So here we are, doing this whole New Year’s deal again. I figured I might attempt to write some stuff out while I’m hungry and delirious and waiting for Kev to get his sweet smackable ass out of the shower. SMACK!

I got thinking about this as I was sitting out on the back porch, enjoying a choice, high-grade smoke (Marlboro) and talking about the glaring lack of plans we have for tomorrow. Not like I care. I don’t think I’ve ever had a New Year’s celebration to go off well for years. Last year was pretty much destroyed by breaking up with the ex. The year before was riddled with panic attacks in the wilds of Scotland (Aberdeen — dude… “wilds” is fitting on New Year I MEAN LIKE NO JOKE LULZ [huh?]). Before that was the fantastic experience of blacking out and coming to with some dude fucking me while I just silently prayed he’d get off, go away, and I could pretend it never happened. Year before that, my first and last experimentation with smokes beyond tobacco, which was a huge paranoid catastrophe. I think the New Year before that was fairly good, though. So it isn’t always fail.

And I can’t imagine this one being fail in any capacity. I mean, honestly? For real? I’d be perfectly content getting all jacked-up on sugar and caffeine, and crashing on the couch all snuggled-up and comfy. But that’s all I ever want to do any night. Sugar. Caffeine. Cuddle.

But this isn’t about what I want to do next year. This is about what I’ve done last year. And… well, yes, one thing dominates the whole handful of months: meeting Kev. Read more

I’ve been incredibly busy, dear Glostix readers (if there are any, ha!), and I will be staying that way, so please excuse the lack of… stuff.  Been getting my room cleaned (massive undertaking), and I have a little left to do yet, but this is the best, most comfortable shape my room has been in since, well, ever.  I’m finally getting rid of so many of the senseless things I’ve been holding on to for more years than I have toes (for the record, there are five on each foot).  Finding little surprises hiding here and there that I would rather not see or dwell on (it’s amazing all the scraps of paper I held on to just to have SOMETHING to show for my old relationship besides “a hard time”, all tucked here there and yonder).  I’d say half of what I owned has hit the trash can (after several changes).

Tomorrow is gonna be a busy one, too.  Last minute details.  Oh, how I hate those last minute details!

Something a bit more worthy of noting, though: I ran into someone I knew last weekend while I was having dinner with Sylver (by “having” I mean “I watched her eat”). I didn’t even recognize her, and didn’t believe her when she told me who she was… but yeah, we started talking, and she explained to Sylver that we used to go to the same church with all the rich kids and blah blah blah about how we never fit in cos of sweet country bumpkins.  My initial thought was to laugh at her, because I remember occasions where she got in on the “Everybody Make Fun of Becky” campaign… but thought otherwise, because perhaps what she said was true, and she was only doing it to try to fit in with a crowd that wouldn’t take her in anyway.  In that instant, I felt for her.
Felt even more when she commented how funny it is that most of those kids now are leading pretty miserable lives, and we’re actually happy with ours.  It’s rather nice to have someone from my youth recognize this…
Then retracted when she said she had six kids.  Two from her past, two from her husband’s past, and two together.  “We’re like some kind of Brady Bunch,” she chuckled.  “Not quite what my mother would’ve wanted, but that’s just life these days.”  I couldn’t help but smile at that.  “I do enjoy the chaos,” she admitted.  No speech about how motherhood is great, her calling, her one true joy in life.  She just remarked on the chaos and smiled a simple, genuine smile.

I’m just pleased to know that some people from the tribe managed to come out of their youth with some brains left to their name.  May not be my cuppa, but her happiness was as genuine as mine, so I couldn’t knock her path if I tried.  Rare thing ’round these parts.  ‘Round the world in general.  I’ll have my little Catcheresque moment and spit at how entirely fake people are, smiling in public but praying for death every time they close their eyes… selling their lies to you to convince them that yes, they really are happy — happier than you, even –  leading people into believing that this MUST be the way to live… never realizing how big of a lie it was until they step through that door and figure it out for themselves.  Pretty painted-up misery that breeds with every false word and forced smile.

But there are some good people left… there is still reason to hope.

The wonderful thing about the Internet is the ability to find people, quite easily, and be given the opportunity to reestablish contact after what might have been years of silence.

The horrible thing about the Internet, however, is the ability to find people, quite easily, and be given the opportunity to reestablish contact after what might have been years of silence.

I never know how to feel when people I knew from ages ago come up and throw me a “Hi, how’ve you been?”  My initial reaction is “what the fuck do you care, years after you slagged me off?”  Then I calm down and remember that life happens and the circumstances were rather unusual (as they tend to be for dropouts).  Sure, they could’ve picked up the phone, but what is there to talk about when you never shared anything but the daily experience?  With that gone, there’s nothing to talk about.  Give it a few years, and there’s bound to be something worthy of discussion.

But the awkwardness remains.  And I would much rather not be bothered by these people, just to avoid that awkwardness.

And now here I sit, looking up people from THE PAST on facebook, wishing I could get back in contact with them, but knowing I shouldn’t, considering just how damned awkward it would be after everything that has went down since last we spoke.  Awkward because they were his friends… and although I grew to genuinely like them in our brief meetings, regardless of who they were to whom, I don’t know if I was lucky enough to have that genuine liking returned.

But I miss them, and I regret not getting to know them better before.  And I regret the thought that I might never have that chance now, with all the bitterness that remains in THE END.  I hate the thought that his incessant whining and smack-talking and “I Can Do No Wrong” -isms may have blown whatever chance I had to still call them “friends”.  I hate to think that they might actually think that I’m the delusional one.

There’s no way I can just randomly say “hi, how’s life been?”

And so I sit here, their names and faces on-screen, wishing we’d all met in a different way… or maybe not at all.