Strangely satisfying solitary.

The last person I called was Millie because I enjoy his company and he's in the neighbourhood and I barely see him enough. He said he had plans, so I dismissed it and gave up asking anybody else out. Ten minutes later he calls back saying plans were cancelled so I proposed a movie - conveniently enough neither of us had seen Wolverine and the last viewing for Thursday 28th May was 9:40pm. It was 9:20pm when we decided. So I switched off the laptop and left the house. Five minutes after the call and a few seconds after I had left the house, he calls saying that plans might be back on again and that he'd call me back in three. I keep driving, very set on watching a movie with or without company. Four minutes later he calls and with guilty tone admits he cannot accompany me, which I feel no disappointment about; it was 50/50 either way.

I arrive at knox at 9:41pm and walk briskly past the stirring bars and deep throbbing rnb, it is the beginning of another night, another party. I smile at the non-existent line once within the refuge of a largely deserted waiting space. The girl behind the counter calls me to her. A quick, pleasant exchange of a ten dollar note for a dollar coin, a ticket, a receipt and a snack bar combo's voucher had me feeling this was a good idea after all. I skip the steps two by two and walk up to the ticket-ripping pulpit to find a teenage boy kneeling behind it tying a clear plastic bag of ticket stubs to throw out I assumed. I rip my ticket (as usual) and ask him which half he wanted, he took the shorter one - he was being generous.

I walk the hallway of large, numbered double doors, to Cinema 6 and slide into my seat amongst the middle seats in the back row. There was an empty between another couple and myself but after 2 minutes of indecisiveness I moved myself a row down and a little to the left, one space away from another couple of guys. The back row two chatted and I didn't want to be distracted, I'm pretty sure they knew I moved because of them. Oh yes! I was glad of my timing in arrival because advertisements had just finished and I managed to enjoy the roll of a handful of interesting looking movies trailers.

Anyway.
The movie happened.

I was so engrossed the entire time! Compelled and gripped by the action and the apparent pain that played out on this large window into another world. I lost myself in it all and felt much, much better. I think the last movie I watched was about three months ago. I don't watch in cinemas an awful lot. The last was He's just not that into you, and the one before it, Rock'n'rolla. I think all the movies I've watched this year have been largely rewarding, enjoyable, few and far between; making the experiences rare and bolder than routine.

So the credits roll and I let the orchestra build up the final song and crash freshly onto me like waves on a windy summer night. I was the last person left in the cinema (there were only nine or ten of us altogether).

Anyway, I loved it. I loved the movie. I loved the experience, there was nobody else to notice around me! I forgot myself and learned the "truth" concerning Wolverine.

A definite recommendation! Likewise I'd suggest watching a movie not freshly released but a little old, in the last "shift" of a weekday night (cept Tuesdays) ;)

Could totally do with some company right now and somehow the inner circle (and some of the outer) are all occupied and I might, therefore just make up some excuse to watch a movie by myself. I'm going crazy. I hardly accept movie invitations because I don't understand spending money on these, but I've heard watching movies by one's self is an experience to be experienced and I need something now. I need. Something. I do have friends, I just can't find them right now. Oh God.

Sh*t happens. I hate that word: shit. I also hate when it happens.

It seems I have a mouthful of ramble and a heart full of fake.
Ugh. Will it never end? These reflections of my imperfections are a never ending story, and these repeated episodes make me sick. I am grateful that you love eternally and that you are an infinite being...because only you could love me having known me completely.


By the way, Love. I love how you did Autumn, I was on a high for hours! I really appreciate the display you made with the leaves: dried, dead and crisply so, but it made me so alive! It was stunning and thank you! It was bliss! I loved it. Autumn means ecstacy! Thank you again! I love you!

Lady Macbeth

So it's funny, and/or ironic or utterly heartbreaking, whichever you deem most suitable... Our insecurities dictate the extent to which we are self-centred. It scares me that the more I doubt about myself, the more time I spend making myself better, or trying to. I would liken my struggles and attempts to fix them as cumbersome as having cut and bleeding fingers and trying dryly to attend to myself and bandage my own. It becomes a pathetic and stupid plight where the wounds we try to heal are the same pains making it impossibly inconvenient to self bandage.

Strategy seems to be lacking whenever it comes to dealing with ourselves. Because we try to do it in the dark. Or I do. So that when I'm in public light there are no scratches or bruises or severed parts of me; there are minimal imperfections and less to be judged by. I've recently been horrified by an epiphany of how addicted I am to myself.

Everything is about: me.

