you know you're right

Of all the random, weird stuff to do on Halloween... drinking brandy with Sam and watching a marathon of the Gargoyles cartoon is definitely high on the list. Strangely fun. Brandy makes me sleepy.

Gene woke me from troubled dreams early this morning. I shuffled around sleepily in my pajamas (a Don't Mess With Texas tshirt and pale denim pants) and my cloak. The traffic was surprisingly light on the way down to campus. I hugged him goodbye, and drove home with the windows down. He's going to Baton Rouge for a programming competition... I don't envy him the drive.

Picked up a cookbook, forgot the camera, and dropped his coat at the dry cleaners. Came home and napped for a few hours in my bed. So far, so good. Down on campus, there was pale sunlight, but the clouds remain stubborn here. I want to scour the apartment, because I don't think I'll feel thoroughly relaxed until I do.

I can't reach my coffee cups because someone put them all high above my head.

I am learning to take care of myself

Cleaning the house, washing dishes and throwing things out, vacuuming and stacking the books that are everywhere here, between the three of us. My robes are draped over the ironing board, and I have the sliding glass door open on the cold, because I desperately need to feel the air.

I am something like the princesses in fairy tales, who do not have hearts. Their hearts are frozen, or kept in jeweled cases guarded by wizards and dragons. Except there are no dragons here, and I haven't the damndest idea how to get my heart back. There was one fairy tale about prince, and his heart was covered in lead by a witch, til a girl sliced his breast open and gave him her own.

and you said and you did and you said you would find me here
and you said you would find me even in Death and you said
and you said you'd find me but I can't see New York
as I'm circling down through the white cloud falling out and I know his lips are warm
but I can't seem to find my way out my way out I can't see

Maybe this is not the best day to be reading Ghosts again. But Allosia's voice is a warm, honey colored thing in my head. Today, I am in one of those moods where if I had enough will I'd try to make those things real in a world that does not exist. Because the only voice in the real world I'm dying to hear isn't here at all.

I'm sleeping in my bed again, my bed that smells like me and someone else, and it's the strangest thing to find pillows that are not your own there when you wake up. The same ceiling, and the shelves in the corner of my eye, and I think I want to hang the poster of the cranes up and we'll just see if anyone minds.

There is this feeling in me, a number of whispers in different voices and the sense of waiting for something I can't see. Sometimes I think about giving up on talking out loud, and going back to the silent creature I used to be, because the frustrated agony of wrapping words in silk and wire is beyond me on days like this. I am only saved by the keys of my laptop, because they require no voice, only the muscle memory of my hybrid typing methods.

And I will be cryptic as hell, because it is my privilege to make no sense on certain days. And I will break rules, and talk to the voices in my head, and do all those things my precious sanity would deny me, because it will help some until the sunlight comes back.

I'm glad you're on my side still