I feel like I don't put enough forethought into bringing new people here.

Not that I ever really expect to gain anything from it, other than one or two who will be curious enough to look for a minute and see that there are words here. Maybe read a few. Maybe leave some more...

I suppose I fail at thinking ahead.

But nevermind that.
I found the revenge wristband in my closet. Thought about wearing it again, despite the guidelines...and I felt angry enough to wear it...but then I was thinking...I don't want revenge anymore, do I? I read The Cask of Amontillado yesterday, too, and I have never read it (to be honest...I have never read most of Poe's works. shame on me.), but there was a lengthy bit about how to successfully achieve revenge--it's not something I want anymore. I wonder if I ever did...but I don't wonder enough to think long about it.

I am just waiting now for K to read my email and answer my question so I know what to do. Or maybe I will just do it if I haven't heard from her my January. Mostly I just hope that if I'm being foolish, she'll stop me. But I like to think I'm not being foolish...

Foolish is the one unexpected gift I gave this year. That needn't've happened. Especially after I looked at what I was writing to her, and tried to think about how it sounded...foolish in the extreme.

And then I wonder if other people do this with their friends--think about what they're doing or saying, and try to look at how it makes them look............probably not. Most people aren't such long-distance friends with individuals that have (in the past) had some extremely Vulcan-like tendencies to point out every instance where one is doing something illogical or foolish or that otherwise should probably not have been done.

But. Yeah. Foolish.
I didn't write a word about it.

I wrote instead, under the pretense that "this might sound stupid, but...", about how sad I was when I went to see The Hobbit, because all I kept thinking about was eleven and a half years ago, wandering into a place built on a vague idea of Middle Earth, plus lots of pie...and finding a place where I fit right in.

I read back through some of our old role-playing stuff, and they were ridiculous in the extreme. I'm kind of pleased to note it's my own fault for things like...treating skirmishes like they are volleyball matches and keeping score. And finding a mystical mooing cube. A giant rat in place of a horse. Good stuff.

*long, thoughtful pause*
Ugh. I have to go to work in the day (a rarity), so I should already be asleep now...but...meh.

I couldn't stop myself, really. Seems I never can.

And then there was the forty minutes of me raging in that voice which, I swear, does not sound like it belongs in Auckland (trust me, I just spent nearly half an hour listening very closely to people talk with those accents...the A's are too sharp), but, at it's worst, can growl and rip into things in a way that nobody who has heard me speak would ever suspect, and which I cannot help but wonder at. Maybe it's because that is a show when I do it for other people. Put on that accent. Nobody would take my raging seriously if I did it that way, and knowing that, I wouldn't be able to produce the sounds that make me think of the jagged edges you get when you cut a tin can with an hand-operated opener. And so nobody has ever heard that voice. Except myself.

It's like the voice I use when she is talking to me. It's was an accident, I swear, but apparently I trained myself to only ever talk that way to her, and have never been able to un-train myself. Maybe I should break out the accent next time and see what happens. I don't think I have used it to talk to her in years.

But...so much rage.

I don't think it's possible for anyone who knows me to understand how angry I get and how hard it is to be angry, because I waste so much energy pushing it down and pushing it down and swallowing it and not letting it show and it metamorphoses from those flashes of hot anger, and becomes a quiet and ineffectual rage, and as the void did when I was dead, the feeling broils and roars and expands and, in the manner of all flames, consumes the thing that was Reeser.

It's so hard to tighten up all the gaps the feeling could flicker through.
And I don't veven know why I feel the anger. So many reasons come to mind, but still...there is a whisper of someplace cool and green that asks me why I can't just let it go...and...I don't know. I can't.

I could benefit from having the opportunity to destroy something.

Hm. It seemed weird in my head, but not this weird......

The longer this email gets, the more disturbed I am.

Little voice in my ear says to go.

I would. But.

I filed all my papers today. I can finally see the surface of my desk.
Found the handwritten draft of a poem that I never could find a home for. I almost never handwrite things. Although, when I see things I have written...I like to look at the letters. At least, I do if it is a short note. I don't really like my handwriting that much.

It's not a real place.

I haven't had anything today with caffeine in it. Feels like something is puncturing my skull.
All I have left to do now is write my epic-length email, and (maybe) go to bed. I may read something, too.

I remember being a time when the light is fading, and everything is blue. It was one of my names. Haven't been that in a long time. Or even seen it. Just a little greyish daytime, and night. And I have seen so much night that it isn't even dark anymore. I feel weird, being awake in the day...

So I'm set on vampire hours. So what. It used to be something else. It was always this though. Always.

Instead of feeding my anger, today I milled around at work and had a fun conversation, in which we asked ourselves if Smaug was on facebook and could possibly be persuaded to burn a house down for me. Someone even offered to cough up a princess so I would have something to bargain with...although that led to an ethical debate on whether or not one should offer up princesses in payment to dragon hitmen, and the question of how we were going to acquire a princess in the first place, since they admitted that they didn't actually have one on hand.

I feel like I could not be included in that quest. We would find, I'm sure, that the princess is in another castle.

Or that she's someone I know.
That's the kind of thing that would happen to me.

And in an unrelated misadventure, he and I found someone's list of things to do...which included purchasing slip resistant shoes and scheduling an appointment with a psychiatrist. We weren't sure what to make of that, but it was very uncomfortable to return the notepad, knowing this person knew we had looked over it (how else were we to determine its owner?).

I like having conversations.
Except...we talked yesterday about the movie. I was trying to not remember that I did, but when I was watching it...I felt horrible. Not only because of my miniature meltdown the day prior, where I was sent home crying, even though I'd been taken outside for a long time...but because that's how I know her.

