Scheduled Thoughts whatever number it is now.

Playing my flute, like writing in this blog, is something that's really really good for me, but I don't do as often as I should. Every time I spend an hour I don't have making music, I say to myself afterwards, that was amazing, and I should do it more often. But then I don't actually do it more often. The flute becomes expendable. I convince myself I can live without it, which is actually pretty ridiculous. So right now, I'm in the sweet, exhausted foggy afterglow of a nice long time spent with my flute, and I'm writing this post to remind myself that I really should practice more. I can make time. And it is so worth it.

Change

It seems everyone in the blogging world is talking about change lately, how much they're secretly afraid of it, and how much they wish they weren't. Seems like it's time I did a post amounting to much the same thing, but I can't, because I don't feel that way about change at all. Part of the point of change is that it frightens people, so I guess I am a little scared of things like leaving behind everything I know and going out into a world where I may not even have a support system, but I'm not a person who needs everything to stay familiar. To me, that's the definition of a conservative. The idea behind being politically progressive is to support change, because the world won't stay the same even if you'd like it to. Things do change and nothing can come of resisting that. It's survival of the fittest, too. If you don't adapt, you die. So I live my life with fluidity, handle the changes the world brings to me without fear, and sometimes am the origin of that change myself.

That's not to say I'm good at trying new things, but that's mostly fear of exposing myself to ridicule from other people. I'm trying to change how motivated I am by that fear, but it proves to be a slow change.

In fact, I'm more afraid of rididity than of change. If I define myself, I immediately feel the need to prove that definition inacurate by changing whatever part of myself I defined. That's part of why I started using the name Riva in person. I was tired of living under a defined personality, and it was limiting my ability to change.

Change to me is beautiful. It's miraculous and wonderous to realize that I don't have to be in the same patterns for the rest of my life, that I can escape from them with usually no more than a day's worth of thought. I wouldn't say God is change, or anything like that, but I'm certainly not as bothered by the idea of people and things changing as I see that people around me are.

Scheduled Thoughts 4

If I wear all my green early this week, I can accidentally have nothing green left to wear on the 17th... eheh, right. I don't own any orange.

It's not that I support the Irish Protestants, or that I'm making any kind of judgement of who was in the right originally. I'd just like it if people knew that there were people out there who didn't wear green. I'd like it if most people knew why they were getting stupid drunk (ah, stereotypes...) and dyeing their pubic hair green. I actually met a part-Irish guy recently who thought I should wear green and get really drunk even though I told him I'm part Irish Protestant. This, incidentally, was the same guy who landed on my ankle. I'm sure he'd be pleased to know that my ankle will probably be quite green even by Saturday.

Scheduled Thoughts 3

I have an ankle that seems to have been pretty weakened. I've been spraining it about once a month for a while now, only lately it's been closer to every two weeks. Yesterday, a large, heavy, wrestler dropped a lot of his weight onto it suddenly. I actually took painkillers/anti-inflamitary pills for it last night, but it was still impressively swollen and painful all last night, and would not support weight this morning. I've been icing and elevating it all day, pretty much, and it's still swollen in pain. Also, the inside of it hurts, which is one of the warnings I was supposed to look for as a sign that it needs to be x-rayed.

I also bruised a rib and a cheekbone, and have many many sore muscles from lap tag, which involves a sort of wrestling (ask if you really wanna know how it's played). So why does all of this make me happy?

I think it comes down to the same reason I can't consider myself entirely female, ever. I'm fucking macho. Sad, I know. But I enjoy being in pain so I can shrug it off, pretend to ignore it and smile when it hurts because I'm not caring.

Indicators

An indicator, in the language of specialized connotations I use when I want to think in words, is basically a sign of the state of my mind. The logical question to follow that would be why I would need a sign to tell what's going on in my own mind. Sometimes, I get preoccupied with what's going on in the outside world, though, and can't tell until I notice the indicator. Things that seem like accidents or coincidences are indicators, and also things that seem like choices but lack normal logic. If I find myself doing something that fits a pattern and don't know why, I'll figure out what it's indicating.

