May. 13th, 2003

threeplusfire: (wandering)
It rained today, at long last. It woke me, the plastic sound of water hitting the rocks outside the bedroom window. Standing in the hall, in the darkness of 10am storms and clapping my hands over my head at the thunder that shook the building around us. It was nice and cold while we listened to the water.

I have decided I like the rain, so long as I am not in it.

Slow night at work. The team from India is training and Rikesh sits at my desk. I feel like I've gone back three years in time and it scares me.

Home at long last, and most everyone I want to speak with has gone to bed. Mildly unhappy, blood on my jeans, the weight of a ring without a kingdom and lives that are not mine in truth, sirens whirling somewhere out in the darkness. Right now, right now, right now. Even when it is silent I hear songs, and most of my hallucinations tend to be auditory.
threeplusfire: (death)
Watching A Perfect Murder in French, because yes, I can. Or something. Maybe it's just funny. Steven Taylor isn't quite so scary without Michael Douglas' voice. That's become clear.
threeplusfire: (king)
I've rewritten this post time after time, because I don't know what I'm saying.

I say "I don't know" when I shouldn't.

Too many sides to the stories, too many voices and impulses and reactions and it is easy to lose the thread of the conversation because I'd like to be anywhere else right now. Something like that anyway.

I've got my headphones on, and it helps somewhat because I can artificially alter my mood with the correct dosage of sound. It works, better than it should. Like memories so close to being real, except for a thousand miles.

And right there for a minute
I knew you so well

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