sometimes the universe is INCREDIBLE - in the way it just responds to your inner psyche.
the previous posting was a cut and paste job from some email that just arrived in my inbox: with "Feeling down" as the subject heading.
I love the NON-english of spam - it's the last pure form of automatic writing... and I think there's a message in there somewhere for me - past the buttons for cialis, viagra and xanax......
At the moment I need all three - I'm so flat I can't even get my dildo to stay erect.
I'm debating whether or not to venture out to the launch of "Velvet Park" - which is meant to be the alternative version of "Go" which is the big apple's version of Lobotomies On The Loose. the cute girl-on-t at Babeland said it wasn't really quite "on our backs" - but seeing as I missed the SLIT launch last week in Sydney I thought it might go some way towards alleviating my feelings of vaginita cobwebitis.
On the other hand the theme is "roller derby" - and I'm about as natural arround roller skates as the average pussy cat, and I find sporty dykes totally unsexy - sport, sweat, netball, uniforms, running shoes, EUGH.
AND the website has WAYYY too many references to the L-WORD - which I think is like STARBUCKS of sapphodom - ie non coffee drinkers think Starbucks must be a good idea - and I.... am proud to say that I've been in the USA for 3 months and not stepped foot in a single one!
and I was feeling too depressed even to brave Dr. Sketchies, (actually i've decided that I never want to draw another titty tassle as long as I live....) and so I'm still thinking that maybe I should take advantage of another late night in solitude wiht my skethcobook at the MET.
Yesterday i fought back tears and entertained myself for at least an hour underneath Carpeaux's version of "Ugolino and his son's" - looking up and imagining a mayhem version of Monty Python skit - done ocker style.....
"i'm sorry lads, but there's just too many of you, and we're all starving to death, so i'm afraid I'm going to have to chop one of you up and feed you to the others..."
"ohhh SHIT dad, that really sucks, can't it be Jason?"
"No, craig, Jason's too small, he'd barely feed a cat, I'm afraid we'll have to go with Brian"
"Fucking No Way!"
"Listen, son, I know you're the favourite, and i'll try and let that console me and the other's while we're savouring your barbecued, flesh; you're a big strapping lad, and maybe, just maybe with your help, we'll all pull through"
Actually Just add that to the pile of reasons not to go - I love art and the met is open till 9pm again tonight....
OK, reasons to go:
I should see some Lesbians for I leave New York
the magazine is the nearest thing NYC has, to SLIT
the launch is a 10 minute walk away from where I'm staying
I could check out some of the openings that are in the area
I could even score dutch courage at openings before hand
I'm wearing all black
I might get laid and this might improve my mood
I might get laid by some homocidal freak and this would eliminate my mood
My mood ain't good
Again more reasons not to go:
I'm trying not to drink. this limits my gregariousness
I feel about as sexual as an armadillo in the fucking 4 layers I have to wear everywhere so I don't freeze my tits off
I was feeling too withdrawn to cope with Dr. Sketchies then I don't know how I'll cope with A) willliamsburg art scene B) Williamsburg dyke Scene
I feel about as sexual as a wombat generally. I think this is a sign of depression.
I think i'm depressed
Reasons for depression are all noteworthy and logical
I'm probably premenstrual (no sign of the menopause yet)
I'm been bedbound nearly all week with a nasty headcold
I haven't been dancing, or exercising or having much fun at all
I haven't had sex for nearly 3 months, and that was with the consort
I'm a bit broken hearted about the consort
It's the anniversary of the end of the lesbian marriage
Inspired by ZOO - I signed onto the ANU MoodGym (where KPI's meet cognitive therapy)
so I went through and they reckon I'm not very depressed but I am very anxious. Of course I'm anxious! i've got a year to submit my PhD! And then i'm cast off into the cold world of unfunded doctoral purgatory......
"your thoughts determine your mood"
A wise proposition, but I reckon the ones from the SPAM email are far more interesting....
maybe I need to go and update the list they have, of shit things, OK things, good things that happpened this week, and my responses......
or maybe I just write them here:
1.I lost my flashdrive. totally Crapolla. thoughts were "fuck, fuck, oh fucking fuck, fucking hell. I'd better go buy another one and try to track down/back up info."
2. I had evil sinus headcold for 5 days. Thoughts were "ohhhhh, fuck, this sucks. Have I got enough codeine? I don't want to take sudafed, PLEASE don't get bronchitis, I'd better start taking my athsma medication again, I don't want to get out of bed. Have I got enough food? fuck this suuuuuckszzzzzz zzzzzz blow nose, cough, sleep etc.
3. consequently didn't present conference paper in finland, had to contact organisers and hosts, and hotels and change plane tickets. Feel a bit of a dill
4. felt like shit and couldn't do any more research and lost a week on my 4 week travelpass....
3. My mobile phone stopped working - and the phone company ate the $10USD credit remaining. It took me a few days to notice and a few more days to work out why. fucking nothing I can do. can't be fucked giving more money just to send 3 sms...
