Today I did some things. I woke up and ate something, then I took Domino to the park and we walked for about 45 minutes...she cried and was nervous at every single bird and jogger and bicycle for half the way. I told her any other doggie would be jealous to go walking in a nice park, but she wasn't having any of it. She did better when we turned around and she knew we were going home...

*shakes head*

What do you do with a dog like that?

I went to sell some books and got a very small amount of money for them...but at least they're out of my way, since I know I will not be reading them again...stopped in the hardware store and picked through paint chips for colours so I'd have something to show people when they ask me what I mean to choose as wedding colours. Chatted a bit with mum about all of that and watched some television with her. Glad she is being pleasant...I feel much better about things with her that way.

I went out and picked up my ring, too. Now I just have to determine whether or not it's safe to wear it to work.

I don't know what to say. Partly, I watch it happen, with the kind of mild interest you might watch a far-off bird. It's not important, really. But that's not what it's like at all. It isn't a bird. It's the empty sounds of a place that is pale and grey and...desolate (I wanted to say stark, but that seems like too startling a word), and there is the dark voice who is mine and familiar, but there is also that other one. I forget him. I always forget, but, white and frail, it's not my wolf, but this other one who is wailing because of the death that is everywhere. Because of the nothing and the desolation and the impossibility of ever reaching out and touching a single thing except for the asphalt and grey cinder blocks that retain no impressions.

I forgot. How could I? Like I'm not even aware of myself anymore.

Take this vow with me / To stay close, to be near / To be oh, so sincere
Take this vow with me / You of all people must know / There's nothing left around here

This song made me think of it.

Tomorrow I am picking up my ring.

Looking at wedding dresses and...despite my pickiness, I found one that I like, and that can even be made for a reasonable amount in colours that are not white or ivory or off-white or whatever.

That was too simple.
Way, way too simple...

And now, Part Two. Where I am destroyed by Cthulhu, think about pop-up books, and pretend to eat raw meat.
If January has always been a crazy month for me...it seems fair to say that February has always been that way too, expect in a deliberate kind of way. Like I am trying to take ontrol of the year's weirdness before it gets too out of hand...

Anyway. :P

2.4.10

All those ridiculous applications on Facebook—you know the ones—well, there was this quiz one that I took waaaaay back over summer, and it was this silly thing titled “find out your unrealistic death! – it’s scary accurate!” or something to that effect. I seem to remember a friend being eaten by zombies, and both my sister and her boyfriend dying in guitar duels with that guy from Dragonforce, but me? The quiz said I would die from insanity brought on by Cthulhu’s haunting my dreams.

Why is it that my “scary accurate unrealistic” death is the only one of the options (that I knew about) that’s inevitable? I mean, if you’re up against zombies—run faster and hide better. Dragonforce? Play faster. Not necessarily better…just faster. But if Cthulhu is going to invade your dreams and talk to you until you start raving—what? Never sleep again? (He is the sort of thing I'd dream about, after all...)

How terribly unfair for me. Of course, here is where I make silly, consoling remarks to myself, like… “Reeser, just look at how awesome you are! The others are getting defeated by far lesser opponents, but for you they had to drag out the biggest and baddest monster they could think of.”

2.10.10

Seeing all the trees covered in snow was almost bad for us. There’s something about the low sky and the snow outlining all the branches in white that managed to be both ghastly and alluring at the same time. Like so many black, ice-glazed bones poking out of the white ground. Of course, there’s something almost irresistible about the trees no matter what time of year it is…like I should be there. The feeling might go away for a long time, but it inevitably sneaks up on me again. This is one thing I can’t even blame on Wolf, either, since it’s all of me that feels it. I don't know why though…just…I always feel like I want to be out and look at the trees, and walk and walk and walk and look and look and look until my feet blister and bleed and my eyes fall out. No reason other than to see that ineffable something before I die.

2.12.10

Still, it was kind of him to bring me into a group of people who would sympathize. I just half hate this culture because you’re all over the place (maybe you’ve been torn to pieces, too) and I can’t get away from it. If you aren’t you, you’re inevitably someone else that I hear about. I begin to think that all of us have known one of your incarnations, we talk about it so much—even he does. I had almost hoped that we wouldn’t, but we do…and Rogue has lately been so unkind as to keep reminding me until I am stuck in Wolf mode for my frustrations. I’m trying to ignore it though, since he makes me feel decidedly Satanic. That’s what it feels like to be Wolf: Satanic.