A basic example is weeks when I find myself dressing or talking in a particular mode, when I don't think I feel like that mode. When that happens, I figure I actually am in the mode, and just haven't noticed, or been paying enough attention. That particular sign is a general indicator that I should spend more time alone or thinking about myself.

The reason I tell all this is that last night I had an existential crisis for no apparent reason. I should be enjoying life and so on, but I just couldn't figure out why I was alive. I got rid of the existentialism without analyzing it much, so it only just occured to me what that was indicating. That was a message to spend more time doing simple things that bring me great joy, instead of complicated things that bring me some happiness. I need to be writing and creating more. And it's wonderful to know that, but I find myself wondering where the message is coming from.

I generally figure it's my subconscious, which is more self-aware than my conscious mind, but it's not like I can tell. It could be God for all I know, and that's an interesting thought. I'm sure many people out there would say with certainty that it's God, and many more would say it isn't. It doesn't matter too much, who-or-whatever it is certainly is a reliable and accurate source.

In other news, I've been playing with the idea that God is the space where things are neither one thing nor the other, and also both.

Scheduled Thoughts 2

Religion is weird stuff.

I didn't realize how athiestic my parents were for a very long time, because they let me be as religious as I wanted. I thought of my dad as Jewish and my mom as sort of agnostic. The idea that I knew, and was raised by, athiests was pretty shocking to a person-thing who learned "morals" from old English children's books.

I got used to that, over time. Just now I had a similar moment of disorientation realizing one of my friends is actually religiously Jewish, and probably believes the prayers she says. She's just too logical to be religious, in my head. I've changed over the last five or six years. That's good to know, but I'm not sure I like having the subconscious idea that religion impossible in a logical person.

Conclusion: I need to be less influenced by the value-systems of the books I read. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is making me superstitious, and The God Delusion is making me an athiest. I'm not an athiest. I'm inventing a religion, goddamnit.

Scheduled Thoughts 1

This is an attempt to have more content in this journal, because I really like the idea of this space.

In this journal, no more than once a day, and no less than once a week, I will post a thought or idea that holds my attention. This does not have to be a full-length analysis of the thought, as in thoughts on thoughts, but can develop into that if it seems useful.

Today's thought is: I hate valentines day. I'm disgusted by it. I woke up this morning with a twisty feeling in my gut, and the thought of all the people with their shiny red heart only made it worse. I know some people hate valentines day because they hate spending it alone and feel inadequate without someone to buy then flowers or whatever. I know other people hate the consumerism of it. Neither of those apply to me, though the first used to, back in middle school, before I decided being single was a silly idea. (I should look at that, shouldn't I?) The fake glitter of it all bothers Puppy (a friend who is either really distant or really close, and I'm never sure which), and that bothers me, too. I think that's the heart of it. And that is as much thought as I have time for today (heh, future subject).

Safety and Love

He reads this blog, so I don't want to write in it in case he's frightened by something he reads.

He says he loves me so sincerely, so I'm afraid I won't love him much longer.

He makes me happy, so I'll have to leave him soon, because I can't depend on him. I can't expect whatever he and I have to last.

Afraid of commitment? Me? How do you figure? I have long relationships by highschool standards. Seriously. It's not like hearing someone say they love me is enough to make me never look at them again.

But I am afraid. I'm terrified. I've had my heart broken once, and I won't have it broken again. Those are the thoughts that destroy my loves. So I'm posting this, where he'll read it, to say I don't mean it when I think I want out. I can't get attached to you, because I can't expect a forever. I know that. So the moment I start getting attached, I start to distance myself, convince myself you aren't worth it. And you are worth it. I love you. I want us to have whatever it is we have, still. That should be enough. I should be focused on the present, on what makes sense in the now. I shouldn't worry about whatever's going to happen, because whatever it is will happen anyway, and worrying never helps. I know that, but I can't convince myself. So maybe if I write it down, it'll help.

This is it. The present is what matters, because at this point in my life, the past is too selective and inconsistant, and the future is too blurred. Neither of them are relevant, except in the ways the past makes me me. I won't ruin something worth having just because of how things were before, and how they might be someday.

