graceland's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- First there was one... Sometimes, I think I just do crazy things because I can. Never so much to hurt myself or anyone else, but more a deliberate toeing of the line and then tiptoeing across it to see how much I can handle. It may also be that I do things to see anyone is strong enough to stop me. Who can keep up and who's going to hold me back? How's that for truth? Thursday night everyone got drunk. We all went out and it was just one of those nights when all the cards stand up to make a great thin walled house. The house came crashing down early, and one card remained. You guessed it. That card, drunk and incoherent, put on her pajamas - a short black slip and a t-shirt, with heels, grabbed her handbag and slipped out of her hosts house and began wandering the streets of a foreign city. Alone and dressed like a hooker. I don't know why I went out like that. I may have only intended to go two blocks for cigarettes, but upon exiting 7-11 and speaking briefly to several african american youths (no idea what transpired), I must have been enraptured by the site of a local hole in the wall bar and with no logical thought left functioning in my pickled brain, I walked into the bar. Alone. I wasn't alone for long. A graying rocker type made this way over to show me to the bar. Asked me if he could buy me a drink. "No," I said without looking at him. I ordered a beer. There was one stool at the bar, in between sections of men. I backed out of it to a table. I left my change at the bar for the bartender. Same man makes his way over to the table with my change. Looks like he wants to talk. I don't make eye contact. I don't want to talk and I definitely don't want to fuck him. I don't know what I want beyond that, but I know those two things for fact. He asks me if he can buy my next drink. I say, "No." I spend some time texting on my phone. I look around and see that the bar is filled with one table with kids, stools filled with townie looking men and me. I start to process this realization and I regroup to the bathroom because I can't think with all of these people around me. In the bathroom, I drop my beer. I pick it up. I walk out of the bathroom, up to the bar, place my beer on it and walk directly out the door with my handbag in one hand and a great deal of the contents of my handbag in my other hand. I start to head to my friends place and I remember that a local college girl was beaten pretty badly in this area a couple of months ago. They never found the guys who hit her. They used brass knuckles. Sounds like skinheads. I make a call. Make it sound like I'm on my way to a friends. Keep talking in case anyone approaches. Get back to my friends place, work on sobering up. Stayed up for a few more hours. Woke up asleep on a chair. Friday. Where to start with Friday? Friday was one of those nights that can never be reported on properly so that a reader came understand? Who has the time or patience to understand 13 hours of drug induced emotion, stream of thought interaction. Hours of dialoguing, personal and interpersonal relating, doors opening, door closing. Those scary questions toward the end of it. "Graceland. The thing about you is that some people are private and rarely open up, but you, you are beyond private. You are like a fortress, you are always closed off personally without a glipse of the inside. No indication of what you are feeling and thinking. You are like a master of emotionessness. Emotionally unavailable." Silence. More silence. I'm sitting. I haven't spoken in 30 minutes...possibly an hour. I have sat, I have listened to every word. I have nodded. I have smoked. I try to think of words to say. I want to explain myself. I am in here. I can feel inside. I want to explain. I want them to understand. I want people to understand more than anything, I guess that's why I am still here, on this earth. I open my mouth. "What you guys, and everyone, doesn't understand is that sometimes when the important questions are asked of me and people ask me how I feel...sometimes it's just that I am thinking and feeling nothing. Sometimes there's just nothing in there and nothing to say to describe that." "And other times there is just too much to say. And that's overwhelming too." "When I have problems, I don't talk about them because yes, I don't what to bother anyone with them, but also because I have a great deal of confidence in my own ability to solve them."
What I wanted to say is that, I love my friends. I love you guys, and I feel that. And for the most part I don't share because it's not in my nature. And I am also not in that relationship yet where I have an equal to share these things with. Sharing feelings and problems is personal with me. Not something I want to share with friends regardless of how smart and empathetic they are. It's something that I want to share with the person with whom I decide to have a serious relationship. That's what I am giving that person. I want to hold a piece of myself back from the world and only show that to one person who is the most important person my life. That's what I'm bringing to the table. I want to give them the best part of myself; what's never been given to someone else. My secrets. And so they will remain. Soon, though. Soon I will give it all away. I don't know why I say that, but I can feel it. Something big is waiting for me. These walls are going to come crashing down. I hope I don't wash away in it. 11:45 p.m. - 2004-08-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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