I’m sure it would be better for me to stay like this than to take his advice and forcefully withdraw. That would be to die, and also to exclusively hate. On the other hand, to force the issue would be to frighten and to become utterly ridiculous and sentimental, even though my confessor has suggested it to me so that I can head off my own poetry. I’m relieved that the one I’m having published now doesn’t touch any of this. Yes, that narrator’s trappings and destination are all because of you, but who would know or care? Just me.

I told her not long ago (when I was briefly dead again) that it’s your fault that I’m on my way to becoming a poet. If my past self could have known, it would have laughed and disbelieved what I’m doing now. This is why I cannot feel very proud of my work. I feel it when I am a wolf, but even when he is relishing our accomplishment, if you happen to flit into our mind, even he becomes a wretched, snarling thing because he knows we would never have done any of this if we hadn’t been desperate for distraction and some way to validate (sublimate? That’s going too far…) our collective feelings about what happened.

2.21.10

I occasionally wonder why, when I was very small, we had a pop-up kids’s version of the Egyptian Book of the Dead. I sometimes take inventory of books I remember from my childhood…I remember Pokey Puppy, Corduroy Bear, Sleepy Squirrel, Goodnight Moon, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Pussywillow, Peter Rabbit…oh, and the pop-up Book of the Dead.  :P

2.28.10

Really annoying thing—
Now and then I have these moments where I suddenly understand something, but I hate them because they always get ruined. Today it was because I was in the shower when I got it, and so had no means of writing it down, and then by the time I could have done that, the understanding that had crystallized while I washed had already been dissolved by intense physical pain, and now I can’t remember what it was I understood.

2.23.11

I felt a flicker of rage and the phantom taste of blood when I heard that song the other day and thought of you. I feel ashamed to think of you as dead, knowing that might happen. But I can’t be responsible for everyone. I keep being told this, and I don’t want to feel responsible for you. But…I help but wonder. If something happened to you, I feel sure I would be told. I wouldn’t want to be told and surely people must know this, but it wouldn’t stop them telling me.Then how would I react? I don’t want to be sympathetic, but I would be too much of a monster if I didn’t react. Wouldn’t I? So even if I found I felt nothing toward that situation, I would still be required to weep for you in order to maintain that I am not a monster.
But we already know that I am.
And am not.

Like…the people that love me will shrink back and call me a vampire (and mean it), and then try to adopt me because they so want to look after me, or get all emotional about how sweet and caring I am, and in the next breath, acknowledge that they can see the beast looking out of my eyes and know that they don’t want it angry with them.

It’s what she saw and made her tell me I wasn’t the devil, because he couldn’t have that capacity for sympathy. And she’s right. But she’s not. If the sympathy makes me human, then this sympathy is tainted. I think I am wrong to be angry about some of the things I get angry about. I am wrong to want to save things. People. I feel like I have to since nobody else is doing it. And that’s the worst way I can put it (but I mean it so differently!), but I feel like this makes me a worse person. The desire to save isn’t bad…but when you feel anger at whomever you think is supposed to be doing it and isn’t…that’s where it goes wrong. And that’s me.

And…ah, ah…I almost forgot I had been angry, there. I let praise get the better of me…and then heard that my affinity with the dark was being called into question. Again. Do you know that I had tricked myself into thinking I could be a Goth in peace? How easily I forget that there are people who don’t really know me and might not understand…which is ASTONISHING, since I tell myself over and over that nobody will ever know me. Well, at least I know I’m a Goth now. I’m not going to pretend otherwise, or act like I don’t mean it when I do. If I am a vampire, I am still helpless enough that you’ll want to care for me. If I am a beast, I am still a very sweet and affectionate one. If I am a devil, I still have good intentions.

2.1.12

It’s a shame I don’t have any family or close friends who like poems. I would make a little booklet for them of all the decent stuff I’ve done. And it wouldn’t even be pretentious…it would be because I work hard on these things, and it saddens me to think I’m writing them for myself. I just want someone to enjoy what I did. That’s all I want.

2.3.12

Today I learned that if you are still for too long, apparently the blood in your body can start to congeal, and sudden movements may result in heart attacks.

2.13.12

Yesterday I bought a slice of red velvet cheesecake from the coffee shop in the mall. I was eating it in the office when Dusty came in and sat down. By then I’d already eaten all the icing'd parts, and it looked like a suspicious red lump of something.

I told him it was a hunk of raw meat, and for the briefest of moments, he believed me.
Funniest part of my day.

Part One of Ye Olde February Postes, wherein I painted people's faces, considered becoming a pirate, and dropped a guitar on my face.

2.28.05

We got into some trouble with paining each other last week… I was helping Alicia paint a fancy window on one of the backdrop sheets and she was talking about how she liked the grey colour, so I had this sudden idea to put a dab of it on her face. Then she decided she had to make me match and put some on me, and later we traded spots and got spots put on the other sides of our faces too… then Chris came over to see what we were laughing about and Alicia put a stripe of paint in his hair and then painted the top of her own head and one of my curls… and then Mrs Hughes came over to see what was going on and was really upset about it. We all had to go wash it out of our hair because it was house paint and doesn’t come off after it dries. The next day Mrs Rankin told us we’d all get detention if we painted each other again, so I guess that’s out for now.

2.28.05

I know that Project 86 is a cool band and I really like their music… but sometimes bands like them disappoint me because they try to be like “music is the most important thing to us besides our personal beliefs, but we aren’t here to tell you about our beliefs… we’re not all ‘moshing for Jesus’ or something like that, we’re just here to play some good music”. That’s basically what their singer told us at that concert… and I know it gets a little bit cheesy to say things like “oh, I’m moshing for Jesus!”, but to try and make it sound like your beliefs aren’t really a priority and that maybe you are a Christian but don’t want to come out and say so… it’s just disappointing. I mean, I understand a little bit of why they do it like that (the same with Too Bad Eugene, which is another “we’re-Christians-but-we-won’t-tell-you-to-your-face” band that I love), but I think that if you don’t want to talk about it, then you should just keep your mouth shut instead of opening your mouth about it and trying to tone down the fact that you’re Christian.

2.25.07

I also have decided that I need to figure out the differences between types of metal… speed metal, black metal, death metal, thrash metal… I’m kind of in the dark about how to tell them apart. Slechtvalk is the only one I could definitely tell was Viking metal because… well… it’s just obvious.

2.9.08

My other fortune was rather more amusing. It said, “the rainbow’s treasures will soon belong to you.” I was able to make a few different interpretations of this fortune.

Perhaps we will get some Lucky Charms and I will uncharacteristically pick out all of the marshmallows and eat them. I say “uncharacteristically” because I don’t eat Lucky Charms at all. Perhaps I will win a Skittles contest? I’m not aware of any Skittles contests, but I’m always open to the prospect of winning something. Plus, I like Skittles. Perhaps… I’m going to go looting. In San Francisco. Colin and Melody will recall that it was plastered with rainbow… plus, there was a lot of cool stuff that one could loot there. Maybe I’ll become a pirate… arr.

2.10.08

Well, I had a test Friday that I almost didn’t prepare for at all due to… bad circumstances from Thursday. I ended up reviewing during the half hour drive to class though, and I think I did okay on the test. There were some funky questions on it though… like using two of the 10 basic sentence patterns, show the two possible meanings of this sentence: "Jessica’s mother found her a man."

Yeah. There were two versions of the test, I think… and I happened to get that one. I laughed.
 

2.23.09

the home inspector listed my room as “lower-level boy’s room” on his inspection report, and I really question why. Just because my room is black and red means it must be a boy’s room, huh? I mean…seriously? Even with women’s dress shoes in the corner, and glasses full of dried flowers, my horse calendar, and that poofy stuffed tiger from my sister? Yikes.

2.25.09

I was brainstorming for a class I took on magazine article writing (I was awful writing articles, btw), and thought of them, and thought of vampires…so I wanted to write an article about vampires. My prof. actually told me I couldn’t because she didn’t want me to get in touch with anyone who considered him or herself a vampire, and to subsequently be abducted and/or murdered.

2.27.09

Things I should probably not do again:
1. Drop my guitar on my face. I didn’t, but it was a close thing. I was using it as a weight. …yeah. I did that. Just don’t tell anyone, kay?

Man. Conversations I have at work...

