If you live close to me, please come visit.  Please come over.
I really don't think it'll be good for me to be alone these next few days.
Something's happening in my soul, I can feel it.

Since my last post...

I opened the store that morning.  Matt saved me when he brought me sushi at work.  Julie Ella saved me even further when she left a new mini-sharpie for me on my front doorknob for when I was done work.  I will not forget these gestures.

I travelled back home shortly after that.  My mother drove while I slept.  "Sleep" has been more in the form of naps lately, due to full sleeps just not being able to fit into my schedule.  Sorry, soul.  No time to rest.

This year's International Villages Festival went by so quickly.  Still made to feel uncomfortable in my own skin, by one person.  Still made to feel so peculiar, so good, by strangers recognizing me as a former dancer...strangers genuinely upset that I wasn't dancing this year.

There's something that just feels so much more real, these days, about compliments from strangers.
And then...there's something about it that just feels so frightening at other times.

This is not the time to begin to analyze.

Dean was a mime at his Village this year.  We had a cute, non-speaking interaction.  I've missed seeing that boy, hugging him.  So talented.  He'll go places, that one.

The dancing at the Village Ukraina was beautiful, as always.

On the Thursday night of the festival, I joined a number of friends (and fellow dancers, at that) in a parking lot dance-off at one of the Polish halls.  West Side Story, without the fighting.  Glorious.  I taught Lindsay and Claire a fun way to spin.  They used it in an encore they did the next night, which made me really smile.

On Friday night, during one of the shows, I stood Michael up in my lap and bounced my legs carefully along with the music.  He was wearing those little red dancing pants, that little embroidered shirt...carefully, I reached up to hold each of his hands in each of mine; I clapped his hands along with each beat, each step.  Watching his little eyes light up - all the colors to see, all the spins and jumps...when my legs grew tired, I stopped.  He began to bounce.

So many familiar faces from the past.  So much change, and change, and change.

During the last show, of the last performance, on the last night, Lindsay and Claire said it would be okay if I joined them for the encore, doing that spin...they put me right in the middle - so scary.  It went over alright.  "Good stuff"..."You've still got it."

I miss it so much.

I need to spend more time dancing alone around my bedroom.  If only the heat would dip, slightly...

So many more memories.  So much more I could write about, really.

I had to wake up early to return to this city.  Halfway through the ride, my older brother rang my dad's cell to tell us that I had forgotten my alarm clock.

...Ouch.

My father took me grocery shopping that morning.  I think we're at our calmest with each other when we're at the grocery store.  I can joke with my dad, I can stop worrying about what we might argue about - because in the grocery store, we only argue about which item may be cheaper.

No time for real sleep.  Nap when you can.

Fuck, I miss my family.  Already.
I miss my mother, hugging me, carefully whispering of love...

He helped me quickly put away anything that needed to be refrigerated, and dropped me off at work.

That night, a show.  Vulcan Dub Squad was great, but poor Ranbir couldn't sing - sickness.  Offensive Orange is growing on me, fast.  I created short films to their music in my mind.  I want to create short films to their music.  GOA! was fabulous.  I bought more things than I can currently afford.

I worked with Heather Monday night.  Met a boy named Ben, who (mere moments after the initial meeting) was revealed to be Joe's band member.  Really nice guy.

Tuesday evening, I held a practice readthrough for the public reading of my script.  One girl didn't make it.

...I'm really beginning to resent myself for this...for this everything.  Same script, same story.  Same bullshit.  Same routine.  Same black hole.

That night, I met dear Monica's friend Noa.  We chatted for a long time - about films, about plots, about a bunch of other things that didn't formally register into my memory.  Maybe I can act for her one day.  Who knows, really.

Also, that reminds me:  in my last entry, I didn't mention that I acted for Joe in a short film that he and his friend Vahid are currently putting together.  I enjoyed every moment of it, and look...not one typed mention of it.

Memories, memories, memories.  I can't write them down fast enough.  Is that why I constantly feel like I'm being shorthanded?  Am I missing something?

Anyway.

Wednesday night, I worked with Heather again.  I joined Melissa for a show at the Casbah.

