Writer's Block...

*sigh*

The moon is in Scorpio today, and I seem to be having trouble articulating my thoughts clearly. No post today, but perhaps tomorrow...

Hated Sunday, Orlando Megacon, an old friend...

There must be something about Sundays in England, because I know of only two songs in the somewhat popular culture (Every Day is Like Sunday by Morrisey and Hated Sunday by Black Box Recorder) that are written about Sunday, and both of them seem to imply that it is depressing business living in England on Sunday.

This epidemic must be spreading.

Today is the latest in a long line of gloomy mornings that I have woken up to (although this "morning" started about 1:30 in the afternoon...). For part of the week I got to see sunshine by the end of the day, streaming serenely in through my windows at work (yes, I get an "office" with windows, I just happen to have no door, and a wall that does not reach the ceiling...), so things were working out alright. Until Friday. The sky stayed a sad overcast all day, leading into a slightly drizzly Saturday, and now an equally melancholy Sunday.

Hated Sunday.

It doesn't help that I thoroughly overexerted myself socially yesterday. I had to make the annual pilgrimage to Orlando Megacon, despite the lack of the usual suspects to accompany me (someone has to keep the tradition going). Saturdays for cons are always the busiest, and as I wandered haplessly through the throngs of American Otaku I found myself wishing for a sweet, geeky boy of my own to hold my hand and point at swords and dragons and anime figurines with (my ex was never really interested in such stuff, but then I had thought that my interest was waning anyway...), or at least a few like-minded friends for company. (Swords? Dragons? Anime? Didn't you go there for the comics??) Actually, there were lots of comic books, just few that interested me. The Indie/Alternative comic scene (represented dutifully by both Top Shelf and Alternative Comics) has shrunk exponentially over the few years that I have attended Megacon. Hear the sarcasm dripping when I say let Anime and Superheroes reign forever...

I did, however, have a nice conversation with Andy Runton of Owly fame. One of the coolest, nicest guys you'll ever meet, and one of the cutest, awesomest comics you will ever read. I will plug for him shamelessly and often. I mentioned my recent life upheavals, and we talked mostly about choosing career paths in life, and following your heart. He's quite obviously following his, and I really hope it pays off for him in the long run.

After wandering aimlessly for a while, I decided ultimately not to purchase anything except for a Disney Princess from a dollar vending machine. Don't ask me why. I think that every now and again I just have to validate my "inner princess", even if it is Disney style. How fitting that I randomly received Sleeping Beauty... (What I am really looking for is something of Sailor Moon as Princess Serenity. I almost never see anything, and when I do it is not what I am looking for. Of course, upon scouring the internet I realize how not interested in the series I am anymore, and how I just like the idea behind the character. Such is life)

As I left Megacon, I found myself wishing that I had gone to a Ren Fair instead. There would have been most of the same neat stuff that interested me (save for the anime), and it would have been less crowded I think. (Plus better food.) But I left in high spirits, it felt good to go out and look at neat stuff, even if it was on my own. I got into my car and set my directional sights upon my coffeehouse haven, Stardust, and took off.

The rest of the evening fell apart into too much lively conversation and a loud karaoke night that I slipped out of, Cinderella like, before I had a chance to take the stage. I wouldn't have attempted to go karaoke-ing at all, but an old friend from high school who used to be my amateur musical duet partner insisted that I sing with her. She kept staring at me with her intense eyes, as if she were enamored with me (a behavior I cannot remember if she used to do when we were younger) and I wonder if she has noticed how much more self-conscious I have become under her gaze.

I had let this friend of mine go a while ago, we developed separate paths in life, but now she is back in the area and interested in reconnecting. I followed along and echoed her sentiments, but as we sang together in the parking lot (because if we couldn't take the stage together we had to at least sing together somewhere...) I didn't feel the same magic I used to. I have missed singing with others terribly, and have only recently re-discovered my voice. But now, instead of retreading the past, perhaps I need to move foward and embrace the new.

Or maybe I was just mentally and spiritually exhausted. I really cannot spend too much time in party-like situations, it takes too much out of me. I end up feeling empty and broken inside, much like today, my "hated Sunday".

But I just added Iron & Wine into my playlist, I have just discovered that I have lost close to another ten pounds (I would turn cartwheels if I had the energy and ability), and the sun seems to be coming out. Perhaps this isn't such a bad Sunday after all...

Still mourning for the American Dream...

Here is an old aquaintance's take on the late, great Hunter S. Thompson. I think that he said it better than I did...

The LiveJournal of Tomorrowman...Today! (scroll up)

Distraction

Aside from the fact that I just didn't feel like I had a lot to write about today, I got distracted reading this really fucked up comic that one of my friends mentioned in his blog. He has weird taste. Really weird.