Painting my Ceiling

White walls, cracked and fading, and not really white anymore. Barely covered by a scattering of posters, unlike most rooms belonging to people my age. I've always meant to paint them. I should be able to find a color that works with the rest of the room fairly easily, because my room has been becoming steadily more blue over the past several years.

In fact, most of my life has been becoming steadily more blue over the last several years, until people think blue is my color. There was a point when that would have bothered me a lot. Blue is a nothing-color, meaningless. Everyone likes it, no one feels strongly about it. Blue jeans say nothing about the fashion-tastes of the person wearing them.

But, I've been realizing, blue isn't as meaningless as it seems. It takes on meaning from the context it is put in more easily than other colors, in fact. There are shades of it, of course, more red, more yellow. I tend to lean towards the red-gray blues, myself, and the dark ones. I've discovered I don't mind wearing blue, since I've now acquired three blue gowns, and one blue summer dress, a blue wool coat, a blue wool cloak, a blue tie. It's gotten to the point where most of my favorite clothing (with the exception of pants) is blue. And I guess I don't mind that anymore. So I know what color I'm going to paint my walls, as soon as I get around to doing that.

And it's not a problem to paint the walls themselves, other than the issues with moving the furniture. The problem is my ceiling.

My ceiling has more cracks in its paint than any part of my walls. It's dirty, and almost looks water-stained in places. It's also covered in hundreds, possibly thousands, of glow in the dark stars. They aren't the big plastic ones, clumsily held on with putty, for the most part. They're tiny, flat stickers, many of them not even "star-shaped" and covering about ten square feet, not counting the ones that spill onto the wall next to my bed. They're as closely grouped as the stars one can see on a clear night in the country. Once removed, they'll lose their stickiness and be nigh-impossible to store. Even if they didn't, it'd probably be a full day's work to replace them. I can't paint around them. And if my ceiling isn't off-white anymore, they'll be visible during daytime. But my ceiling needs painting, nonetheless.

I guess I should come to terms with the fact that I'll never have a night sky on my ceiling again, and start taking them down. But I don't know how to do that. I don't remember when I put the first packet of 200 up. I'm quite sure it was a packet of 200, because it's always a packet of 200. I have half of one lying on my floor someplace waiting for me to put it up. And I guess that's the answer. I can start over, with what I have left, and with more that I'll buy over the last little bit of time before I leave for college. It may be a while before I start painting, so I'll enjoy my stars while I can, and get used to the idea of no longer having them.

And now I'm ready to start getting my room ready to paint.

The Great Compilation of Dreams

I. Many of my dreams work backwards to reality, and it seems natural. The ground is made of water and people swim instead of walking, buildings tend to be underground, but entered on the -1th floor (one level above ground) from the trains. This is a whole world I have reoccuring dreams about.

II. Complex plots are natural to my dreams. If they were a bit easier to explain and less counterintuitive I'd use them for novels. As it is, I do my best to follow and spend the entire day after an interesting dream thinking about its plot. My dreams are more fascinating to me than the real world quite a bit of the time. As such, lately, I've been wishing I could dream more, but it's probably a good thing I don't. When I live in my dreams, I become too detached.

III. All my dreams seem to be in a series of connected universes, and occasionally I travel between dream-worlds through back-paths. There are two different networks of paths I can access, but they require mild lucidity to use. Luckily I'm usually just a bit self-aware and in control in my dreams. It doesn't occur to me that I don't have to worry about the villians, but it does occur to me that I can do things other than just follow the plot to get away from them.

IV. There have been a couple times in waking life where I felt like I was in one of the more reality-like dream universes. All those times, I've done things I couldn't do under normal circumstances. That's one of the situations in which I truly believe in magic.

V. In my dreams, I always get away unscathed. This is a reflection of my white-middle-class psychological issues. I believe in consequences only with great difficulty. That's gotten me into trouble a couple times....... wince.

VI. I'm over my first girlfriend, Green in this blog, really, yet she still appears in sexual roles in almost all of my dreams relating to sex. Almost all of my dreams relating to sex involve girls, in fact, and all the ones involving guys are more scary than pleasant. But I already knew I have issues with guys.

