self recrimination

< please note, this entry has been edited, when upon rereading i realized i'm a potty mouth and the F word shows up ..too many times. i apologize to the dainty . i am going to make a concerted effort to clean up that language, young lady > starting the day with a cup of coffee and tom waits is the right way to go.

at 23, my friend suzy used to lay in my bed with me when i napped and rub my belly. i remember her saying "you're so skin hungry heather" and i smiled through my sleep and soaked up the belly rub.

i remember after C left, matt spent the night one night and started to spoon, and i froze. i went stiff as a board. i grunted and recoiled and i know it hurt his feelings. and the reaction went further than he realized. i wanted to punch him. i was furious. and he hadn't done anything wrong. hell, we'd been taking naps together for years. he was continuing as he knew to. i think it's like an animal with a flesh wound who snaps at the hand that tries to soothe it? i dont' know. but that original girl. she's returning. i'm turning into a snuggle fiend. hell, i probably snuggled 50 million people over the weekend. (ok maybe not 50 million)

also had a near panic attack over the weekend. some things are going to have to change.

i think i convinced myself some time back that I was incapable of having fun at a social event without drinking. I knwo logically that this isn't true. and i've been drinking too much. (and maybe going out too much). i waffle between balance and feeling completely out of control of my life. i'm not so hot at the functional areas of living.

i have a very ingrained idea of what 'life" should entail. i get it from my mother, and i do none of it. she was a super woman, you understand. her only vice being that she breaks her vegetarianism to eat chicken when she finishes a marathon because she just has to eat meat. my mother is very alive.

sometimes i feel like i'm just a giant ball of vice. and that i convince myself i need them to aid the sense of 'living'.

so, i don't think i need to attack everything head on, but instead need to find some form of balance and that began yesterday. and yea, i discovered i *can* be in a bar and have fun without booze. go figure. i'm *not* suddenly socially awkward.

i got a new (used) laptop through a friend, and I'm excited to start writing. i'm going to finally write more than this little diary.

it's languid warm out. I love this weather. this is why i wanted to move to austin. to feel like this every day.

this is going to be a long entry.

friday night a pot brownie made its way into my mouth. the ensuing panic and freak out were actually...important on some level. the feeling i get during an episode like that is false. it's truthwithout filter. and while i'm experiencing this truth without filter, i am filled with hate for myself and everyone around me, but when it fades away i'm left with at least *some* self discovery. this doesn't mean i'm going to eat a pot brownie once a month for some navel gazing. fuck no. i relearned hwat i learned 12 years ago. no pot for me. ever. I can come to my own slow realizations about where and how i suck and without that extreme world-crashing-in sensation. thank you.

paintball was great fun. i have a crazy bruise on my hip. practically black it's such a dark blue. and swollen like an orange. i'm proud.

that night ..well, wodka is my enemy. but i still had more great fun, but it was the straw that broke the humpty hump. every other. staggered. not every damn social event. setting limits.

friday night, the pot brownie that jumped in my mouth was found at an erotic caberet that we went to. i know. what the hell is an erotic caberet. well. it was really more like a llittle play of skits. 45 minutes long. written by a friend of Ari's. I thought 3/4 of it was pretty fabulous. the other 1/4 was ...a little silly.

one of the skits was about discovering sexuality when still young. two young girls.

reminded me of when i was 11 i had a friend named amelia. and we would go into my loft bedroom and practice 'boyfriend-girlfriend'. this lead to lots of making out and dry humping. for 11 year olds we sure knew how what parts were supposed to move and what felt good. lots of simulated humpola.

but then, i'd discovered pillow love by around age 7 or so. never really had a problem with the things that feel good in life. hedonism, hell yea. it's the things that arent' pleasant but are necessary that i let go to the boiling point.

after amelia, i was a pure chaste girl who kissed boys here and there til i fell in love at 16 and went from dry humping to actual humping within a few months. makes me miss those days when sex wasn't the prize at the end, but kissing could go on for days or hours or (days?) minutes, and that was the only goal. i think i'm at that state again and that's why i feel 15. i dont' want to have sex.

i don't even know if i want much of anything. i like touching again. but... i've found a certain glee in leaping into my bed with my dog and laying spread eagle and saying THIS IS OURS, BOOGIE. ALL OURS!

i don't actually do that. suckers.

so. i've struggled for years with the sense that i live 'incorrectly'

exactly what is the correct way, then?

what is "living" and the more time i spend caring about what is 'living' the less alive i feel.

simplify.

underneath it all, there will always be that sense of futility. i've never completely escaped it. it's just the importance i give that sensation that determines how i will react to life.

bono should not be allowed to touch ryan adams music. dirty pricko.

my lipstick is called "patchouli". such a gorgeous color. such a stupid dirty hippy name.

for all the self recrimination, i feel pretty good.

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