" danger hat: July 2005

Saturday, July 23, 2005

Early morning

I can't sleep.
Hmph.

I have no set topic in mind, I just tend to feel that when the body tells me I need to be awake it's probably because I should be writing or drawing or doing something other than watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer for the second time through. (Ryan hasn't seen it okay? And I haven't seen it with the corresponding Angel episodes, okay? Stop judging me.)

Sigh.

I've been looking through old pictures of mine. They are troubling me. It seems I used to be the kind of person who on occasion would make marvelous things happen. Small wacky events just to pass the time and people would listen and follow and we'd be happy and silly and all the sudden boys would sprout pigtails and we'd scream and laugh and in general be merry. Or I'd crawl all over a hotel blissed out on a new friendship tossing rose petals as I went. I'd encourage everyone to play tag in a thunderstorm.

I just began to cringe... What is that? Where does this snide bitch come from? It's like I got my adolescent fear of the uncool late. I've never worried much about what other people think, but apparently me at 24 is the social dominatrix I never had. She unleashes her whip consistently, so that I have a perpetual lesion across my chest that is a burning reminder not to disappoint her. But the fact of the matter is what most power-hungry mistresses in cheesy acrylic thigh-boots and ridiculously revealing leather corsets really desire is a badly behaved subject. Me at 24 is no different, and so she is constantly disappointed in me for not acting up, for not encouraging more kite-flying or costume-wearing so she can inflict a little more "discipline." I am too well behaved for her. She's bored. Which is why she enjoys it best when I am drunk. She'll even place a razor sharp press-on nail beneath the glass to ensure every last drop goes down. It works and I go all marvelous, dancing down streets, executing costume changes, making certain everyone gets a good splash of water on their face... In the morning she surveys her prodigal daughter with a half-cocked smile, whips out the duct tape and cattle-prod and goes to town. I don't let her tip the glass very often, I've grown wise to her efforts.

Extended metaphors aside, one of these days I'm going to overcome the shy and on that day watch out because there will be a worldwide game of Red Rover that won't stop till everyone's on my side.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Let's Discuss the Ghosts

Let me preface all of this with never in my life have I been witness to anything supernatural. Closest thing I've encountered was a recurring sense of the Virgin Mary whispering sweet nothings in my ear about apocalypse and generosity in my early adolesence. I've since chucked the uniform and most of the apparitions have faded (undoubtedly drifted off to someone with something resembling piety). Recently I've moved into a new house with the husband-to-be (living in sin for a few months just to make sure things aren't wretched-bad when we inhabit the same city, residence, and bed). My horror movie upbringing instructs me that in the midst of our flirtatious unpacking bliss there's something unseemly lurking around the corner. These feelings of dread are exacerbated by each new creak and groan our home sweet home emits, not to mention the voodoo doll our landlord left tucked atop the air shaft in a plastic Schnuck's bag.
Why is it that unfamiliar places seem instantly haunted? Is it because the unfamiliarity leads to fear of the unknown, which my brain translates to, "Ah! Zombie!"
These fears surface every time I inhabit a new space, but what is different this time is that this hauntedness has been sticking to me lately, forming a layer of ick with the consistency of the film my landlord left on every surface. It follows me out the house into my car clinging to me at the office. I feel sticky all day with it. Vapor trails pop out from beneath my desk. Trash cans become trolls and mailboxes lost and waifish children who are about to leap in front of my car. I hear a slow whimper floating around my ear canal. Unidentified sounds are instantly eerie. The construction equipment outside sounds like an out of tune orchestra.
I've become skittish despite my skeptic's rationale. I see no true evidence of ghosts. I had a dream where a obese spectral man in stained sweats chased Ryan up our staircase while bellowing out insults, but other than that things have remained at the eerie level: strange, unnerving, but not threatening and clearly all emotional delusion. After all I'm heading into the big unfamiliar, co-habitation, marriage, cable tv, and culinary experimentation. Each new adventure is punctuated by a small snag in my stomach that says, "Oh my goodness, here we go..." For each snag there is a piglet with a bloody knife in one hoof waiting around the corner.

Friday, July 08, 2005

So I will ramble...

The wedding thing is starting to occupy my brain full time which is curious since it previously occupied about five percent, and previous to engagement really had little substantial presence at all. The effort to make it interesting for myself and others has really taken a backseat to a "Get this done!" sort of mentality. This line of thinking leads to a perilous analogy to my life. I've tried with all my might to fashion life into something beautiful and challenging and unique, but such effort is often too exhausting. Instead I get caught up in the, "Get this done!" mentality which means in so many ways that parameters and guidelines set up by previous generations are the foundation I'm building things on. I may not be using Wagner to sahshay down the aisle, but I will be sashaying down an aisle. I may not be a college graduate, but I am working a nine to five-style job at a university all while buying into the house/car/husband paradigm that I once mocked. Sometimes life is easier inside the game, and my willingness to accept this is terrifying me.
I find myself staring off into space a lot lately, and drifting away from the group. I say all of this now, but in two weeks you'll find me covered in ink again tapping out new stories and living inside my imagination.

I think thoughts like this are why whiskey, coffee, and film exist. A few cooling salves to ease the chafes.