I haven't thought about it in ages, but while I was at the movie, I couldn't help but think of all the things I learned to say, and about those people that I knew so briefly...and all the ones I still know....thought about how I was in Elfy's wedding, and the first conversation I really had with her was when I was sick at home, and in our game, was eating dandelions and talking nonsense...and that Ranger and Pearl are married and have children...first time I remember talking to them was when we were talking about food for quests and somehow wound up placing a ridiculously large order at a McMordor...and that despite the conversation I had with Aragorn that outraged him and that he shared with everyone in our circle and used as a reason to beat my character senseless, Melody has been my friend all this time.

I only got to know any them because I was that amusing elf who carried hand grenades.
Can you imagine how it makes me feel sometimes, knowing that?

And that's why I have a memory of my shoulder being so often used as a pillow.
And of watching the menu screen for Spirit for hours.
And of accidentally drinking a fly that was in my green kool-aid.
And of writing our names on tombstone-shaped cookies.
And of going trick-or-treating via cell phone.
And of going phone-caroling and leaving messages for everyone we knew.
And of seeing the Music Man play.
And of getting letters almost weekly.
And of driving to the airport at 4am.
And of searching every store ever for costumes that weren't slutty kitty or slutty bunny.

And why I remember the kinect ball.
And why burps amuse me sometimes.
And why I wrote that I had become a monster.
And why she looked so serious after reading my outline.
And why I invented Ethelred the Black.
And why I rescind my claim to hate Asian food.
And why I even know what graphene is.
And why I can't use the word logical without sneering a little.
And why I tend to assume all GPS units are voiced by "Kevin".
And why I am Goth.

The internet is a cruel, peculiar place...but it's where I found my friends. I love them. And I can't stand it when I see people hurt them...I feel so far away and like I can't help or do anything practical or even useful. It's terrible.  :(

I feel like I'd be completing a circle if I could find that dragon though.
Elfy already mentioned it and it made me feel ill.

I don't know. I don't even know.

Well. That was about two and a half hours of unanticipated phone time.

I don't know how to feel about this. Anger, of course. I mean...I love her. She shouldn't be treated that way. But, I've felt that for a long time, for all the good it's done anyone.
At least she needed to talk for so long that I am too tired now to waste energy on writing anything terrible. I just want things to be okay, mostly...it's what I usually want. I just wish I could do something. I'm dissatisfied with knowing all I can do is so patiently listen and sometimes make a small comment...which is better, I guess, than the beginning of our conversation, where all I was saying was what again and again with increasing ferocity. I'm sure the crackling of flames could be heard. I know I felt them.

She says she couldn't bring herself to hate, and I am proud of her; she's too good to hate anyone.
But I can do it.

I thought I was done with that hate, but I was mistaken.
And if I hear anything EVER again that carries the faintest trace of a threat...I'm sorry, but I can't just sit tight and listen patiently if that happens. I refuse.

And in spite of all my ill will...I wanted it to end well.

*headsmash*

Oh, poor wolf creature...what will I do with you?

The more I consider it, the more I am pulled into two equally opposite opinions: that either I will see I have been extremely and regrettably foolish...or that I will be amused enough for it to have been worth the worry.

I wish I could dissuade him from doing things. But...you know...it seemed like the thing to do at the time. (I say that all the time, but when I say it and am him, I mean it more.) More to write about to K, I guess. I looked at her last email, and the one I sent before that...and I am sort of astonished at how she picked up on something I hadn't really said much about. I should stop being astonished.

Out of all the people I know and have known to read my words, I feel sometimes like she is the only one who's figured out how to do it right.

I had a pretty good day today though. As much as I am a night creature, it was good to see the sun.

I suspect I didn't really mean it when I said that determinism was attractive to me.

Except that it is.

I feel very often that the way things are with me is often because, given the circumstances and my disposition, what else could have occured?

Lots of things, you could argue. I could have done and could do lots of things. And yet, I don't. I must choose only one thing, even if that thing is to do nothing. Which, because of the creature I am, is not really a choice, but a postponement so I may observe. Or, often, because I am trying to dissuade myself from a choice I know I already have made.

I am incapable, in most instances, of dissuading myself.
And that is why I wonder about it sometimes--whether or not any other option is even available to me, given how predisposed I might be already to one specific option.

I feel like I think about this stuff more when I have gotten obsessive. And I am always obsessive, but...I hold them at bay for longer now. Or maybe I only imagine that I do. Because in holding it at bay, I am still thinking about it, aren't I? Just...I don't know. I don't know how I managed to hold it off. But I have it now and I am genuinely ill at ease with myself over it. Not surprised, at least, like I usually am...since I have been aware of it for so long.

I suppose that anything which, after encountering him, speaks to Wolf on purpose is in danger of this...I just thought I could stop it and it seems I can't. And that gives me the hated options of waiting for it to die, killing it, or letting it go...and...given the monster I align myself with...I would like to let it go. I would like to retain my sense of being a decent human being...but...this Wolf I am is afraid. You can't do that and be safe, and what makes you unsafe must die.

This is why you shouldn't talk to wolves.

Yeah. So. Whew. *disoriented*

That was some movie.
And now it's jumbled up with the gypsy music looping through my poor brain. I thought that I would take that advice, too, and take something to knock myself out quickly.......and now throw in there also that threat to take all the pills in order to keep me.

I mean, why is it only just now striking me, how morbid and melodramatic and completely misguided a that threat was? (we laughed)

I swear I would never say that.
I wouldn't.

Note that I also received in the mail today a package of unicorn meat.

omygoshomygoshomygosh...i get to go to a pre-screen.  :D

best day ever.