Engage. Now. Or alternatively, how I didn't jump his bones.

Forwarning, I'm spinning, and stream of conciousness and I don't have a particularly positive rapore of late. But there are things that need to be said, things that need to learn how to be said, things I need to wise up and deal with and learn how to say. This week, these weeks have been wrenching, like a washrag hung drip dry and then strung end to end, just to make sure everything that was there will wash away across the sidewalk, mixing with dust. Its funny, I didn't actually realize the absurdity of my actions, that I was in friggin' RUSSIA less than 2 months ago, and galavanting across the universe not even a month ago, Isreal to be exact-er. And then it hit me, school is scary, life is scary, staying still in one place is scary, being is scary. And hard, and turmoil, and gut wrenching, and beautiful, and wet. But most of all wet. I have not been stationary, static, relaxed, just not on guard, in far too long. Then I remember why, because staying put, staying still, means engaging, means slowing down for long enough to see the world as it buzzes by. It means sitting in the rain, in the dark, for five nights in a row in split screen, watching the you that you've been so long be confronted and destroyed. I've had it coming, for more than a while now, but borrowed time can only last so long, before it stretches and breaks, and there you are, alone on your ass.

Most of all, I didn't expect to miss you when you left. I expected relief, craved relief, thought finally, after so many years of expectation, maybe finally I'd be able to breath again. You came, an aberration, an anomale, and yes, in your wisdom, an overblown out of proportion dream of lonely nights. You left, today, in all your shaggy glory, a greater part of my life than when you blew in. You are simplicity on acid, you defy my logic, my expectations, my desires. I am more than definitly not over you, but if I were, this wouldn't matter so much, this entire process wouldn't have been so gut wrenching, because the stakes wouldn't have been so damn high. I wanted to hate you, wanted to find my small and itching reasons to have you gone...and I failed. You are my normal. You take me at my worst, you take me at my best, you take me when I am poking and prodding you and making you cry. You have to know, how much it burned that night, watching me destroy you, and knowing that I couldn't come over and put my arms around you and make the world go away. And then, lying on my floor, staring at the ceiling, and feeling your breath and the wind howl, I think somewhere in there I let go. You won't buy this, I know, I can hear you already, chuckling slyly. But its true, I lay there and listened to the rain pound, and felt you with your arms around me, and I realized that its time to learn to enjoy you, to take you for everything you have given to me, take every recollection, every awkard moment, every shy sadness, every hysterical fit of laughter, every time I ran to you, every endless conversation, every hellish daydream, every consolation, every extasy, every joy. I hope you know how much you mean to me...how much deep love and affection I have for you. I hope you know that I meant every word that was said. I hope you know that I will never let you fall through, that I will be around to kick your ass, and I take that very seriously. I hope you know that you are loved.

But darlin', if you ever pull this shit on me again, if you every put me through another week like this one, I will kill you. Know that, too.

The thing that sucks the most about finally having to deal with a small part of yourself, which you have, however unsuccesfully, shelled off from the world for quite some time, is how surreal everything feels. This attraction, this addiction, has been such a lingering persistance for so long now, I expect it to still be buzzing around like a bee, so much so that I almost miss the noise. Almost.

I definitly did not expect to regain some emotional stability out of the hell that has been this week, in fact, I'm not quite sure where this is coming from, but I'll go with it. I just got back from some more bonding time in the appartments, just sitting, talking, being, and for the first time in quite some time I could look around and respect being here, realize being here. Maybe this week shook me just enough to open up again, to expose myself again, that whole fear of vulnerability, violent, petulant, iron gripped. Fear for me is again the duality of life-- the impetus to wall myself off, and the need and motivation to fix it, to look within myself and make some changes. Woman, again you give me the ground under my feet, or remind me where to look.

And now, back on my feet again, there are some changes to be made. I have spent the first three weeks of the semester revelling in feeling out of place, and again out of control. I was that same muffled, shellshocked, creature that I yelled at you for being. I think Amy was more right then I ever wanted to give her credit for, we get very used to our habits of being. Be it depressed, busy, exhausted, enraptured, we learn these behaviors, and thus changing becomes not only the act of changing your mind, but also changing your habits. I can't be that person again, the one that swallowed me whole last year, I can't, and I refuse to be. And that person is exactly the one that I'm recreating for myself back here finally, but I can't do it again. I can't do 21 credits, tutoring, music, working 12-15 hours a week, and mantain any sort of peace. No matter how much I'd like to bury myself in the sand, to craft myself a life here bereft of any and all chance to be with myself, by myself, in my mind, I can't. I won't. So, within a few days, hopefully (unless I loose my nerve...) I'll suck it up and drop music theory, what a revelation, and for the first time in my college carreer only carry 17 credits. Engaging in my world right now means accepting the fact that I don't anymore want to be a music major/minor, and keeping up the facade is really just by force of habit, and that is stupid. Music will be a part of me and will be in my life because it is like breathing, not because I have my name on a piece of paper. Old dreams die slowly, but its time.

Enough.