only time I can make sure I *only* eat when I'm hungry.

For some reason at this point I decided I would get drunk. I would get something mightly alcoholic and chug it and try to salvage something of night. I got up to the bar and ordered a Rusty Nail and decided to drink in the fresh air outside. It would be a nice escape, I would be able to hear people talking rather than shouting over karaoke. (I know, I blaspheme, but I don't really like karaoke. Fortunately, the others their did and they enjoyed it.) Outside I found a corner to huddle in and drink. I think it's at this point that Faith asked me how I had been, how things were going, anything new? (I think that's right, if the time is off, please forgive me, I often have a bad memory for how or when someone said something to me. Frequently I get confused as to how a certain fact may have been communicated to me, whether via e-mail, telephone, face to face coversation or reading it in a journal. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's not.) Anyway, Faith was asking perfectly mundane questions but I began to panic. I wasn't sure how obvious I had been inside, but I certainly wasn't hiding anything from anyone who specifically looked at me. I also know she reads my journal and, well, I've always felt like a reading a person's journal is much like watching them role out of bed, strip and stand in front of their closet trying to think of what to wear. For most people, anyway. And besides I read her journal fairly regularly and sent her the link to mine. But for some reason, face to face I couldn't be direct. I wanted to answer with something innocuous and good for socializing so "shitty" wasn't apropos. I stalled, asking what she meant, and struggled for some facts to comment on. But other than being depressed the only real changes in my life have been minor ones at work. So I answered with fact that nothing had really changed in the past few months, got the job, the boy, the apartment in LA...and trailed off into a shrill laugh. She stared at me like...well, like I was lying and I tried to grab onto something to say. I think a conversation did end up growing out of social chatting but I was soon caught by the barmaid who asked me politely to step inside so as to avoid a ticket for drinking in public. I didn't really want to go inside. I had felt like I was starting to get a handle on something. I was on my own two feet and my brain was starting to churn out something akin to reason. I acquiesced but not before glancing in with a certain amound of dread. I excused myself and headed in. On the way in Faith reached out a hand and scratched assuringly on my arm. I smiled to myself for a moment and went to my seat.

Somehow I couldn't hold onto the feeling of calm I had achieved outside and it slid from me like a sail caught in the wind. I set my drink down and tried to hold my breath to avoid the snorts and chokes that came with trying not to cry. It was no use. I twisted around in my chair to stare at the cars passing by outside and let my breath do whatever it liked. I cried hard but I still did what I could to keep it quiet. I was aware of people singing and dancing behind me but I couldn't have been any closer to them if I had been left adrift a thousand miles away on the Pacific in a dinghy with no oars. The tears ended but I still felt lifeless, empty and completely without energy.

I turned back around and settled in to watch the reflections of people dancing in the wine and water glasses. At one point the Ice Cream Assassin came by and set to my left to exchange pleasantries. I did my very best to be social without encouraging any invitations to dance or sing. I know he was left at a loss and rather than sit and stew in it he opted to step out and dance some more. Good for him.

I eyed my Rusty Nail and thought about downing and asking for another. But I had lost my desire to drink when I stepped inside. It was still mostly full and for that reason I didn't want to abandon it altogether. But if I was going to be alone I at least wanted to be somewhere I could breathe and not have my ears ringing.

Outside it was getting cold but I felt better huddling by myself. Only two women from the party who I didn't know were outside and they were talking quietly by themselves. Occasionally I peeked in the door to listen to who was singing and watch the people dance and then went back to observing the traffic and the people walking by. I didn't cry, I just held myself quietly and existed.

At one point though, I had the door propped open to watch the people inside and Sergei wandered up to me. I thought he was going to smoke so I held the door for him expecting him to step through. He looked at me, dead in the eyes and smiled. I was a little surprised and asked him what was up. He smiled again and gestured outside. I looked around and followed along. Faith doesn't date rapist murders, I figured, and anyway, Sergei is of a slight build so I thought I could take him.

Outside he surprised me again by asking what was wrong and while I stumbled around for something to say he just went on, explaining how it was fine if I didn't want to tell him anything, he was a stranger and, after all, my private business was my private business. It was like the wall that I had built up to keep back the torent had actually been made of loose sand and now it was soaked and leaking. I took a step back and covered my mouth trying not to start crying again. I could barely speak above a whisper and insisted it was nothing, that I was being dumb and...and...it would go away and...and...I just...it was stupid...I was stupid.

