January 14th; the truth will wait
Sounds: Dar Williams, The End of the Summer

Words: Tim Powers, The Anubis Gates (not getting very far, as I can't keep my mind on it when i'm brooding)

and when the spring came and flooded all the streams
it was like how you got the night you told me all your dreams
and when the barn roof sagged after an icy bout
it's like how you shrugged when you knew
the truth was the only way out.

 More poetry:

u district, 8:34 am

they say you are a symptom,
a statistic. But your cloak
is velvet, though it's seen
better days under a warmer sun.
carefully blank against the cold,
your face asks for change, narrow
and long-fingered hand eloquent of
need. Your velvet cloak and sharp
face, fey as some other myth.
Just a blond child in a stolen cloak,
run away from anything, begging
for pot or smack or food, but in this
moment you are ancient and lovely,
eyes speaking of satellites of
distant suns. So, my money
in that graceful hand, you murmur thanks
as I go on into the bright morning,
your own craving eyes blinking, guarded,
in the light of a world nearly new-made.

1/3/98, Vancouver

annotation for u district, 8:34 am

Maybe I'll go talk to her and say, "Okay, what are you like?"

But then I need an answer to the same question.

Let's see. what am I like?

I am like a quiet night broken by storms. I write columns, stories, and poems. I am a HTML maven. I prefer clean, crisp design, and disdain cuteness and silliness. I am highly territorial and have a liberal definition of territory. I am like a country with walls around its border, with its own language and rules.

I am trying to climb out of a depression. I tend to turn anger on myself. I am a suicidal warrior, beaten by the battle of life. I am quiet, i am partially deaf, I value personal stories. My method of relating to my friends involves a lot of subtlety. I play social dominance games, and I generally win. I change from moment to moment. I am not like I was when i started writing this paragraph.

And I am desperately trying not to be mean.

Oh, this is so hard. i want to know why this had to happen now, right when I am so fragile, when I've felt joy for the first time in five months. I don't want to be the dissembler, I don't want to act like i'm okay when I'm not, but that's exactly what this situation is demanding of me.

But i can do it. i can. I can be graceful and even charming. I can put away the terror and anger and be civil. And i am not going to start crying at work. I am not.

I can put away all of this, and deal with it later. Sometimes, this whole dissociation thing has its benefits. i can ignore the screaming and go forward. Who knows, i might even like her. I'm told that under different circumstances, I might even love her.

I really doubt it. But i'll try anyway.

later:

There was sunshine this afternoon, and all of these lovely silent explosions in my head, and I finally quit overreacting to everything. Thank goodness! Without the amplification, my terror has subsided into mere nervousness, and my territorial urges have, at least for the moment, had a sock shoved into their mouths.

I'm pretty sure i'm going to be okay. Really and truly for real. Abbe and I finally chatted, Mermaid and the succubus have been getting to know one another, and much of the afternoon passed without me noticing it. I didn't get a lot of work done, but, you know, it's okay, for once.

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