I naively believed that because I was becoming increasingly insecure, the reasons to be self-absorbed would be inversely so. Apparently not. The more streaks of imperfection I would find on my skin, the more I would try to scrub it off with a ferocious focus that ensures my eyes hardly stray from that which disgusts me. Likewise, I suppose, was the case with Lady Macbeth, whose hands seemed never clean of the blood shed by them (remember how it drove her mad? I want not to suffer the same fate, yet find myself halfway there). Little did I know that my hands also were stained, and trying to clean dirty skin with dirty hands makes for a very unsuccessful, exhausting activity.

I love that my Savior, my lover, my creator wants this tiresome job and simply asks (over and over) for me to relinquish the ownership and whatever of wanting perfection, because he achieves better results via majestic methods.

There will be no end to this- save Kingdom Come- til then, allow yourself to be scrubbed frequently!

i want a lot of things and one of them lately is just to be good enough.
to look it, to sound it, to act it, to be worth my 56.5kg weight in gold. i want to be better than i am.

I need to be better than I am.

Three to be envied.

I met the boys down the block. They meet often, as will I from hereon in. The home we all congregate at also houses 3 mustangs, a boat and apparently spray paint of every colour. Their obsession with cars is amusing. Their immaturity in speech, thoughts aloud and pranks well veil the depth of them (if there is any). I like them. They accepted me almost immediately. I'm now the neighbourhood girl, quite protected and feeling acquainted with the "cool". Now I join them on collapsible chairs outside the open garage, basking in the pride of a racing mustang (I revelled in it).
They maintain questionable lifestyles of which I hope to have them questioning...eventually.
Everyday drinking, weekends getting stoned and/or clubbing, tearing up roads, late-night partying, cussing and "appreciating" parents in the most insulting of methods, to name a few. I told them I was going to bring them to church day two of meeting them.

Anyway, these are my new friends. The way I see it is them as kind of like coarse giants who sort of poke fun at but ultimately protect a smaller person who will in turn prove more helpful and supportive than they imagined. The new company I've been meeting lately have been relieving yet dark in the way dark humour is. I so wager I will (after having known these guys) have had opportunity to go wake-boarding, learn the world of cars, ride in a mustang (or three), go to a race, witness hilarious pranks & idiotic stunts and become familiar with the scent of weed...not to mention becoming desensitised to the foul mannerisms of perversed boys. They are no boring crowd, you can't deny me that!

So watch from the beginning and tell me if you notice changes.

Because I know, even though they boast of shallow temperaments, they yearn for more, for intimacy, for love that knows them deeper than their most embarrassing moments. I want to introduce them to one who does.

A new air in this wind.

Something happened this weekend.

Something ugly was unturned, exposed and able to be "treated".
Hopefully I won't need to explain because you'll see the difference almost immediately.

Love.

On a separate note, I've read the first two chapters of the book you gave me, Golden Girl. I like it. Thank you! You're one who gives, and you remind me of generosity, of giving, of gentleness, of God. Be blessed and know that your actual beautiful surpasses your self-portrait. It may be a while til I see you again, as it seems there are at least months and usually years between our meetings, but I cannot disregard you and am glad for our mutual standing. I am inspired by your convictions and actions. You've been blessing to me, my literacy-rich, fellow lover of the second hand! You are golden, dear girl.

She repeated it over and over.
"I'm independent. I make my own way"

But this time, this time she could barely withstand the misery she put herself through. This facade she had worn so often was wearing away and cracks into her reality, exposed by circumstance, had become disturbingly clear. She wasn't very independent, although she was more than most. She made her own way thanks only to the shared driving force of pride, lack of trust and/or fear of exposure. But this latest abandonment (of the most casual kind), combined with fatigue and disappointment from a night of expected euphoria, had her exhausting plastic smiles and conversation until finally joy was only something imagined and for the moment, forgotten. She further obliged herself to be in the company of two boys of relative age whose thought processes both amused and annoyed her. She recalled also the boys of the previous night she had met, who in her opinion had the politics of 16 year old girls.

It always seemed she was a head above the rest.

But to the point. Apparently this independent, self-paving way maker of a girl could not deny loneliness. She feared rejection because she dealt it so effortlessly and assumed it to be dealt in equal amounts by others. Her prejudices were, at its worse, a vessel for paranoia. But most of all, her insistence for isolation resulted in her present state of loneliness. She was harbouring every necessary ingredient for a subtly selfish life.

Honestly, I cannot believe she just revealed all of this.
I just hope she changes.
For all our sakes.

Hey Sunshine,

you give me reason.

No?

Does it make you wonder if there are such things as cheap friends?

And why, with the apathetic, inconsistent mannerisms they present to you, would you still call them friend and continue to care?

Because that's what love believes. Love believes that love need not be returned, and that these expressions we desire are only preferable, not essential, for love to be true.

Because when I was/am the apathetic, inconsistent one, my God never stopped/stops loving me.

Because when I decided to make you a friend, I told myself I'd actually care and actually try.

So that's what I'll actually do,

or try to.