I’ve no net connection save at my mothers until James moves in.
This is really, really painful. I never understood how people could be so attached to a place or thing until I’ve had to go without internet for any length of time. This is my Home. My Family is here. You, my friends, lovers, my INFORMATION. Everything that matters to me is locked inside the glowing box. Every single last morsel of my sanity is caught up in this digital drug. I shake for it like I shake for you. Blind in the world, I can’t be blind here. Save me from this! Keep me in the most precious company. Drown me in this sea of media. Temporary links to weird news, building my face out of facts. I can feel myself relaxing as I type. Muscles unknotting as I hit my obsession.
Late to bed, I woke early today as people came to help Gavin move. Too tired to drag myself from my bed of chaotic blankets and clothing to help, I lie half awake flooded with vague guilt. I fell fitfully back into sleep until a most welcome call from Javina dragged me fully into wakefulness. Perfectly in time to call the Pyro offices and arrange my week. Luckily I was off the phone with her before I discovered my link to the world had been taken away. It would have been a shame to tsunami-stress die on a friend. The ripple-effect would be a killer. It’s like waking truely naked. I can’t take it. Where’s my covering world?
Now I’m at my mothers. She’s behind me, clatteringly cooking in the kitchen with my brothers noisily upstairs arguing about video games and the best way to pretend to kill someone. I would like to think I have a good influence on them. In fact, I know I do, but the prima-donna youngest? I likely wouldn’t mind if he just went away until he’s barely a context. Let him vanish. He’s the most unpleasant thing about visiting. I want my memories to vanish him until it’s absurd to consider him. Maybe it’s just tonight.
Earlier I set out in the soon-to-be-gale-force winds on my bicycle, ferret slung over my shoulder. A less than wise move, but one what worked out without anyone dying. My passport pictures for my pyro license have been taken, and Skatia’s been set up with some of the same food that zoos feed lions until the petshop can get some ferret food in. Stuff so made of flesh that the scent of it makes my mouth water. The furry creature eats better than I do most days, I swear. I tried visiting with Alli and Nate, but in my perpetual distraction, I left their address at home when I left. My heart led me to wander back and forth across three blocks of 14th street, hoping one of them had suddenly clicked clairvoyant. No luck, as my calling names into the air only brought me unwelcome attention from the neighbors whose doors I’d randomly knocked on.
Back in the box, but no less home than I was out in the freezing rain, I packed my things into a large bag and finished my phonecalls. My apartment has never actually been messier than it is right now. Four of us moving all at once. I wish Alistair were here, he could be taught to be quietly brilliant at such things. We talked earlier, he’s been calling every day from San Clemente. One hour out of L.A. and he seems determined that I visit. Desperation is asking me to live off my photography. Talking to me must be the twist of the most gentle of knives. I call him back later if he sends me the number.
Tonight after I’m done on-line, I expect to spend the rest of my evening in the livingroom attempting to cut out my pattern on the box strewn floor. Everything for my costume minus the lights is with me. Ray has those finished apparently, but as he’s in Calgary for his Aunt’s funeral, I don’t get to play with them until Wednesday. I hope he gets time to visit with my painter Gavin, but I don’t think he will. It would be nice to have the chapbook. Hold his creativity in my hands, like having his blood warm me at night. I would cry.
Just for the record: the various members of this passions play, they write the same. It’s disconcerning.