On the plus side, I seem to feel inspired to draw again! Not that I've acted on much, just an unfinished illustration for a friend, but I may actually have things I'll want to share with the class eventually. I just have to go get more paper first.

Does anyone else out there start to feel the blood begin to flow again when spring arrives? (Yeah, the equinox isn't for a little while, but it's pretty pleasantly warm down here in good ol' Florida.) I must make a trip to a certain park to see the azaleas bloom...

Speaking of trips, I am being cajoled into going up to Savannah next month for the annual St. Patrick's Day festivities. (Like a mini Mardi Gras it is.) Such a random, impulsive road trip in the midst of my uncertain living situation (Still haven't found an apartment yet. Goddess, wtf?) sounds like just the thing I need. Now if only my boss can figure out exactly how many vacation days I actually have...

Sing for Absolution...

So I left off yesterday it what I thought was a hopeful mood, only to find that it took about 24 hours for my former and I to have it out with each other. But I feel it is all for the good, and we have hugged and made up over it. However, some of what he said to me lingered into this morning, as I am terribly good at finding reasons to be upset with myself.

I will not say that I am wrong in feeling upset at times, and I will not say that I am wrong in expressing these feelings. However, I often operate under the assumption that it is understood that I am only presenting my side of the story, and that (in this case) my former has a completely different story to tell. I forget that people may not make the mental leap that I expect of them, and so to clear the air I want to state that my ex-boyfriend is indeed not the anti-christ. (Or any other type of daemon or monster for that matter. )

He is, in fact, a human being just as hurt as I am, who has made sacrifices for the sake of our relationship just as I had. I am very greatful for most of what he has done for me, as I would not be standing on my own two feet in quite the same way if it was not for him. He supported me through a lot of my own issues, and he did it because he loved me. Due to the immediate nature of my circumstances, I had forgotten this, and I have felt terrible about it now that he has reminded me.

This is not to say that I could have done anything differently, but it is time to appreciate the good that came to us from being together. And so, I can only humbly offer my thanks to him, as it seems to be all he asks in return for the good he has done for me. (I promise that this is honest, sincere, and heartfelt, even if the language is quite flowery.)

On a related note, I must extol the wonder that is tarot.com's daily horoscope. I have taken to reading it as of late, because you get both a general overview mentioning important interactions between various planets and one tailored to your own sun sign. Usually when I am feeling simply awful, and I go to read my horoscope for that day/time period, I find my issues and horoscope match somewhat. It reminds me that what I am going through is just a phase in a long cycle of life, and soon things will turn around for the better. (Not to mention that the site as a whole is extremely accurate. As a pretty decent, and picky, tarot reader myself I highly recommend this website to anyone.)

The Return of the "Dreaded" Ex...

Have you been sitting on the edge of your seat in anticipation?

Goddess knows I wasn't. More like slouched over in resignation. Had you asked me Monday, I would have answered that I would prefer him to stay away for an indeterminate amount of time.

But that was Monday.

By Tuesday I had made peace with the situation. But coming home last night was still quite the surreal experience. I opened the door, greeted the cats, and looked up to see my ex sitting at his computer like always, as if nothing had happened at all and I had not been living by myself for the past few weeks. I had been dreading this slightly, afraid that it would be all too easy to again become trapped in the behavioral patterns that made me so unhappy in the first place. But he nervously turned around in his chair, gave me a small smile, and got up to give me a hug. It was suprisingly warm and familiar, and friendly.

We talked nervously at first, and I found something to do by retrimming my suprisingly wilted tulips (they usually last past Wednesday). I took shelter on my computer, and he went back to his. But as the evening progressed, we kept talking on and off. Things got a little easier, and a little less awkward. I didn't even think about the fact that if you live with someone for two years you have instinctual physical and non-verbal responses that you have to remind yourself not to do. But we can kind of laugh about it together, as we know we're both going through the same thing. We both understand.

He also asked if it was alright to continue wearing the snazzy track jacket that I got him for Christmas, to which I said of course. He then sheepishly admitted that he liked it so much because it was a "total chick magnet." What else could I do but laugh at how I had unknowingly given my then-boyfriend something that would apparently help him pick up other girls? I suppose that's what friends are for.

Later on I lamented the unusually quick wilting of my tulips to him. "It's me," he said "I make flowers wilt." I answered with a silly reply, but I think there's some kind of odd truth to that, that maybe in his world flowers wilt faster. Of course, he'll say that I just bought an older bunch of flowers and that it's all only cooincidence. And that's just him. And that's okay.

