I made it to the movie last night, after several cups of coffee and some kicking and screaming from my sister. Tomb Raider, entertaining flick. I thought it was fun. Came home, crashed out, the whole bit. Slept in, went to a friend's house to do his makeup. Hmm? HIS makeup? Yes, my friend's are all going to this party in the desert, and well, they like to dress up for it.

I thought he looked great. It was nice to hang out and catch up, and always a blast to put makeup on a boy. He's dressed as some Cyber futuristic warrior. All dark blue and silver. Lightning bolt sideburns, armor-like costume, black and blue. I did a fabulous job.

I'm in an odd space today. I flaked out on going to LA, even though I was really looking forward to hanging with those people, and the lovely lady I was to go up with. I'm not going to the desert party, despite my bruised and twisted arm from those who tried to drag me along. It was nice to know that they wanted me there that much though, I must admit.

So I didn't want to do anything that would have taken me out of town and days to recover from. But I don't want to do NOTHING at all either. I'm just here. Sitting in the midst of chores I want to get done, waiting for a burst of energy to hit me, and you know what? I don't think it's going to. Hit me, that is. I think I have to create it, and that annoys me greatly, because that means work.

I'm funky. I'm feeling alone and yet I don't want to be around anyone. There are a few local things going on tonight, a bachelorette party, cousin of a good friend. And another friend has friends in from out of town, they're going to a club. And my attitude is, what's the point? Is a drink and people-watching going to satisfy me right now? More conversation about topical topics, when I hardly even have my own opinion? That's what it is, right there. I'm feeling apathetic. I don't care about shit right now. And when you don't care about shit, everything is pointless.

I want to feel pretty. Maybe if I do some cleaning, do some laundry, and go through an hour of self-grooming, I'll feel a little better about myself. Get dressed up, spend time on my OWN makeup and hair and get out there among people, get energy from them appreciating my hard work, my precise hand, holding eyeliner, applying glitter. Is that why we do it?

Honestly, I'm having trouble remembering why I do ANYTHING right now. Fun spot, huh? Well if I have to deal with it, in a vicarious, perhaps sympathetic way, so do you. Or, just jump on the apathy bandwagon, exit out of here and don't give a shit like the rest of us. I want away. I want happy. No, that's not true. I want sad. Sad is a strangely warm enveloping blanket, holding me into myself, keeping me from caring about what lies beyond its thick fabric. Sad is safe. Not giving a shit is safe.

It's hard to do anything when you don't know what you want. You know, I thought I really knew myself. I'll tell you a little secret, though -- I don't know shit. I just play it by ear and hope shit falls into place, the way it's supposed to, the way it always has. We don't expect to enjoy misery as much as we do. I know, I know, that's an oxymoron, but if you think about it, there's a strong hint of truth. I mean, if misery wasn't enjoying in some way, then why do so many indulge in it for so long? Because they're crazy? Don't know any better? No. They know something the rest of those happy schmoes don't.

There's creativity in misery. There's expression in misery. There's getting to KNOW yourself in misery. And sometimes, it takes a long trip through misery to finally arrive at who you are. And that's where I want to be. I'm just not through it yet. In order to make it all the way through misery, you must hold a candle of optimism and a thick book of matches. Because trust me, it's fucking windy in this long corridor.

I need to light another match, that's all. Just took a bit of verbal vomit to remind myself that I'm the only one who can light my candle. Good thing I realized that. I almost got very, very lost.

-Barbarella

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