Josh was there.  When Craig joined our group, Josh mentioned something about how he and I "go way back...[insert exaggerated, clearly awkward laugh]."  I loosened the lid on my water bottle and, just before I took a sip, said "that's a creative way to put it..."  Melissa laughed knowingly.  Everything was largely awkward.

He has broken enough hearts. 
Karma comes to those who wait.
He'll wait, this time.  He'll wait as long as it takes.

Spent more time in the lounge than in the show in the main room that I paid for.  Watched all of the All Purpose Voltage Heroes' set.  Enjoyable.  The short-shorts were distracting - not repulsively so, but humorously.  Stayed in the lounge to watch Ryan Stanley.  He performed beautifully, despite the noise throughout the room.  Went back up to the main room, but got bored quickly...I get cranky when I begin to feel a migraine.  Ben played a very nice set - which was a surprise to me until I spoke with him upon first seeing him in the lounge that night.  Talented musician, he is.  Joel got me up for Ben's rendition of La Bamba.  I twirled.  Spent several hours chatting with m'lady and Craig, and avoiding free shots bought by a nice fellow for those of us left in the lounge...each round set him back about 30 bucks or so.  Wonderful gesture.  Melissa and I walked home at the height of my migraine...brutal.  She managed to get me to pause, though, and sit on the sidewalk on the highway for a few moments.  Despite the aches in my skull, it was really nice.

I worked with Heather tonight, as well.
Some days, I think that the way we function as employees together is what is keeping me from going mad at that job.  Also, she's a really great girl.  I'm glad I got to meet her.

Some days I think of quitting.  But then again, I need money.  And I really like that job, despite whatever grey cloud hovers over me at any given moment.  I like my job.  Quitting is a stupid idea.  I never could.

I watched movies in my underclothes yesterday.  I watched movies without any clothes on, this morning.

And then, after "dinner" tonight - in my underwear, no less - I finally watched Fight Club.  Finally.  After years of avoiding it, and missing it, and everything, I've now watched it.

It makes me want to write a thousand things.
Which, consequentially, makes me unable to write a single thing.
It also makes me want to read the book.  And read Choke again, for that matter.

Crawling along with crushed glass pressed into your hand, sputtering blood everywhere, is somehow a terribly sexy image to me.  Without question.  It's so much more real than so much else.  So real.

It's past 3am, now, and I can't sleep - as per usual.  I nap when I can, but even naps are few and far between these days...I don't think I've napped since...Sunday, maybe?  I've lost track.  I can't keep track of very much anymore.  Memories, memories...

Tomorrow shall be frighteningly hectic.

Rehearsal at 9am.
Appointment at 2:45pm.
Script reading at 7pm.
Sometime, go and pay bills.  They're not past due - in fact, I still have several days to pay them without penalty - but if I don't do it tomorrow, I won't do it Monday.  Or Tuesday.  And so on...

Currently, it's ten minutes past 3am, and I'm restless.  I can't sleep.  I've asked Melissa to come visit me after she's done work, which is sometime beyond 5am from what I understand...and I've still got to go through my 40+ page script and decide upon which stage directions are necessary, which I need to summarize, and which to omit for my stage-direction-reader for tomorrow night.

I want to be everywhere but here right now.  I want to be anyone but me.  I want to be everyone but me. 
...I don't want to be anyone else, I just know that I can't be me right now.

No more storms.  No more standing in the eye.

I want to be anything but a middle-aged man's stare committed to memory for later that evening.
I want crushed glass and blood spatters.

I'd give anything to start over, seeing as how I never start anything the right way.

I want to fucking sleep normally again.  Not just one night.  Not just a few nights.  I want normal sleep back.

I want people to be normal, and to know how to be real with others.  I want people to be real with me.  Nobody's real with me anymore.  Everyone's always just saying goodbye.

I have a lot to say, but no one to tell it to, really.

If I stay awake, maybe I'll just see that tomorrow won't really come.  If I stay up long enough, it won't come.  Reverse Christmas Postulate, right?

Well, I suppose almost everyone proves me wrong about the things I believe in the most.  So maybe I'm wrong, again.  That's probably it.  That must be it.

I feel so fucking restless.
Restless, but stuck.

I forget what glass feels like.
I've forgotten the taste of blood.
I forget what sleep feels like.