At least I don't see flames when I glance at my reflection. That was short lived.
Despite the lack of logic in it, I feel to my very bones like everything will be alright.
We'll see.
And now I have the rest of my January pasts for you.
2009:
1/12
I often recall something Dr. Summers said when I was a freshman, and it makes me sad. It was something like this: “You can never know the soul of another person, even someone you truly love.”
I wish I could. I wish I could know what any one person was thinking about and feeling, and what they really believed about anything and what they really wish they could say and never do…
But I don’t know anyone that way. Not at all. Sometimes I try a little to let someone know all about what I am feeling or thinking or wishing it was okay to be thinking or feeling…but that seldom turns out to be a good idea. Half the time people just laugh at me or tell me I’m silly, or tell me I’m crazy or on drugs. Or, if it’s something they really don’t like they tell me I’d better stop that, or that they don’t appreciate that at all.
K is good about it sometimes, and she says that when I tell her about the crazy, irrational things that I think about, she realizes that maybe she isn’t as weird as she thought she was for thinking the way she does sometimes…although she’s never volunteered much about what is so weird that she thinks about. But, other times she’s not so good about it and she tells me that I’m being completely irrational or illogical—well, of course I am! Human beings are inherently illogical. Deal with it!
I don’t know…I just really really wish I understood someone, but nobody seems to want me to understand them. Maybe they’re afraid I won’t like them anymore if they seem too “out there”, or that they’re afraid their thoughts would offend me. Maybe they would. I don’t know, and I probably never will because nobody wants me to know them.
I wish someone wanted me to understand them. If I knew that someone wanted that as much as I want anyone to understand me, I’d be on it like white on snow. I want to really understand somebody. Or…at least I want to try.
I do try. Problem is, I can only work with what I’m given, and that isn’t so much.
And… I guess that’s why I’m hard to get to know. If you ask me about myself, I’d tell you a hecka lot about me—almost anything you asked, I’d answer honestly. That’s why I like surveys so much.
But, even with as much as I’d answer, there’s still this: you don’t really want to know me. You don’t really want to know me, and I know that, so how could I ever really let you know me that way? It would just drive you off because you don’t really want to be inside another person’s head. Plus, you don’t really want me to be in your head. You’d be too embarrassed. I’m convinced all of this is true, and that’s why we can never really know each other.
Plus, even if we tried to know each other, we would probably lie to each other in varying degrees, so what Dr. Summers said is probably true. I can never really know another human being. Never ever ever.
Makes me feel very lonely, thinking that.
Aaand…that is why I can never dress up as Marilyn Manson for Halloween—then people would really wonder what’s wrong with me, and so further thwart my plans for ever trying to know someone else. Or, I guess the opposite could also be true. Maybe lots of people would want to know what was wrong with me then. Heh…
(The important thing to take away from this was that my sister wanted to dress me up as Marilyn Manson for Halloween. *cough*)
1/28
Think Imma go read part of Twelfth Night and write poems and think about how I never want to hear the word “androgynous” in another song ever, and…why sometimes I hate myself because I’ll be doing something and the one side of me will grab my shoulders and shake me a little bit and tell me to “stop pretending to be Reeser!”
Of course, that side of me is right, I ought to do that. I ought to have done ages ago though, and I didn’t leave off it then, so why would I do it now? I can’t not be Reeser anymore because the part of me that is Reeser isn’t really pretending anymore—that really is who I am now, that side of me, anyway. The side of me who is being a jerk and upsetting me when she tries to get me to do what would probably be a good idea—I don’t know who she is. I think she’s jealous, really…that I’m still Reeser now.
2010:
1/20
I can’t figure out why half the time I’m up in the middle of the night, looking around for some sort of meat…it’s been happening since maybe the beginning of last year, and it drives me insane when we don’t have any. Sometimes it happens with fruit or vegetables, but much less often.
I didn’t mention the fruit/veggie thing, but I told my mom about the meat issue and she was speculating that maybe I don’t get enough protein in my diet. It’s possible, I suppose, but I don’t know…
Maybe I’ll just blame that on Wolf, too.
1/24
I thoroughly enjoyed visiting with someone equally shameless about being an English nerd and who doesn’t mind talking in normal to somewhat loud tones about how (from him) weird it is when text message look like poems, or how I crumpled up my napkin and it looked like my hand was eating the paper, and wouldn’t that be a good descriptive beat to use in a story? Or (from me) how fun it is to write nonfiction and narrate thoughts that you may or may not have actually had at the time the story’s events happened, and how funny the phrase “walking around with a neck thicker than a sea turtle’s” is when you take it extremely literally.
The girl working at the counter was someone I vaguely knew from theatre, and she was writing new things on the menu board…we taught her how to spell broccoli.
1/26
There was a ninja elephant in my dream.
Anyway, the elephant’s ninja abilities became evident when one of the men on the ground lassoed a rope up onto one of the roof corners and started pulling himself up. He made it up onto the roof, and the big elephant did some fancy ninja kicks with it’s huge, tree trunk legs, and cleared out some of the other men on the ground so it could get to the edge of the house.
