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TS on the computer at the kids' house after everyone asleep. The feeling that something had come unblocked earlier this week, causing a big pendulum swing. Unsettled.
Tor leaving, so casually, so easy to say goodbye and walk away from the machine. He is so real to me, still. I wonder how I am to him. I regret. I wish I could earn the privilege of intimacy. I feel like a guest around him.
I have GREAT hair. I still don't have pictures. I had to clear some logjams in the list of 'things to do.' Lisa is my friend, too, and that's good. People remember my name.
Toast! Toast is cool. Toast is smart. Toast is excited about being alive. Toast is happy to see me!
I delivered Pizza to a strip club, and I stared, fascinated. How do they stand there and look so BORED? They weren't all that good looking, but maybe the cocaine market is soft in Atlanta. But fucked up, like, putting your foot on some guy's table and showing him your crotch, or jiggling your ass cheek with one hand? What the fuck is that?
Flip side, two hours later, watching the Rocky Horror show open with this girl, again, not that 'good looking' in the normal sense. Too hippy, too short, very much like me. :) But she's wearing this black satin corset and cape and she does this strip dance flashing lots of cleavage on both sides, and oh so cute and sexy and full of humor and innocent Betty-Boop expressions and I am enchanted. I want to catch her in my arms. I want to do that. I want a black satin corset and Betty Page in librarian glasses and a pageboy haircut.
Dragon*Con meeting, and we all wander around the hotel looking for each other and finding each other... by t-shirt slogans and combat boots and hippie broomstick skirts. By tattoos and cleavage and 15-year-old glasses and 25-year-old Hawaiian shirts. By weird ponytails, buzzcuts, bleach and dye jobs. Even the ones that could 'pass' are still recognizeable, and seem like, in their middle age, they are comfortable with their role as liaison and assistant to the 'big people.' I keep going to these things because 50 year old people keep going to these things. Because I want to be a grownup who is comfortable with how I look, what I am.
And he touched me, and I cared, and I looked and he noticed, and him knowing was the only thing that bothered me, not knowing what he would conclude from it.
But then there was discussion of French Fries, and much rejoicing.
Gotta go.
Tor leaving, so casually, so easy to say goodbye and walk away from the machine. He is so real to me, still. I wonder how I am to him. I regret. I wish I could earn the privilege of intimacy. I feel like a guest around him.
I have GREAT hair. I still don't have pictures. I had to clear some logjams in the list of 'things to do.' Lisa is my friend, too, and that's good. People remember my name.
Toast! Toast is cool. Toast is smart. Toast is excited about being alive. Toast is happy to see me!
I delivered Pizza to a strip club, and I stared, fascinated. How do they stand there and look so BORED? They weren't all that good looking, but maybe the cocaine market is soft in Atlanta. But fucked up, like, putting your foot on some guy's table and showing him your crotch, or jiggling your ass cheek with one hand? What the fuck is that?
Flip side, two hours later, watching the Rocky Horror show open with this girl, again, not that 'good looking' in the normal sense. Too hippy, too short, very much like me. :) But she's wearing this black satin corset and cape and she does this strip dance flashing lots of cleavage on both sides, and oh so cute and sexy and full of humor and innocent Betty-Boop expressions and I am enchanted. I want to catch her in my arms. I want to do that. I want a black satin corset and Betty Page in librarian glasses and a pageboy haircut.
Dragon*Con meeting, and we all wander around the hotel looking for each other and finding each other... by t-shirt slogans and combat boots and hippie broomstick skirts. By tattoos and cleavage and 15-year-old glasses and 25-year-old Hawaiian shirts. By weird ponytails, buzzcuts, bleach and dye jobs. Even the ones that could 'pass' are still recognizeable, and seem like, in their middle age, they are comfortable with their role as liaison and assistant to the 'big people.' I keep going to these things because 50 year old people keep going to these things. Because I want to be a grownup who is comfortable with how I look, what I am.
And he touched me, and I cared, and I looked and he noticed, and him knowing was the only thing that bothered me, not knowing what he would conclude from it.
But then there was discussion of French Fries, and much rejoicing.
Gotta go.
