Every once in a while, and none too rarely either, I have one of those evenings where ten thousands visions of evenings are born and swallowed whole.
Last night I had three backup plans if my usual gaming-with-the-boys plans fell through. Alain wanted me to catch a flick with him and Kelly, Folli was going to help me gather bonechips, I was supposed to watch Pierre kick ass in a volleyball tourney...
I left work yesterday afternoon, drunk and spinning by five o'clock.
Drunk with sunlight streaming through the filters of my eyes is more disconcerting than trying to have dinner in a wannabe upscale restaurant with whipped cream in your hair. A lot of it.
But that's another story.
Breakfast with John somehow always tears the pushpins out of my tender cortex and smooths everything over like yesterday's fine wines and licorice liqueurs.
We didn't game yesterday, and rather than race out I spent part of trying to sober up a little, chatting with certain beloveds across icq.
Strange, strange chats. More intense than I've been allowing myself to do lately. Admitting certain core truths that I thought I'd decided to keep temporarily to myself.
The fact that I'd decided to keep something to myself intentionally still has me a little shaken.
Regardless.
I was too happily teetering to venture out yesterday, and slightly too woozy (good word good word fun word wonderful woozy word) to brave EQ.
John's gf stood him up for a meeting so the two of us, suddenly sans plans for one of the first times in our lives, sat down to watch some dumb movie he'd rented.
I watched a movie lying in my roommates strong arms, on a couch I've still hardly sat in, on a TV I keep forgetting we have.
"Three Kings" is an insult to even my drunken and clueless intelligence.
We ranted and raved the whole movie through about how stupidly hollywoodized they turned desert and army and war into...
Then we got to talking about deserts and armies and wars and it's a story that big strong John, cooler than life John, looks up at me with great big blinking eyes and shuts the fuck up and cries when I'm through pulling together the runaway strands of some impossible memory or another.
Impossible because I can shoot a rifle and it makes me no different and no less weak and no less terrified and I used to scream the litany of the damned for myself but really - there isn't much difference, is there? Everybody suffers and everybody's gritted their teeth at some point or another and whistled "I can do this I can do thos I can do this" to themselves.
I'm no determinist but sometimes all the difference in the world is where and when you were, not who. I'm here because I fell from over there, and sure I tried to sprout wings and propel myself in this direction, but...
How much difference does it make, really. We've all been rape victims at some point or another.
I guess it makes all the difference we need it to, to define who we are... It makes all the difference we're willing to let it, it makes no difference at all because we're all fuck-ups and it makes all the difference universally possible because we're all the same and yet none of us are the same at all and now I'm just being primordially profound.
So we watched the dumbest-ass movie in the world and then I sat with my beloved and we cried together like the first time we bonded oh... about exactly a year ago.
Somehow we always bond over movies - two non-media-ites and the cheapest flick moves us to warm tears like warm oceans can drown you in one sated breath.
Mmmm, 10 o'clock, I don't think I'm in the mood for EQ. That, and I want to go to bed early. Like in an hour, early.
So I had a chat with a terribly sweet little fucker and spoke of things long buried in rough sand and the high treason of upper caste city living. Things I speak of more and more rarely now, dreams lost and tangled in the gates of a hell I know I won't have to go back to, and in case I do - their strengths are there, waiting on me.
And their strengths are here, like silicone under a layer of humanoid skin - silicone that reflects and rejects some of the human emotions that maybe I ought to be more patient with.
But I have no patience sometimes. Cold hearted bitch am I with no kind words for cowards or fickleness or some games - yet underneath that strangely shimmering layer I'm dying for someone to kiss me on the eyelids when we part ways on a claustrophobic street.
I am my own coward, too weak to face all the stories at once.
Too weak to continue my conversation with Axis last night, because the whirlpools in my head weren't ones he wanted to see or consider (sometimes the greatest self-proclaimed listeners can only listen to something on their playlist and that's where it hurts briefly and pungently and teaches you a thorn-shaped lesson that bolsters you for weeks to come) so we tossed words a while, played words a while and I abandoned him as I had Q, launching from one process to another, kissing Cobalt goodnight, catching John in the hallway between romps with Gen and kissing him on the shoulderblade.
My head hit the pillow past 2am and I could've played EQ but --
I guess I lost somewhere in all this what I'd meant to imply in the rainbow of moments and reminiscences and rollercoasters last night, but I am grateful to all of you for allowing me the thrill of the ride.
And oh my what a thrill it is.
"J't'emmene au vent..."