Gone Apartment Viewing...

No post today... (Or right now. I may post later on tonight...)

Nothing helps a headache like a hangover...

Two of the most glorious and terrible words in the English language could be the term "open bar." Another two words could be "vodka tonic." And throwing in the words "Tori Amos" makes for an interesting Saturday night.

"The Club" at Firestone (But didn't it used to be called just "Firestone?" Why yes, back in the day Firestone was apparently the most happening club in Orlando, but like any good club its excesses got the better of it, and now upon resurrection "The Club" is not allowed to be called "Firestone" anymore due to it's connection to Firestone Tires.) hosted a cd release party for Tori Amos's new album Saturday night. There was swag to grab (A free cd single and a poster), drinks to be had, and merriment to be enjoyed by all.

I am still suffering a slight headache this morning.

But Sunday wasn't a total loss. I dragged myself out of the house during enough daylight to hunt down a few more apartments. The neighborhoods look promising. I'll be making some phone calls a little later. I even managed to do the laundry and move my essentials from the master bedroom to the guest bedroom where my former will be sleeping in a few days. (Yes, I decided that allowing him the room that makes for easier sleeptime avoidance of the cats was the best course of action.) Now I just have to clean the shower...

For the sake of being girly I must mention my Saturday retail therapy excursion with one of my dearest friends. Mainly I just wanted to mention the heartache of trying on such a pretty and fabulous dress that fits perfectly and makes me feel like some sort of princess, only to know that ultimately I could not afford such a luxury right now. Stupid reality. Why must I be forced to perform such trivial things as eating and paying bills and rent? (And of course, upon visiting the website, I find even more dresses to fall in love with. This heartache is killing me...)

And for those of you who haven't heard, my beloved Hunter S. Thompson passed away, supposedly by a self-inflicted gunshot wound. I am terribly saddened by this news, as there never was nor will be anyone able to walk the line between genius and madness quite the way he did. Through his eyes I saw the decade of my childhood in an entirely different light, as well as the one preceeding it. He did all of the crazy things that a lot of us only wish we could (although some do try), and he lived to tell about it all in its full beauty and terror. Goddammit, we still need him down here! He will be sorely missed.

Exhausted, napping.

Sometimes, just as one needs to experience the delirium of sleep-deprivation, one needs to experience the slightly different delirium of exhaustion and drunkenness. I shan't post anymore, on the principle that inebritation is not always the best time to display one's inner thoughts for public view. Mayhaps I will be much more able to dissect my thoughts upon being sober...

And when I finally kissed him the whole world began to ring...

I have this song in my head, and its musical tone has colored my mood for the whole morning. (It's called Song Against Sex, and you'll have to listen to the clip at Amazon. I'm not cool enough to post links to mp3s.) Sometimes you just need to experience the sleep-deprivation-induced delirium that is caused directly by having a wonderful conversation with someone late into the wee hours of the morning. Such was the bread and butter of my life in college, and such was the gift given to me by my Higher Goddess Self the night before. Dissatisfying job be damned, I feel good.

Have you heard of A Softer World? These kids are making the sequential art of my deepest dreams, all beautiful and sad and hilarious at the same time. One of them is writing a novel to help pay his college tuition. Do I need to say anything else?

My ex returns to the apartment on Tuesday to mixed feelings. I am left with the questions of "Do I feel comfortable with the two of us living roommate style for an undetermined amount of time?" and "Do I really want to let him sleep in the master bedroom while I take the guest room?" At least life is moving on.

I reconnected with one of my dearest friends yesterday. She and my mother both confirmed the utter disappearance of myself during the course of my relationship ("You went from being a Goddess to a...a mouse!"). And how can I be angry at myself for it? I watched as I smothered myself, but I was like a sleepwalker, only half aware of what I was doing. Now that I am more awake, I really only feel a tremendous sorrow about it. I didn't think it would happen to me. And if it happened to me then it can and will happen to many other girls and women. How many of us are strong enough and secure enough in ourselves to truly stand up to external pressures, no matter how loving and well meaning they are, and demand that our truest selves be respected? How will I be able to teach the future daughter that I hope to someday have that she needs to stand strong and not allow others to define her?

For that matter, how will I manage to not lose myself again if I ever do have children? It's not like it's a major priority in my life, but it is a hope for someday. I had thought that I would live a good chunk of life first, and then prepare to devote my life to my children. But this week's cover story in Newsweek has splashed the cold water of reality in my face, and I must now steel myself against this new threat to my psyche.

