My High Collar and Lace

Feels good to blow off some steam. The preliminary release is at another location. Puff.

I've been cheating on you with my other blogs - myspace, friendster. Sorry. I hope you understand...

Didn't know I had steam in me today, but I did once I processed the overnight emails. Er, actually when I sought out a blog I shouldn't've. I unsubscribed for a reason, damnit. But, it's like my relationship with coffee. I want it; I don't want it. I impulsively get it/read it.

Then there's a little guilt, coupled with the whimsy of feeling like I'm in control and getting what I want.

Yeah, redheads are nothing but trouble. 3 of them in my mind lately. Past, present, and dreamstate.

Had a busy week last week. Seems easy for me to be faux-happy like that. I got so busy I was barely home, except to sleep. I experienced my own backlash and wanted to relax in a drastic way.

So I took like 3 baths with salts, oils, and bathbombs. Oh, the luxury. And my rubber ducky with a tiara given to me by Twink and Wisteriax. And my Cynthia bath clamshell pillow.

Cynthia's getting married again. I find myself almost hyperventilating thinking about her dress and what it will be like. Lace, buttons, trim. What about my own wedding gown? I dunno if there will ever be one. I don't know if I could decide on something...thank goodness no one's asking! Would it be white, or black? White I think. Something corset-like. I saw one once in NYC with my friend Bliss when we were walking around. Should've bought it there on the spot. It was there - glorious - in a window. Shining, gleaming, sparkling, beaming with light and purity and beauty.

I would want a train naturally. Long, the longest ever.

But I don't really have a religion. I'm empty that way.

I only believe in love. Love outside the state or some god.

Empty.

Perhaps a high-collar. If I die unmarried, maybe I should be buried in a wedding gown. Married to myself and my woes and sorrows. Passions and unknown things to share, which no man seems to want to take. Elizabeth was married to herself and England. She cut her hair off.

Ach, life.

They say I'm melodramatic. Fuck them. At least I feel and express. Can they even string a sentence together? Perhaps it is more fashionable to be sarcastic, sardonic, cynical, snarky. True emotion is outre in this post-modern voidworld.

There is no place for a strong passionate woman who is straight in this world.

Perhaps I should keep him close to remind me of how I almost died.

They say to keep your enemies close. Closer than your friends.

He hurts me and he gives me gifts.

{Paula Vogel}

Then there is the good listener. But he's a cad. I am impressed that he remembers what I say. It's like he's actually listening. And such lovely Persian brows. He thinks he's American, the fool.

I get sarcasm from my father. It is ugly and I hate it about myself. It is no noble high horse.