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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All the real girls tell the truth

Well, I'm up and dressed and ready to go to work and it's only 8:15. Not bad!

Not that I want to go to work early, but I suppose that if I do I will be able to ATTEMPT to leave early.

Or on time.

Whatever.

So I think a few things might be things willing to allow me to figure them out.

Things I like about my apartment: the glowing red bricks of the houses of the neighbourhood in the morning sun.

Things I don't like about my apartment: my toilet backed up last night. Quite by surprise. I am sure that nothing but toilet paper had gone in. Unfortunately, I am going to have to call the super from work this morning. I'm beginning to make myself a pest, which I am not.

The super is a funny bloke, as I've mentioned before. He's highly intelligent and has long, grey, hippie hair. I quite like him. He's funny as a super, however, in that he has informed me that he likes to sleep in. So he is not, uh, available at the moment.

All will be well. I reminded myself of what a non-anxious person would do: not think about it and at some point today call the super.

And that is what I will do.

I'm not particularly anxious, but as I lay in bed after trying to plunge the thing, I realized something very important. My first thought after the toilet plugged up - for no good reason that I can discern - was something to the effect that I'm an idiot and how could I have plugged up my toilet within one week.

The fact is that I blame myself. I was brought back to feelings from my childhood that somehow everything was clearly my fault. It's why I'm a perfectionist - if I can perfect something there is less risk that I will be to blame for something that fucks up. I carry an awful lot of guilt. I don't know how I learned this, exactly.

I mean, it's a fucking toilet in an old buiding! The room and the wiring are new but perhaps the plumbing is...not.

Sorry for that. That's done.

I realized something else important as well. Very important. Meeting Andrea had a purpose. It made me able to imagine myself with someone and having a family. It seemed so natural. If only I could find someone like him as I imagine him to be.

I could never imagine having a family with Marco. Or not really. With him it was always the fantasy of biking off into the sunset in South Africa or China, running around on wild goose chases to catch the sunset to paint the shadows of Tuscany in the spare seconds before night fall, drinking wine in little restaurants in the middle of the country somewhere.

But the thing is that in my heart as I lay in my bed I wanted the first thing. Andrea told me that when he was a boy, he hated to admit, he grew up savage (his word). He grew up in Sicily, running wild through the countryside.

I grew up savage, too, roaming my grandparents' farm all day, hiking the forests north of Lake Superior.

And yet we're both now civilised and very centred in what we believe to be right and wrong and just and desirable. Somehow I think that knowing how to be "savage," but choosing not to be is the thing. It might be the secret to freedom - that tiny savage heart inside a functioning, tax paying citizen.

Is there someone here like that for me?

I hope so. I'm tired of being alone. And of course I don't want to be with just anyone.

Someone able to fix toilets would be nice, however. I put in my best effort but wasn't able to do it. I suppose it would help had I a snake. It's all kind of sad and fantastic and hopeless, isn't it?

XO

8:18 a.m. - 2009-11-12

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