:: Searching for Puck... ::

:: Sunday, October 26, 2003 ::

Last night was Henry's party.

I was a little ticked because all the little 15 year olds at work couldn't cover my shift (nevermind that I've covered about six of theirs in the past month alone) because they had to go to parties. My stance is, don't ask me for god damn favors if you aren't going to return them.

So, after a bit of collecting clothing and materials, Joey and I set out to the party and got there at about 11:30. It was a slow and quiet party, surprisingly, and we ended up sleeping through most of it together on a futon. Something about loud music and people moving around me puts me right to sleep. We roused at about 3am to go say good night to Henry, who was in his bed with Kirsten and another nice girl named Meg, and we had a big cuddle pile, which I tried to nudge Joe into, but he wasn't into it, Henry and he kind of butted heads (figuratively) and I was a big disenheartened. On the way home the next morning, we were talking, Joey and I, and I think that I'll be going to these parties alone from now on...Joey's right...he doesn't really fit in. It's not fair of me to ask him to put himself out of his element by attending them...these just aren't his people. I don't really have people, per se, I get along with everyone, I can fall asleep anywhere, and I can run on precious little sleep - qualities that Joey just doesn't share. We had a really nice morning and cuddled together and did other things we probably shouldn't have in front of people that might potentially wake up, but hey, that's what covers are for. Regardless, I felt like the gap opened up just a little more between us.

After a party or a club appearance, I always get a powerful pull to rejoin my old and wonderful, but terribly short lived and shallow, form of life - always the accoutrement to pretty men and prettier couples. I can't help but repeat in my head that this is what I wanted... this wonderful and dependable affection that doesn't make my stomach twist and my heart drop on a daily basis. Am I addicted to the pain? Do I, in some weird emotional masochism, need to suffer, now, to connect with someone? Did I wait too long to seek stability? Even as I question, I have fallen into the terribly predictable trap of the questioner - starting to find my confidence that my boyfriend cares for me slipping. Little things start to tap at me, and I brush them off, because not only are they mostly unfounded, I know from what my past has taught me that giving in to them is the beginning of a very steep slope downwards, and away from this relationship. I do not turn a blind eye, I don't want it to be confused with that course of action - I merely mean that I question everything in my head exhaustively for reasons and foundation before I even consider presenting it to Joey. I want to make this work, I want to be happy, I want to be whole.

I often juxtapose Vincent and Joey - but when I do, I am not so much contrasting the men themselves as the lives they represent. When I say I am of two hearts, I speak of my lives, not my loves. It simply happens that each has a place in one or the other. I have waited for the dark seduction of QXTs to wear off from my brain, and, some time later, it has only mildly - I can still scent David's cologne. Now I have the fresh memory of being tangled with friends, some of whom I've been involved with more than platonically, in a happy confusion of embraces and petting of hair - and the rigid posture of my chosen boyfriend at the edge of that confusion, smiling the terse smile of a man engaging in something he'd rather not to pacify another. What life, then? I feel that I am inside the story of Sir Gawain, and the question of "What do women want?" hangs over my head. Beauty when alone with one's mate and a cold look for the crowds, or a beautiful mate to walk through clubs on the arm of, and a cold look for me when the night is done? In that story, Sir Gawain sets free the enchanted woman of dual natures to be beautiful all the time by allowing her to make the choice herself...the answer is that women only want to be able to decide their lives for themselves. Centuries later, I have that option, won through generations of women's lib....and it remains an impotent tool at my hands.

~Fox
:: Fox 10/26/2003 07:54:00 PM [Say what?] ::
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