I’m a bit of a fool, but I’m having fun, so I hope the world forgives me. I know the importants involved already do.
Jacques play is tonight. My very last chance to see it, and I really should. Two failed attempts on the record already. Laughing at myself for ‘what to wear’ syndrome. Irony escapes anything but personal mention sometimes. I’ve finally learned a variation of the Emo costume though, and that’s clean. It’s either that or I go as a Gothling. I’d rather not, really. Clothing as costume. Costume as charactor. I’m going to a play. It’s the little things that make me lonely sometimes. Dressing up so obviously on my mind because of the startling revelation that I can be obscenely flirtatious with the ideas inherant in clothing, though like every other geek on the planet, I need to do some laundry. Slay me for this thought is so tiny. Bless the internet in that a year from now I can look back on this and try to puzzle out exactly what was going on today in spite of my not writing about it at all. It’s an eight hour difference. I’m starting to think I know you a little. Clues.
Ever get those moments in interaction where you either backpedal or push harder than you think proper? Yeah – I’m thinking that maybe I’m unlearning the backpeddle. My deadpan’s getting too good.
It’s ten:thirteen, play’s at eleven, I suppose I should hit the road. Slip shoes on and step out the door. Lucky I didn’t leave them with Alistair this morning. It continually occurs to me how incriminating I could word our association so far. To put it mildly, “well – I met this Scottish guy at Fetish Night last Saturday and went home with him. Got a ride off this other guy in a leather kilt I met last month. Crashed over three nights now. Tuesday he’s taking me over the border.” From outside my head, that looks like something different.