VII. Kiele's evil twin is a reoccuring character. I have no idea why, she's just in a huge number of my dreams, almost as many as have Green. Picture Kiele (if you know her) only two inches taller and with a really bad haircut. She and I tend to get along pretty well, but I know she's going to kill all my friends.

The pyschology of the trends in my dreams says: I'm an escapist (getting out and never dying, my tendency to live in my dreams) with a complex imagination (fancy plots), a firm belief that I am different from others or somehow special (the buildings going the wrong way, magicy stuff) and issues relating to sex (guys, Green, Kiele).

I don't tend to believe completely in the psychological explanations, though. And after this, there will be no more posts about my dreams, just items added to the lists.

Body Stuff

I'm not good with bodies. I don't read faces well, according to a reliable internet test. I don't know how girls walk, as compared to how boys walk. I don't even notice breast size accurately except when it's on either extreme of the spectrum. I have a slightly better idea of height. I know, fairly accurately, how I compare to most people I know. If I'm away from people for at least a month, I forget how tall they are, though, and what their faces look like, even the basic details like the shape of their heads. I remember a handful of features, seemingly at random. The curve of her nose, her shoulders, spine, and breasts, and a bit of her hair (but I have a particular reason to remember details about that one). I remember hands, hair color, and basic body type the most clearly, with a couple of exceptions. The girl whose nose I've memorized, I never remember her waist even roughly the right size.

And yet, I can recognize most people I know at a distance of 100 feet, from the back, in poor lighting. No idea whatsoever how that works. I've been losing that trick from stress lately. I understand why that happens. As I become more stressed, I feel more isolated, and crave the sight of someone I recognize more. This being the case, I construe familiar features onto unfamiliar people. But I'm not certain they're the people I imagine them to be, so I distrust my ability to recognize people overall.

But the main reason I'm writing all this down isn't to look at unchangable ways my mind works, or to lament the effects of stress on my mind of late. I'm curious how others remember people, how they see me.

I've spent a long time trying to learn what beauty is, what physical features link the people I'm attracted to. I still have no idea. Mostly, I'm attracted to minds.

So, tell me how you see me (physically), please? Tell me how you remember people, what features stick the most in your memory. Tell me about reading body language, 'cause I certainly have never noticed myself doing that with anything approaching accuracy, and other people tend to misread mine. Tell me what it means to you that someone is beautiful. If you like, you can comment anonymously. It makes no difference to me.

Names, again

I'm in the mood to acquire new names, which may not be advisable, what with me only just getting people to call me Riva. It doesn't matter so far, since the only new names have been for parts of myself, not the unified whole.

Quiet is now Silence. Invisible Girl is now Nothing. Not big changes, really, except it accepts that Invisible Girl doesn't even have a voice. She cannot be observed in any way, so she's Nothing. I was Nothing all weekend. It was yucky and hard and I wanted to give up, but I didn't. It's kind of amazing how I didn't.

This is wanting to turn into an examination of my tendency to give up. I guess I can let it, now.

No one would describe me as a pacifist. I'm casually violent, though I rarely cause permanent harm. Nonetheless, I believe in pacifism. I don't believe people should have to fight to get what they need. This mostly expresses itself when I refuse to fight for something that I really need. Or at least, that's how I was, as of Friday. I haven't mentioned this to people, but I guess I should write about it.

Friday morning, I gave up on school. I just decided I wasn't going to go back. Ever. It got too hard, so I gave up. I took the easy path, as usual. My mom talked me out of that, spending hours of both Saturday and Sunday convincing me I didn't have to give up, that fighting was worth it.

School Monday was the hardest thing I've done since I adopted the principle of quitting, at least six years ago. School today was the easiest it's been since at least five years ago.

So, something about deciding not to give up was worth it, I guess. Not being Nothing is a damn good feeling. Talking about what I'm doing with my life, liking the idea of doing it even though it's hard is new and amazing. The thing with Silence is that I can't hear her any more than anyone else, anymore.

I don't know that I'm who I was, but I'm pretty sure I'm who I should be.

A post about inevitable psychology coming soon, I think.