*Erin walks into the office. We sit in silence for a minute.*
Me: You know, you are not the one I was trying to psychically summon.
Erin: Oh. Well, maybe you weren't trying hard enough. Who were you summoning?
Me: Luke. I gotta ask him a question.
Erin: Huh. I think he's all the way in the upstairs office.
*Luke walks in*
Erin: What?! You did not just open the door.
Luke: Um. I'm pretty sure I did.
Erin: *accusingly* She said she was trying to psychically summon you.
Luke: Oh, I know. That's why I'm here. We're linked.
Erin: Linked?
Me: Psychically.
Luke: You wouldn't understand.

Emily: Woah. That bag has battle axes on it. Whose is that?
Me: Mine. I had to get a replacement because apparently my jean bag said "mom".
Emily: Oh. I said that, didn't I?
Me: Yeah.
Emily: And now you have this nice new bag that says all kinds of things about dragons and quests. Wood nymphs.
Me: Wood nymphs?
Emily: I dunno. It just popped into my head. It said it would belong to someone who enjoys their nymphs.
Me: ...please stop talking to my bags.

*I am eating in the office*
Luke: Please tell me you're not eating my wrap.
Me: I am not eating your wrap. I steal pens from you, not food.
Luke: Well, that's a relief. *pause* You stole pens from me?
Me: Just the one.
Luke: Those were a gift!
Me: I can give it back...
Luke: No. It's okay. You're lucky you're my favourite person in this theatre.
Me: *snorts and chokes on lettuce* That's a lie.
Luke: Nope. And that's saying something, considering how highly I think of myself.

Erin: Remember Animorphs?
Luke: Yeah! We were talking about those a few weeks ago. They had those little flip-book pictures in the corners and stuff...
Me: I read a ton of them when I was in junior high.
Luke: Back when there were book fairs.
Erin: If you were an animorph, what would you want to turn into?
Luke: For what, two hours before you get trapped as an animal? Mmm. An elephant. An African elephant. They're the ones with the big ears, right?
Me: Yeah.
Luke: What would you turn into?
Me: A woof.
Erin: A woof?
Luke: I think you'd stay a wolf. You wouldn't change back.
Me: You think that?
Luke: And I'd come in here and be like, "what big teeth you have!"
Me: And I'd be like, "the better to destroy this big pile of paperwork!"

Last Valentine's Day I posted something along these lines:

"...somewhere out there is a Jester who declared this is his “ 'I love Reesey face.' ”

I feel like I will get a good return for investing in such a face, don’t you? :P"

And so it has. On Wednesday, Jester took me to a park where we had our first real date, and we walked for 20-30 minutes and I felt the snow on the insides of my shoes, where it was packed like icy sand...and we stopped and looked at some pretty, snowy scenery...

...and Jester asked me if I would marry him. And I said I would.

He looked almost like he did not believe me...but I am keeping him. *all the hugs*

Oh. I did know.

My Wolf knew without doubt when I wrote my post from this past Dec. 31. And I believed him when I wrote that hurried, nervous post on Jan. 5.
But I knew a long time before then.

It was the primary thought in my mind when I wrote on 20 January 2011.
We speculated and prayed and weighed and he wore a snarl on his face the entire time...but because he heard the answer and knew it would be so. And I wanted to pretend I did not. That is more than two years ago.

Yes.

I have known for a long time.

Wow.

I had not looked at this story of mine in almost five years. And now I am trying to rework it and make it fit for sending away...and it just...isn't working.

I can't tell if it's because I hate the narrative voice, or because there isn't enough actual action, or because there isn't good description or what.

Maybe it's because it's mine, and I know too much about the narrator. I know what he's saying, but I know what he really means. I know all that and I don't like it because I know other people wouldn't know those things...but I do. And it makes it impossible to know what is really wrong with the story, and what is just me not being able to blot from my mind the millions of words that this narrator has written not as but about Wolf. Because that's who it is. I didn't know it then, but I see him now and I know who he really is. And I know how the story ends, and it isn't any of the endings I could have guessed all that time ago.

But that isn't the point.

I want this story to be okay. And I don't know if it is. Please can someone help me?

Work friend not in as much trouble after all. Good.

Best friend having fun on her ten-day visit with her family. Good.

Find knife stuck in wall at work. Wtf.

Boyfriend in car accident....
Bad.

He's not hurt...just a little shaken and bruised...but still. He deserves to have something good happen to him instead of one crappy thing after another.
So...if you are a person who prays or likes to cheer people up, pop by his xanga and say hello. I know kind words won't fix all the problems...but if it were me...I know I might feel at least the tiniest bit better.