If you think that the issues brought forth by feminists were all resolved in the 60's, you haven't been paying attention. The definition of feminism itself is actually a little sexist in my mind, as it discusses the equality of both genders, not the superiority of the one as the word could imply. Why is the equality of the sexes put in a "women's realm" and not labeled in a more gender neutral fashion? What an insidious world we live in sometimes.

Disclaimer: Men are not evil. Nor are boys. In fact, many of my good and very bestest friends are of the heterosexual male persuasion. Plus I'm also really rather fond of male genitalia. But I really honestly love and respect them for their minds. Their throbbing, pulsing minds.

Back from the watery depths, my Wilco adventure...

So yeah, I meant to post yesterday, but yesterday proved to be one of those awful, daydreamy affairs where I am hopelessly trapped in my own head replaying fantasies and emotions like a washed up star laid up in bed, drinking, and watching her movies of former glory. It got so bad that later that evening I spent two hours agonizing over an email to a friend of mine trying to find the right balance between conversation and weepy "pay attention to me" rhetoric. (I hope I leaned more towards the former.) Thank goodness for the clear light of day.

But now, to business. My Yankee Fog friend wrote something really funny for McSweeney's.

Annnd it is my Carpetblogger friend's birthday. Go wish him a happy one. Do it. Now! Why didn't I post? Um..cuz I sent him an email already! Don't ask so many questions.

So how was Wilco? Why, I'm glad you asked! That's what I was writing about yesterday before I got lost in the muck and mire. My friend who was supposed to go with me bailed at the last minute, and I couldn't find a replacement. I tried to befriend some of the hipsters in line, but alas I am just too uncool. To amuse myself I looked back down the line and saw an echo of horn-rimmed glasses and patterned button-down shirts for quite a ways. I was slightly astonished that no one I knew (either through myself or my ex) was there. Things deteriorated into boring very quickly.

The opening band was good, I think. People around me seemed to enjoy them. They just really weren't my thing, as I was getting my mope on in the corner. I was getting really good at it too, and even started to question why I was there at all. However, I knew from experience that the opening band does not reflect the main attraction and I would probably be happier once Wilco took to the stage. So I held out, but decided to position myself close to the exit so I could split quickly and make it home to the comfort of my cats and the Day-After-Valentine's-Day chocolates I had purchased on sale at Walgreen's before the show. (I am ever the opportunist.)

Now I'm going to sidetrack for a moment, and mention my little secret fantasy that comes to mind whenever I go to a show. I'm probably not the only one who harbors hope that they will meet someone fun and interesting at the concert of a preferred musician. And I'm definitely not the only one who wonders if there's a chance that somehow they will get invited backstage to meet the band after the show. The fact that this has never happened does not deter me, the fantasy lives on. It was particularly accute at this show, as I was by myself. But hey, I thought, who am I kidding? Magic never happens to me like that. Nope. No way.

Okay, back to me moping by the exit. Enter Mister Random Nice Guy. He captured my attention, we exchanged pleasantries, and, desperate for conversation and attention, I offered up my little sob story about how I was experiencing my ex boyfriend's birthday present alone. He tooks this as the signal to start mackin' on me hardcore, and mentioned that he (and the group of friends he came with) are friends with one of the band members. Okay, yeah, right. He seemed like a nice guy, despite being a little too much with the "I think you're cute" attentions, but come on!

And then he whipped out an official House of Blues "After Show" badge (yeah, I know what they look like) that he proceeded to plaster to my shoulder. Okay, holy shit, I started reeling from the sudden shock of having my little rock 'n roll show fantasy come true. I realized that this could be an adventure that I needed to follow. Even if I really had no intentions of more than friendship with this guy.

And you know what? I had a really good time. He dragged me all over the venue to see the show from different angles (and find many many excuses to hold my hand and whatnot), gently forced me to dance with him and just open up in general, and made me laugh a lot. It was a so much more fun way to watch a show than my usual "I'm going to stand in this spot and not move for a few hours" routine. The only thing that made me feel bad was that I let him get a little too carried away with the affectionate contact (although it was all pretty tame) when I knew that I really wasn't going to let him get anywhere with me. But Goddess help me, I just wanted some attention. I wanted to spend a little time with someone unable to keep their hands off of me. I don't know if that's a wrong thing or not.

I left during the encore, and gave him back his "After Show" badge. I kissed him briefly and thanked him for a wonderful evening, and then I was out the door. I practically ran to my car, desperate to return to my usual "comfort zone" and yet feeling better about myself than I had in days. I really didn't know quite exactly what to feel, so I called my ex and discussed a few mundanities about him coming back to move his stuff out of our apartment, and proceeded to eat post-Valentine's Day chocolates all the way back home.