Thoughts on Thoughts5

The phrase appeared in my mind as I was talking to a friendly acquaintance "I'm out of practice at treating people decently." This definitely requires immediate examination. Firstly, what I meant by that.

I meant that I'm not good at respecting peoples' ideas, treating as equals, without condescending, even in cases where it seems to be justified.

That last phrase needs looking at. Cases where it seems to be justified are places where I know more about a subject, and think of it as inherently obvious. In such a case, I automatically become overly arrogant and secure in my knowledge. That's, among other things, not a useful reaction because it colors any advice I give with the feeling of being laughed at, which is not a way to be listened to at all in the slightest.

But that isn't really all I meant. I have issues with the concept of humanity. I've known that for a very long time. At first, I decided that (very young) people who didn't examine their world closely, people who made a lot of noise, people who teased other people, weren't human. Then I revised it to the opposite, making human a bad thing to be. Since then (8 or 9 yrs old), my views have flipped back and forth, but the group of people I respect has always been very very small.

Lately, I've even had difficulty respecting my mom. Logically, that's horrible, and unbelievable, and I'm fucked up. I already know that, thank you. Emotionally, the idea makes sense to me. She made a decision that deprived her of a quality that defines humanity (the good thing), and so, for all that I love her, and agree that she's doing much better with her life than I am with mine, I can't even think of her as an equal.

I should change that. How? Convince my subconscious mind of what my conscious mind knows: that all people are deserving of respect. How? by treating them with respect, whether or not I feel it at first. If I can just keep remembering to do that, everything will be much much better in my life, and the lives of people around me.

Simple

Simple, I have decided, is a better name for him than Fox. He strives toward simplicity. He swears his thought processes are simple. I am quite certain they are not, but have grown tired of arguing with him. He doesn't dislike complex things, though. He describes girls as complex, and seems to have more female friends than male.

He does, of course, follow the trend in my tastes lately, and so is physically fairly androgynous. Longer hair than mine. People call him a girl, and he doesn't object too much, except when they mention they could check... Objection to that is understandable, and anyway, I can vouch that he's biologically male. I haven't mentioned that to many people, so far.

He's not my boyfriend. We are not, in any conventional sense, romantically involved. Even if we were, my relationships are hardly considered conventional, I suppose. We're friends, we're pretty close in a strange way, I am letting him see more of me than the pretty masks, and I keep forgetting I don't need to play The Game with him. We enjoy each others' company, though not so much now that he's back in Davis.

Sometimes, he can even touch my neck without panicking me. Sometimes, he even reads the warnings correctly.

What we have feels right, we're both not done healing from or past loves yet, and we don't need titles. For now, it works, so I'm not interested in messing with it. I don't know how long it can last, though, but I don't think the end will be too hard.


And, as per standard, soon after writing this, it stopped being true. Simple is the wrong name, for a variety of reasons. So, onward to the next. It may last, since it's actually his. Avi, pronounced like avian, rather than like Ari. Such is the nature of the wanderspace.

Isolation

So now, not only do I never want to go home, I never want to be around people. They complicate things. I'm not quite sure why I said that, but maybe it's true. People make it harder to die of homework, and dying of homework is the plan. I wanted to examine those two facts, but no time, because of the homework. Yep, that was an easy avoidance of looking at something that bothers me. heh.

soon, yeah...

So much for updating this blog more regularly. I guess I couldn't really think of issues to write about in it. I am updating my livejournal pretty regularly, but it's friends-locked, so only people with livejournals of their own can read it.

I'm generally doing pretty well with dealing with my life and my mind right now, but there are a few things that don't make sense, so I'll be using this to work them out over the next few days. It's a good system.

Subject for the remainder of this post: I never want to go home.

Last night, I didn't go home until 1 AM. My mother wanted me to leave where I was by midnight at the latest. It was 12:52 when I finally called her to come pick me up.

