if you love enough, you lie a lot (at least they did in camelot)

when i was little, we'd go on these big cross-country trips, and we'd leave insanely early in the morning... sometimes around 4am. except knowing that something big was coming only made it harder to sleep, and knowing that i had to get up early for this big something made trying to sleep even worse. it's like that now, i guess, and i'd suppose that it's a matter of being on the crux of moving, trying to put my proverbial affairs in order at the last minute.

this all still strikes me as being terribly sudden; i guess i thought that i would have more time. more time to say goodbye to old friends and create some more good memories before i left, time to go for walks and stare up at the sky or recall the rocks by the crystals buried at their bases. i thought there would be time to sound an alarm, but instead, it feels as though i'm sneaking out in the dead of night, skulking in shadows after everyone (at long last) is asleep. perhaps it's the only way to get out, and i really should get out.

i think a lot about rita now, about how she was my ally long before she was my friend. i guess that she's what i'll miss most about this town, even though we haven't spent a lot of time lately, since becky moved out and eric came around and i've been running off with stevie habitually for the last month. if we were younger, i would say that we've grown apart, but i guess at this juncture in our lives it's a matter of making all the pieces fit. and we both know that we fit in one another's puzzles, and knowing that means that we can wait until our piece is called.

and then there's tracy, sweet fae tracy, whose absence causes a distinct surge of sadness. where will i find our kind, i wonder, who will i take on spelunking adventures with me? but i know the answer, and i guess i have all along. why does it feel like i have to grow up really fast, all of a sudden? and not grow old, just grow... into a different set of responsibilities?

i guess i've sent off the e-mails that i needed to send, so now there's nothing left to do but try to get some sleep.

in short there's simply not/ a more congenial spot/for happily every aftering than here in camelot

so at long last, i secured the city library's one book on gay female teens, only to find, upon opening it, that it was written in 1982. 1982! that's before my girlfriend was born! that's before i left maryland! that's before the date in orwell's classic...

but i guess that it just reinforces my point. i try not to think about london, and i try less to think about tony blair, and instead i make every attempt at thinking happy irish american thoughts about being in love, writing, and collecting movies. i think about camelot, the first one, and then about jackie onassis, which i do a lot more than i'd like to admit, times completely seperate from those i devote to interior design and collecting recipies for international cuisine, though you'd think that all that stuff would run together, leave me girly in clumps, rather than in some strange pervasive element.

pretending the echoes belong to someone

the last disc of the first season of twin peaks won't copy. in the grand scheme of things, this doesn't really bother me, as it's one more thing going wrong in a long list of things going wrong. at least this isn't life-shattering, since it's just a dvd, and all. i really can't even muster disappointment, though i imagine that's probably due to being unable to muster much of anything at the moment.

i'm thoroughly disturbed by the lack of literature available about being gay and a young female; in the seven libraries in this town, one can find a single book dealing with the subject, whereas men, who have always had an easier time establishing for themselves a creative space, have handfuls. still not terrific, but alternate stories about the same subject matter. different ways the story could end. here in denton, the girls only get one. i haven't read it yet, though i'm about to, since i'm curious to see what one story is available for the telling here. i look back on the people that i've known and i think about all of their stories, stories that somebody, somewhere should tell, and that only makes me wonder how many more stories like that are out there, waiting to be told.

i guess it just irks me to think that a straight teenager can go to the library and check out a bunch of books by an author that they really like, books that deal with parents and life and relationships from a straight perspective, but the good old queer kids get to read the one book offered, if they can find it, and then go back to reading the straight teen literature, because it's either that, or just not reading at all. and let's put aside the argument that it's potentially damaging to the psychological development of these kids, and just go with the simple fact that it's not fair. and i don't really have a soft spot in my heart for things that are blatantly unfair.

i guess it's easier to focus on how i can fix a world that's ultimately broken than it is to focus on how to fix my own life; but then again, maybe i believe that fixing the world would make everything else fall into place. i don't know if it's hope that the world outside me would fall together and make things suddenly and magically work, or a secret hope that if only i were fitter, happier, more productive, maybe things wouldn't be so rocky.