And then my dream-imagining decided to be very selective about what aspects of physics it was going to use…
The elephant gave a running jump and grasped the edge of the roof with its trunk, then swung itself upward and over so that it would land on the roof. This is impossible to begin with, but even if it could happen, one would think that the elephant’s weight would be impossible for the decaying roof to support, and that the elephant would go crashing through once it landed. Not so in Reeser’s unfortunate dream world.
Instead of the elephant’s weight and momentum sending it crashing through the roof, these things caused the elephant’s firmly-grasping-the-roof trunk to rip right out of its face!
So there was the dazed elephant on the roof with a big bloody socket where it’s nose used to be…and the man on the roof proceeded to unload bullets into it until it fell down dead.
My dream self was duly horrified.
1/31
*insert string of enraged animal noises*
SOMEONE JUST EGGED OUR HOUSE!!!
WTF!!!!!!!!!!!
2011:
1/2
There are a very few things for which I would swallow fire, and this is probably one of them. It might be hard sometimes though...I mean, when you're a Wolf and you want people to be willing to put out a hand and scratch your ears, it's not enough to will yourself not to remove their hands at the wrist...you have to keep the look out of your eyes that says you would do it if they only gave you a reason.
I've done alright so far.
But I can do better. I know it...
I think that...ugh. The part that I detest is that on some level, it has to be true. I can't just act like it doesn't matter and then at some point, whisk away the subterfuge and come out all fangs and bristling fur...that would be wrong of me. It's just...I'm attached to my rage. I hate it, but I love it. I love to feel something other than miserable, and now I feel like my rage is validated and that makes it worse...
Damn.
1/4
It was a bad day for Jester to choose to ask me what I like about myself.
I don't feel like I have any very good qualities. I know I do, but on days where the dark things have been stirred up...even the good things I might have turn into something bad.
It's kind of funny, because in as many days, I'd had two conversations where different people used extended metaphors to talk about situations, and each decided to cast me as a prince.
I felt kind of good about that...I've moved past whatever outrage I might once have had at not being cast as the correct gender. I've been cast as various people's brother or son, I've been told by strangers that I am a gentleman...if I am now a prince, then so be it.
Apparently I rescue people. Or...people see me as being the rescuing type. Fine. That sounds good. I was feeling yesterday like I had redeeming qualities after all, even if they're ones that kill me (that's the thing about princes, you know...sometimes they die), but today...? I don't feel it.
Today, all I feel is the dark things that cut me off from everyone else and remind me that wolves do not rescue people. The purpose they serve is to be struck down by other characters. Woodmen and hunters and...the real princes.
1/18
I keep trying though. I keep hoping that I can head off some bad things, or that I can in some way rescue people from the badness that surrounds them. I try and try…but I don’t ever know if it does any good or if it’s worth it.
That’s something that appealed to me about the whole Norse mythology…that at the end of the world, at Ragnarok, you would fight against the Ice Giants and know that you would lose and evil would prevail…but you would fight anyway, because it was the right thing to do. True, the Norse gods that are fighting the Ice Giants aren’t really paragons of righteousness…but I feel okay with that. Neither am I. But I try and do the right thing anyway, even knowing I may never succeed.
2012
1/20
In my dream, there is a fjord. The water at the bottom is so black and so smooth that it seems like marble, and the cliffs are so high that the sun does not rise above them, but there is always a hint of light above the cliffs, so it’s like the sun never sets, either. The cliffs themselves are presumably rock, but it’s impossible to tell because they are so white with snow and ice. Maybe the fjord is just a fissure in a massive glacier.
The cold at the bottom of the cliffs is torturous.
Eventually, there is a very slight bend in the channel, and from there on it is a straight path towards a pair of Gates. These aren’t little gates. They are massive—as tall as the cliffs themselves, and as white, and all the time you think you should be getting closer, but they never get closer.
And finally, I notice the boat I am in. it’s a longboat, and the sides are low to the water, but from stem to stern the boat is immeasurable. You cannot see both ends at once, or measure the boat in feet and inches because it’s not a boat made of matter. It’s made of time, and it is eons in length.
This is where my dream decided I needed a little extra weird in my mental life, so it zoomed outward to show me that the still, black waters of the channel were a gradual darkening and solidifying of the starry cosmos, and the icy cliffs were so huge that my dream perspective could not zoom out far enough to fit them in its view…it was not possible to see what was beyond the colossal gates…there was just an impression of high, barren wastes in greys and blinding white.
The impossible sense of size and time in this dream were bad enough, but it was worse because, though I could not see anyone else in the eons-long boat, I got the distinct impression that there were others sitting alongside me, and that these other travelers were motionless, and had given up all thought of moving or of trying to find out more about our destination, or of hoping to ever reach it in the end. They were just there…alive…and yet…effectively dead. And invisible.
1/31
I am practically smashing my face in with frustration...why is everything I write so void of what I think others would percieve as triumph? I mean...I have some...one where a vampire like entity kills an angel who was mocking it...one where a demon captures a soul...one where a storm blots out the morning...one where a devil takes charge and cares for all the injured, fallen angels...but those would probably not be considered the right kind of triumph.
The angel isn't supposed to die, and the soul isn't supposed to be damned, and the morning isn't supposed to be consumed by darkness. The devil isn't supposed to care for the fallen. You're not supposed to support those kinds of triumphs.
A little less absurd, maybe. Plus...apparently I have a lot of my most trippy dreams in January.
Cheers for now.
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