It wasn't as if I was particularly happy where I was, either. It was a pretty unpleasant party, except for Simple and a few other people. Simple is going to be the subject of one of my next posts. I just don't really like the sort of party where most people are very drunk, though they were good people to be around when they were sober. I spent about an hour outside, listening to a conversation to which I had nothing to contribute, because inside was worse. I said I was fine because I wasn't needing to get away from the stupidity as much as I sometimes do. (More about saying I was fine in the post about Simple.) It didn't give me a pounding headache, make me crazy or sick to my stomach. I think that's mostly from the marajuana smoke, when it happens.

But still, I wasn't happy there. I could have gone home, my mom would have been happier if I'd come home, I probably would have been happier at home. So why didn't I?

This isn't the first time I've stayed in an unpleasant situation rather than return to my house. I've spent hours wandering almost alone in downtown Berkeley to avoid going home, and more hours standing around listening to a conversation that doesn't interest me rather than going home.

I get along okay with my parents, I like the space of my house and the safety of my room. My back yard feels like a home to me, definitely, so the obvious reason of not feeling welcome or safe at my house isn't right.

My semiconscious mind, which is what has been giving reasons for this before says it's because there's nothing for me to do at home. Is that true? I have a computer with instant messaging programs installed, so I can talk to people, but I don't get hugs while home. I have my flute, which I haven't played in months, even though I love her dearly. I have my story beginnings, sculptures, sewing projects, mind cleansing rituals, beads, a wonderful garden to sit or walk in when it's light out. I don't have direct interraction with people when I'm home, though. I tend to be in a different room than either of my parents, and they work at home and are always busy.

That could be a reason to stay out, because I did spend the entire night cuddling with Simple. If Simple hadn't been there, I wouldn't have gone home, though. I would have tried to cuddle with Bright (old friend, and ex. at the time we broke up, we had violently clashing worldviews, but we've helped each other change, and are now much more similar) and do whatever she was doing. I know she wasn't drinking, anyway. If Bright had left, I would have, even if Simple was still there. That's because I didn't know anyone else there very well, says my thought pattern, and it seems to be right. I don't even know Simple hugely well.

So, I don't want to be alone, but being with only people I don't know very well, if at all, is as bad as, or worse than, being alone. That's what I have so far. But I've stayed after school very late with people I didn't know very well, just to avoid going home, so I guess there's more.

The theory I came up with as I was starting to write this is that going home also means there's stuff I should be doing but don't want to. If I'm not home all day, I don't have to put dishes away or work on my homework or clean my room. It can all wait until tomorrow. I am a procrastinator, hugely so. I know this, and it's yet another thing to work out sometime.

If this is linked into procrastinating, it'll be harder to deal with. I can deal with the part about not wanting to be alone, but the thing with procrastination is that it makes you put off solving it. "I can deal with my procrasintation problem later, when I have more time and less other stuff to deal with." I guess I'm not doing that anymore, if I'm blogging about it. Procrastination deserves its own post, so I guess I should finish this one up.

Reason I don't want to come home, as established by examination of my thought processes is as follows: Home, while a safe place, is a lonely place, and a place where anything I do is overshadowed by the thought of the things I should be doing instead.

What can I do about that? The obvious solution is hugely unpleasant: get rid of the overshadowing things by getting them done. That ties back into the procrastination and deserves examination in its own right. I guess it's a goal to strive towards anyway, and thinking about the blocks soon will help.

As for the loneliness, in past it wasn't an issue. I'm an only child, I've learned how to entertain myself without people, and even like being alone more than most people. I think the desire to be around people all the time is a learned response, and one that does not, in the end, serve my best interest. So, unlearn that. Remember how to never feel too lonely, how to be creative and revel in the chance to think uninterrupted. I can certainly do that, and it will be good for me in other ways, too. Might even help with doing all the things I procrastinate.

---

That was very soothing and useful. Overall, the blogging to sort out my thought processes is a Really Good Idea, and theirfore should be used. Now, if I can just remember that and make time to do this...

Remembering to Think

I shouldn't have ignored this blog for so long. It has a lot of use, and does a lot of good. I couldn't think of anything to write before yesterday, though.

My life has been intensely chaotic, mostly because I've been spending too much time with Hiro and not enough on the four or so projects due at the end of this month. wince.

