So, here we are again. Blogging late at night is awfully peculiar sometimes, because for reasons stated in an earlier blog, I feel like I'm a completely different individual very late in the evening. Which, I suppose, I am - tucked away in the quiet darkness after a day's rush, with only the pale monitor light and the flickering orange sodium glare to keep me company...I can put away the spiked armor for a while.
It was snowing earlier today, and as a result the lamplights outside have that peculiar fuzziness to it, a kind of luminous ambiance that only happens when the light bounces off the newly fallen snow. I can look out the window and see that much of it has already been plowed away - the streets are just glistening black asphalt and the sidewalk this pitted mass of slushy gray - but it feels, nevertheless...serene. First snowfall of the year. How lovely.
I'm actually blogging now because I can't sleep, and I don't particularly feel like doing any of the other non-constructive things I do when I can't sleep. I'm fairly sure I'm to blame for this one. I got home incredibly late after going to Jonathan's party, so woke rather later this past morning than I'd have liked. I ended up napping on the subway, but chose to bed incredibly early tonight. I'm inclined to think there were also dreams involved somewhere in there, and that they were a fairly standard chaotic mess with just enough subconscious meaning to make me wake and wonder, "What the hell was that?" I wish I could remember - they may even have been important.
After my Eberron session this past Sunday, I related an anecdote to my group about the way I tend to react to things. Or, rather, how my mother told me I reacted to things when I was a child. When my cousin and I were both very young, we were virtually inseparable, although we had vastly different personalities. If she, or any of my aunts, crossed my cousin, my cousin would cry and scream and stomp her feet and do everything in her power to make sure everyone knew the extent of her displeasure, for however long she remained displeased. I, on the other hand, would seem to shrug off the offense as something of no particular moment. I would then flush my mom's earrings down the toilet when she wasn't home.
Mom always said she wasn't sure which reaction she preferred, but mine was definitely the more disconcerting of the two.
My friends laughed when they heard the story, but Kay mentioned a rather peculiar angle that I hadn't even considered before.
"You know what's weird," she said, "is that your cousin reacts in a stereotypical guy way, and your reaction is exactly what we'd think of as a stereotypical girl reaction."
I just nodded, and made a mental note to kill off her character next session.
No, not really, but it DID strike me as a rather interesting observation. I'm not really prone to machinations or subtle plotting, nor to thoughts of dire vengeance, but as I mentioned to my group, I have noticed that sometimes I do things subconsciously that, after the cogs fall into place, shock me with how utterly calculated and manipulative they seem. But I think that's hardly unique to me, and in fact is a sort of universal truth. We orchestrate things and people in our lives, trying to structure them in a way that makes sense to us, knowing exactly what we're doing all the while, but rarely allowing ourselves to consciously accept our subtle manipulations. It reminds me of this statement I read in the Sandman, where Death proclaimed that we really know everything, but pretending we don't is the only thing that makes life bearable.
I segue here into a tangent, owing its roots to a pair of stories Luis sent me earlier tonight. Two pieces of queer fiction, the links to which I have unfortunately forgotten. Both were very well-written, but the first dealt with an extremely worldly guy being dealt, as it were, his first bout of real romance instead of the series of anonymous flirtations he was used to. The second concerned a rather violent response to infidelity. I liked the first a great deal, but the second struck me as rather...unrealistic, I guess, with an ending I can only describe as peculiar. The stories, nevertheless, got me thinking, which is always a hallmark of good writing. Or maybe not - even terrible writing gets me thinking, most days.
I never went through a slutty phase. Or maybe it was just a really, really diluted slutty phase phase compared to every other one I hear about, in that it consisted of maybe three guys over the course of about a year. I don't really regret this - I came out of it, after all, without any lingering presents from those sporadic one-night stands, and in the end I consider them fairly educational. I occasionally wonder what it might've been like - what I might've been like, actually - if the practical portion of my sex education were more inspiring, but that's mostly water long gone out to sea. It does, however, highlight another pecularity of mine (or maybe not so peculiar, but I'm going to avoid that until juuuuust a little later).
I've noted that when I have a crush on someone, I very, very rarely wonder what it might be like to get him in bed. That's just not where my mind goes, initially. Instead, I wonder what it might be like to hold him, to be held by him, and knowing that it's exactly where he wants to be right now. I wonder what it might be like to lie in his arms as we watch a movie on the couch or in bed, or to run along the river in the summer while it's pouring rain. To hear him whisper my name while we stand on his (or my) doorstep after a particularly inspiring night out. In short, I wonder what it might be like to have a relationship with that man.
I wonder whether a slutty phase would've broken this trend, or whether it's a much more deeply enmeshed part of my personality. Myia and Darien have both told me that's rather sweet, because it suggests that what I really want is affection, not just another guy I can hop into bed with, and most days I think it's a good thing that I don't...jump...for a physical encounter. Or, at least, the physical encounter being merely an extension of the emotional involvement. At the same time, however, I think it's possibly one of the more dangerous parts of being me - that I don't really do casual flirtations. That I simply don't become physically involved with someone without becoming emotionally entrenched as well.
Hrm. Well...that was kind of unpleasant. It's hardly a new revelation, but still not an aspect of me I particularly enjoy scrutinizing. I wonder why I do it so often?
Oh fuck me. I know why I've been hovering around this topic. How searingly obvious. Valentine's Day is coming up VERY shortly...and this will be my first of any significance whatsoever.
Bah. I'm going back to bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment