enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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One

You know, I must be ill or something, as I haven't been able to shake the headache all day.

I mean, I'm a lightweight. But not that much of a lightweight.

I pulled out all of my 80s and 90s albums today. You don't want to know what I danced around in circles to in my living room.

Right now I have on Johnny C@sh singing One. That version gives me the chills. Seriously, the chills.

When I think of the 80s, I mostly think of dancing to Bizarre Love Tri@ngle with the hot zamboni driver in the dark corridors of the hockey arena in which I worked. (In my defence he was also the James D3an character of my high school. I had fine taste in men, even then. ;))

I don't know if I mentioned this before, but to this day I choke with laughter when I think of working as a 16-year-old in the arena snack bar, a facility nicknamed by the hockey ruffians the "snatch bar."

Such has been my life. And you can tell from recent posts that I've advanced markedly career-wise in recent years. ;)

I feel great right now. Open as the sky. I don't know if it's the scientist's open-hearted declarations that I am worth being with, or the fact that I've figured out that my boss is the screwy one, or that changing my thinking about myself can make all the difference in the world, but I'm good. I'm revolutionarily good.

Speaking of revolution, I just finished listening to Tr@cy Chapman, Tr@cy Chapman. I can't remember the last time I did that.

When I listen to TC I am always reminded of the middle-aged business tycoon who tried desperately to get into my pants when I first visited Melbourne as a young twenty-something with my then boyfriend. It was a weird experience. I kept on telling him that I was not pretty; and he kept on telling me that yes, I was not pretty, but that I was "beautiful." And the thing is that even if that was just a complete load of shit I remember thinking at the time that there was something rich and sincere in it, and that he was speaking of something completely, objectively different than any kind of physical attractiveness. I'd forgotten how it feels to be desired in a way that reaches some earnest, deep yearning. It's nice.

So there you go, I'm a sap. What other pathetic stories can I tell of myself?

Well, I don't think this is particularly pathetic but I was just thinking about my first few record albums as a kid: Bre@kfast in America, The Vill@ge People, The Beatles' Wh!te album, J3sus Christ Superstar.

Yes, JCR. I rather fancied myself Mary Magd@lene, and sang "I don't know how to love him..." repeatedly. I'm shocked that my parents weren't somewhat embarrassed by this.

So there you go. I have nothing more that I should say tonight. I'm going to continue reflecting, feeling good, listening to music. I did my hair in a nice updo today, put on red lips and nice eye makeup and dangly earrings of scarlett glass and a nice outfit. I feel a bit freer than I did, even as of yesterday. I'm on a path of change-- really, truly, finally. And I might just sleep with one of the two good men pursuing me at the moment. (Seriously, it shouldn't be this difficult.)

11:38 p.m. - 2006-11-18

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