I have been avoiding two of those projects for a reason, though. At the time I chose my topic, I thought it would be wise to do something with emotional value, so I chose topics that are really meaningful to me. Now, as I work on them, I also have to fight my emotional responses. It doesn't really work all that well. It's far too late to change either topic, though.

The next logical solution is to permanently deal with the emotional side that prevents me from being able to work effectively. I don't know how possible that is, but I can start whenever I next have time to write in this blog.

Just want anyone who cares to know I (still) aten't dead and I will not be ignoring this blog much longer.

Poetry Meme

Found this here. Apparently it's National poetry month, so post a poem that somehow fits in your blog. Mine is:

First Fig:
My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light.

By Edna St Vincent Millay. I actually quoted that at someone Sunday, because it was oddly fitting. Everything is beautiful right now, and this is being cross-posted to my eljay at some point.


Other than that, I haven't updated in ages because I haven't been able to think of a subject, and also because I've been not comfortable telling everything that's happening to the world.

I'm arguing a bit more over gender, have a more masculine haircut, and also have a boyfriend. Wore a white shirt, slacks and a tie to a princess tea party today. The tie was flaming rainbow, though, so it worked. He confuses me, but that doesn't matter hugely. I love him very much, and am henceforth going to call him Hiro. Yes, as in Snow Crash.

Tired now, which is good. I can sleep through tomorrow morning anyway. I really should write more in here sometime, though.

The Gender Post

Normally, I don't talk about my sexual orientation, or gender, or things like that. I don't think about it all that much more often. I label myself: technically bi and poly. Effectively, I am sworn off guys, and attempting (rather pathetically) to limit myself to one person.

What all that means is that I'm attracted, at least some of the time, to both guys and girls, and more than one person at once. However, I am only interested in relationships with girls, and only one at a time. That's as close as I get to simple.

Gender is more complex. In my head, there's no concept of male or female except as a social construct which can comfortably be ignored. I dress as a girl because I like tight-fitting clothing, mostly. That and it's easier to just be what people think of me as. How I act is often seen as female, which is okay. I'm just not exactly either. I am. I exist. I love. That's all. I wear heels because being short is sad. I wear skirts because I do like looking pretty. If I were in a male body, I'd own interesting jackets or something.

Hair is special, though. I hate butch hair-cuts. They say "I'm a girl who'd like to pretend I'm a guy, but I don't actually want to be a guy." They make it not about anything but confusing people. It'd be different if they were actually boys' hair cuts, but they're not. They're girls who'd like people to think they're boys' hair cuts. And that rant was probably terribly offensive to peope. I'm sorry, and I know that's not really the motivation, and I don't even normally think all this, but, yeah. This is not the Censoring Myself for My Audience blog. This is the abstract thought blog.

Anyway, that's that. I'm a genderless being who likes people. That's really all it is until people make it more complicated.

The Game

How it meshes with the Dance, I don't know. It's existance for me has been accepted on much the same level as the Dance. They aren't the same, though.

The Game is a choice.

People who know me in person might have heard the rant about how the Dance is unchangable and omnipresent, and how we should just ignore it because of that. The Game isn't like that. Most people don't play.

Maybe most people do play, and just don't acknowledge it. Maybe it's one of those things that should be subconsious and isn't for me. In any case, most people aren't governed by it to the extent that I am.

I shouldn't even be posting this. It's breaking all the rules. Soon, my brain will catch up and make me not post this because it's giving away my advantage.

I don't want that advantage anymore. I want out. I want to not second-guess everyone. I want to say what I think, or only change that for tact. I don't want to be keeping myself one step (or two steps, or ten steps) ahead of everyone. I don't want to watch and wait and pretend. I don't want my life to be based on predicting people and avoiding showing my own pattern.

I've been trying to get out of this for weeks now. It's not working. The watching people, finding their motives, is ingrained into how I relate to people now. And of course I can't tell anyone those opinions, because it'd be giving away my hand. I haven't been able to fill out a single johari window, even though everyone's posting them. Nonetheless, here. Fill it out. It'll hurt me like hell, but it'll still be a good thing.

And while I'm at it, this will hurt even more but be healthy for my mind, too.

Posting this quickly before my brain catches up. Almost into panic mode now.