sublingua

The heart with a mind of its own.

(Be present.)

The mind with a heart of its own.

(It's past.)

The dream that is your waking life.

(Go there now.)

Rutgirl and begorra
2000-12-30

Today has been, as always, quite a bust. There is an unanswered e-mail to the brilliant Sophistica in my inbox. She wants to get together to bake finally, and this will have to occur at my house because, of course, her place is without gas and has been since she moved in. (I say of course because sometimes she and I seem so alike that I recognize that I would also somehow be able to get used to an apartment that had no heat and no stove because of an absence of gas.) Apparently, it's not a problem that money can fix. (There are so many of those though, I know.)

And Rutgirl called. Dearest Rutgirl, whom I love and cannot face. I'm so uninspired when it comes to changing my relationship with her. She's only going to be in town until Monday, so I could avoid a meeting even if I probably shouldn't. (Oh, Rutgirl! If you're reading this, please know that it's not you, it's me--though that is a cliche, like everyone else who's ever said it, I mean it. I mean that I'm the one who is too ungrateful to appreciate your friendship. I'm the one who has to hide her feelings beneath the bed. I'm the one who is not right in this. I'm the one who is sorry for it.)

I'll end up calling her tonight to make plans for breakfast or lunch tomorrow at the Frontier. She likes to eat there. It reminds her of her college days (Stop reading here, Rutgirl, please. Leave us both some dignity.)--the days when she was doing something with her life, or at least it felt like it, and when she had more interesting stories than those long and tedious play-by-plays about her cats or about her dreary and colorless co-workers whose actions are the stuff of West Texas trailer park soap opera star wannabes, if anything.

I don't mean any of this. I really don't. But as long as I don't:

Rutgirl, maybe my avoiding you has to do with the fact that you warned your guests about me at Thanksgiving. (Yes, your sister told me all about it in one long, strange conversation one night.) Your faith in me is so little. And maybe it's that. Or maybe it's that you feel the need to apologize for me and my own personal brand of craziness to your lackluster pals. Maybe it's that you lack such trust in me that you do it ahead of time. I don't know. I don't care. All I know is that however much you think that I am made of trinitite, teflon-coated, unfeeling, I am not. And when your sister tells me that you worry about how I'm going to act, how I'm going to appear to your ragtag group of holiday guests, it hurts my nonexistant feelings. We've been friends for so long that I expect more from you, when perhaps I should just let go and expect less.

retreat or surrender

More lies:
Waking Sleeping Demons II - Sunday, Oct. 30, 2011
Waking Sleeping Demons - Saturday, Oct. 29, 2011
time - Friday, May. 20, 2011
- - Wednesday, Oct. 06, 2010
The Return - Tuesday, Oct. 05, 2010

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