Faith came from out of no where with a look of concern on her face. She was stroking my hair even as I was choking and struggling to say a complete sentance. But I couldn't think of one. I couldn't even think about making myself stop and they both put their arms around me as every pretense dissolved and I bawled like a baby.

I have to stop for a moment. I'm going to go back to Sunday. The two miles from Western to Grattan stretched kind of long and by the time we got to my apartment I was plenty tired and thirsty. Space Dog had only seen my apartment once before and it only had a mattress on the floor, no table, desk or book cases. I think he liked it. Space is not someone I've ever gotten particularly emotional with him. I've mostly only related to him on a very cerebral level, though there have been times when he has been very emotional. Mostly because of his own inner struggles, although the bottle he had in his hand (at the time) didn't seem to help him much. Space is the sort of person who, when he speaks, I can't really tell if he's being serious or not. Since he usually isn't (it seems like) most of the time I shrug and decide to take his actions seriously and just have verbal fencing matches the rest of the time.

This was more of the same though the way he went on about running in the Marathon next year I almost think he's serious. I do wish I had the first I idea as to how to go about making a drum circle. We thought that would be awesome, and possibly inspiring to the runners. A small drum circle - maybe no more than three drummers - placed every two miles with any sort drum owned by the participants. With any luck this would span the spectrum of drums from around the world. If one could keep said drummers from, say, doing anything illegal, it might very well be really cool. Of course, I fully admit I stole the idea, there was a lone drummer on the way with the sort of tom tom that Tito Puente used to play between his legs. We heard him long before we could see him and for a ways after we passed him.

After cooling down in my apartment (and I realized that my money and ID were actually in my car) we set off again, but this time I showed Space and abandoned building. A few days ago I had seen someone coming out of it so it must have squatters but all of the first floor windows and doors and openings to the basement had new boards covering them with shiny new bolts in place. So it was empty but not exactly abandoned. Too bad. With Space at my side I might actually have gone in. When I was growing up I was the sort of kid who might investigate a route home that might include running through other people's backyards, or sneak as close to an isolated house without getting yelled at as possible, as long as someone else was trying it with me.

Space told me about the Chaos Order, or whatever their name was on Sunday. Apparently they were folding, which was too bad since that was the first I'd ever heard of them. He had gone spelunking through sewers with them. It sounded damned fascinating.

The walk back to Western went by much faster but the end of the race wagon crossed us at one point and we had to watch people waiting at red lights before being allowed to proceed. We felt kinda bad. These were people who had finally made it a good 23 to 24 miles and it was unlikely they'd be allowed to run the last twoish miles. Sometimes life sucks like that.

We walked most of the way back in silence, taking in some of the more showy runners - the guy running backwards, the guy skipping rope - and taking it easy on our legs as much as possible. Near where I had parked there was some sort of empty temple. It looked like a church but there was no cross on it anywhere. There was an iron fence all the way around it and no sign to indicate what the building might have once been used for. This is exactly the sort of thing the compells us to know more. There have been very few people who I've ever known (or even known of) who have such an interest in digging up every story and knowing *everything* about that which other people have over looked.

Odd thing is, or maybe not odd, just unfortunate, I don't get to hang out with Space very much. Being a lawyer is apparently very demanding on his time. We have to work at finding the time to do anything. Too bad it's always over so soon.

The building turned out to be a church (temple) for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. There were spiderwebs in a lot of the leftover lumber and metal work. They had a really nice courtyard that looked untouched to the point of negligience. It looked like they were doing work on the landscape that included tearing up concrete and then suddenly abandoned it. Around the corner there was a huge ditch that must have gone down about fifteen feet and exposed pipes of various sizes. The dirt from the ditch was piled right next to it and several broken and rusted pipes stuck out of the mound. We figured the story might be in some public office somewhere, who currently owned the land and why there was construction that had been haulted.... But we had to leave it at that. Too bad, the building was an interesting design. It seemed like the knave stopped right where the ditch was and there was a sign at one of the gates that read "Silence please, baptism in progress." oh well.

We headed back to his house and mostly lounged for the rest of the afternoon.

Have you ever sat down and really pondered the differences between day and night. Have you ever really considered what it's like sitting in the middle of a tremndous storm versus standing in the calm after it's rained itself out? I remember one time walking home from school, I think I was a junior in high school. Clouds had loomed for most of the day but at the school it had seemed as though they were leaving when classes let out. But on the way home it started to rain and I remember looking up and seeing that half of the sky was clear and half of it was cloudy. The trippy part was my right half was getting wet whereas my left half was staying dry. It just was a mind-bending concept that I could stand under a clear sky as well as a rainy one at the same time. I mean I guess I had to know that such places existed, that *somewhere* has to be the edge of the storm, that if it's raining on me it can't really be raining on the whole rest of the world at the same time. But the experience of it was just working its way through all of my reality and shoving everything aside so that things seemed to come into clearer focus for a moment.

I guess that's what I've been trying to create here.

I was, at one point on Saturday, crying on Faith's shoulder, too wrung out and tired to ask myself to knock it off. The torrent was wearing itself down and I was feeling like I had been washed ashore and left to my own devices. Of course "my own devices" involved Faith talking with me at length, letting me talk about myself in ways I rarely allow myself and assuring it is no crime to feel as I do and encouraging me to find some sure ground to move forward from. At one point Molasses came out with some ice water and a hug and then pranced back inside. Sergei was also anxious to go back inside and get back to the party.

But Faith and I stood outside for a good long while talking about family and "back home" eventhough that "home" for both of us was really just shorthand for our parent's houses, and not really our respective homes per se. She asked about my father. I answered as much as I knew because the question was related to his cancer. I believe it's cleared up but it's hard to tell. Health is not something I really talk about with my dad, eventhough he might launch into lengthy detail of his aches and pains. He's 76 years old so he has quite a few aches and pains, but when it comes to direct threats to his life well...I think I'm supposed to pretend like there is no such thing when I'm speaking with him. He told me recently that his back was hurting quite a bit, and it took everything I had to ask how he was doing besides his back. I just couldn't spit out the word "cancer." So his answer revolved around being tired because his back wouldn't let him sleep.

I want to write about Faith but I'm kind of nervous. She's one of the regular readers (near as I can tell) and I am keenly aware that I don't really know her that well. But for all that anything that I would say, I think, would include several compliments, but I'm always wary that they might come off as lip service. So let me start by saying Faith is...well if ever there was a classy broad who is also a fierce feminist and dedicated to sensuality as well as thought and believed in expression on every level well.... heh. I'm still nervous.

Faith always was one of those for me who was a friend of an aquaintance of a friend of mine. But because of gaming we were often in the same place and often found ourselves eating or smoking or chatting in the same groups. She's also someone who wholly understands my obsession with Tori Amos. Those are few and far between and very precious to me.

She's beautiful, a very fine dancer and extremely talented with the English language so it sort of comes as a surprise to me that she would be doubting herself these days. It's only sort of a surprise because it always seems to me that only the people who have no need of doubt are the ones who constantly question themselves.

She took it upon herself to see to it that I was okey, and while that was unexpected it was not unhelpful, so I am extremely grateful to her.

Our conversation wandered off to topics on the news - when she mentioned R Kelly's sex slave scandal I didn't entirely understand what she was driving at, but I think I do now, though I actually haven't heard anything about it on the news. I think I've been avoiding listening to NPR so that I can concentrate on this. But now that I understand what she meant I understand how it was tied to how I was feeling on Saturday, a little bit. Abject depression is tripped by nothing at all, but the sorrow and fury and frustration that comes with listening to the news looks almost exactly like depression and has many similar effects. The conversation pretty well ended when I heard someone singing "I will Survive" and remembered suddenly that Sergei had been threatening to sing it all night. I stopped her and pointed inside and remarked that I thought her man might be singing. We went inside and sure enough he was. He waved to her and she had a huge grin on her face.

The party ended soon after that and Molasses and I said our good-byes. By this point I was exhausted and hoped I could make it to my bed before collapsing.

On Sunday, the day ended with the television. The Simpsons, Malcolm in the Middle and The X-Files are pretty good TV, and eventhough I've kind of pulled away from watching The X-Files recently, this was a good place to pick it up from. Two thoughts: They better not kill off The Lone Gunmen, and I wonder just how much of a Childhood's End this story is going to turn out like. Looks like every cornerstone that humanity has ever come up with came from outer space and the newest generation on the show (Scully's son) has some limited mastery of telekinesis.

Two days, next to each other. Couldn't be more different for me. Two folks who let me in and who have my trust. They're not that different though. They're both originally from Tennesee.