1. We managed to work out some sort of a semi-reliable local wireless internet connection - this was good coz the landline has been down and I had to change/arrange a lot of crap
2. today was sunny and 55 degrees in the morning
3. I had some decent books and got to wallow in bourdieu's distinctions.... argh such a canny marxist he was! I love it when the world can look straightforward and clean and critical - and we can wipe all traces of identificatory enjoyment with dismissive sneers at the bourgeoisie.....
4. Blueberries were only $3.00 a punnet instead of $5.00
anyway - before crashing and collapsing I was trying to ward off impending feelings of doom by keeping myself busy - running between sketch clubs and the library and doing dinner wiht people - and getting out of the house and away from myself....
but then I crashed and collapsed - so now i'm a little scared of pushing myself into avoidance.
so here I am, debating what to do with myself.
did I write that my libido has VANISHED. (yes, a surprise) and a sign that I'm meant to keep myself under wraps - and that I haven't got a lot of energy for others, maybe.... or a sign that I'm completely shutting down and avoiding human contact and the world because right now i'm ACHING like hell, and don't know what the FUCK to do about it!!!
i'm not really a total emotional escapee - hell i'm wallowed on this blog all last year, and the year before, and i did A LOT OF CRYING last year. and I saw a therapist, and had regular shiatsu and did a lot of yoga and even had a full immersion rebound affair..... which has now, in it's inevitable and timely and sensible denoument left me feeling hollow and horrible and heartbroken and very hurt and alone and sad.
which are all just feelings. I didn't want the lover, didn't want the relationship, just wanted the sensation of being held and fucked, and cooed at.
but it was rather attaching, all the same.
as for the trouble and strife, well.
One year ago yesterday, or the day before (because time differences are rather odd). I was on a bus from Tampere to Helsinki with my dear friend heli, and for some reason, I couldn't stop crying. Tears streamed out of my eyes, and I had this horrible feeling that Abel didn't love me anymore. Now most people would assume that NO SMS's - infrequent emails and initiating sex with someone else while i was in the same room (and NOT with me btw) - could have been pretty clear warning signs that something was up, but intercontinental intuition in a snowy landscape sound so much more poetic.....
I thought I'd die. And I didn't. but every now and then unconscious oblivion doesn't seem like such a bad idea. It'd be NICE not to have what feels like a hole in my chest, inadequately compensated by a lump in my throat. In would be NICE not to be fighting back tears half the day. It'd be nice to stop whingeing. and to laugh.
I know things are bad inside when my sense of humour goes nutty - my inner clown trying to cheer up the rest of me. so I wandered through the Frick and nearly burst out laughing at Reynold's portraits of Lady so and so - coz they looked EXACTLY like the crazy trannies on Little Britain... or I start rescripting the gory tales behind 'neoclassical' sculptures (even thought I'd class Carpeaux as a stock romantic myself.... love the work....)
and reading another email from Abel full of earnest assurances of her sobriety "apart from one disastrous occasion" and remembering the past eight and half fucking years of the same fucking script- and involuntarily reciting details of "oh, apart from that time where I got a bit tiddly and fucked the dog and crashed the car, or crashed the dog and fucked the car, or maybe the dog fucked me in the car ... but err... No, I don't remember. No. I felt very bad the next day. No I don't remember it at all. I was just a bit tiddly. No I don't know why. I've been moderate apart from that."
there are a surprising number of homocidal maniacs who while not in the throes of an axe wielding frenzy have been regarded by many people as "moderate". this doesn't stop them from being homocidal maniacs.
this isn't meant to be an Abel bashing post - maybe it's just an easy fallback when i'm feeling scared, and sad and desperately insecure. Hell! The last time I walked into an unknown dyke bar, alone, in a foreign city was.... July 31st 1998... and then look what happened. If I was going to meet someone more fantastically amazing, brilliantly intelligent, creative,really wild and yet so tender so caring - it would be here in New York...... but I'd have to let go of her first, my stupid sad little dream that the ideal Abel would somehow emerge and we'd both rip each other's clothes off, that I wouldn't feel this level of sadness and terror around anyone and not around myself.... I'm letting this old scarred love form like a chrysalis around me, because it's secure, safe structure....
hang on, why am I saying this shit? I totally opened up to the consort, and just got crushed and confused as a result. I tried to console myself that he's way more confused than I am, but that was just delusional. I'm the one in hell here. today I went drawing and the model had the same facial structure as him. I thought I was hallucinating. I kept drawing the room around the model - everything to avoid looking into those eyes that looked so familiar and yet were so unfamiliar. Thank God the model gave me some back views so I could remember how to draw - again - and thank god his body was nothing like the consort's.... But it was freaky, in a way. another little push from the cosmos, telling myself to grit my teeth and get over it.
My latest epitaph to the consort: his phallus was like his library; magnificent yet woefully underused.
and I call myself a bookish lesbian