I'm trying to post at the same time every day

but my post for today ran long and needs some editing. Check back later tonight.

-The Managment

Typing to hear the click of the keyboard...

Yeah, I thought I'd type out a really nice, amusing post for people to read, but my thoughts are just scattered to the four winds.

However, I do want to post something. I think it's theraputic for me. I have the Goddess Oracle deck of cards, and I did a little "how can I heal?" reading last week.

It was interesting.

Obviously I needed to grieve my loss (do I still need to? God I'm so sick of being sad...), and the underlying cause of this whole mess is change (which I welcome, because I was in a terrible rut), but the one thing that I can take action on to help me get through is apparently...

...laughter. Wha? How the hell am I supposed to find this funny? But I'm thinking that maybe it's more a matter of finding the humor already there, and not trying to make light of the sad bits. And the best way for me to find something humorous is to tell someone else a story about how "tragic" my life is (obligatory raising of hand to forehead in 3..2..1..), because despite my overwhelming need to express every little nook and cranny of my psyche I'd hate to think that I was boring anyone with another pity party story.

So there we go. I've found my raison d'etre (is there a French way to say reason to blog?). Now if I could just find an affordable apartment in a decent neighborhood that has all the amenities I want...

End note: I am going to see Wilco tonight. It's part of the fallout from having dated a guitar-playing indie rocker (along with a bitchin' iTunes discography). But I think it's better for me to go with a friend than to try to sell the tickets on Ebay. At least one of us gets to go. (Sorry hon.)

My First Breakup

So yes, apparently there is life after love, and why not start up where I left off on this Monday of a Valentine's Day?

To answer the comments from my previous entry as The Fabulous Miss Rose:

-I am not abandoning art altogether, I am just figuring out where art fits into my life right now. Since my passion for creating it seems to be lacking, I have decided to re-evaluate exactly how art is important in my life (in all ways, appreciation, creation, etc.).

-Why start over from scratch with a new name and everything? Because I want a "clean break", a "fresh start", a "do-over" if you will. And I feel all weird inside when I know that there are people who know me that are reading my personal thoughts. However, the need to write is far outweighing the need for anonymity at the moment, and perhaps I should just be more open about things to people. And I will keep with the name change for the psychological benefit of starting over. You will notice that you can now get to this blog using www.thegirlinblack.com. :-)

-Transatlantic blog posts are indeed cheap.

Right. Now on to the title of this post. Why have I had such a need for melodrama in my previous postings? Well as you all have cleverly guessed, my beloved and I are no more. It has been officially so for a little over a week now, but the drama had been going on for the past month. Before that first month, I was apparently living an almost desperate lie of happiness as my former lover became more and more miserable without my noticing. (It's his life, so I won't go into detail save to say that I wasn't really the one making him miserable and we are both aware of this.)

This desperate lie was only such because of my own unhappiness, as forcing my free-spirited self into a stodgy 9 to 6 job has really taken its toll. Not to mention the fact that my tendency for introversion was seriously hurting my social life. So what was the one thing that could make me happy? My wonderful boyfriend waiting at home! Oh, how embarassing that I fell into the "love saves everything" trap. Even more embarassing that I fell into a long-term-committed-relationship so young? The jury's still out on that one...

So I've gone through a lot of crying, blaming myself, blaming him, being angry at him, being angry at myself, feeling free and beautiful, feeling like utter crap, and now I'm nearly back to crying. It's a very uncomfortable place to be in, missing someone who has been such a major part of my life for almost three years and then being terribly upset with them at the same time. I miss him terribly, and I regret a lot that has happened to and between both of us, but the "eat your vegetables" part of my brain is telling me that it's best to just move on for now...

Of course, the story continues, and he will return to our apartment at some undetermined time between now and mid-March to collect his belongings and move on. Nothing will be resolved to my liking until then I am pretty sure. (And it may not even be resolved after that. Who knows?)

In the meantime I have taken to consoling myself with expensive, but wonderful handmade bath products. I buy them in the storefront, I purchase them online, I have decided to try to love a product (or a brand, rather) as much as a person. Instead of being beaten down by Orwell's Big Brother (not the unfortunate tv show), I have been won over by the American Capitalistic society I live in. This is not just my undoing, it is the undoing of many a wearied soul.

Addendum: I got an unexpected phone call from my former lover this evening, and I feel a tad more resolved. It doesn't lessen the ultimate pain of rejection, but I feel there is a good solid hope for our continued friendship. That, and I plan to ease my hurts with day-after-Valentine's-Day-on-sale chocolate. On a bright side he is letting me keep our bed in exchange for two very awesome (and easier to transport) bar stools. Although the bed is still far lonlier without him...