you say you want a change, I won't

I'm lyin' here on the floor where you left me
I think I took too much
I'm cryin' here, what have you done?
I thought it would be fun

I always get maudlin when my loves leave. In this instance, all of them were gone for large parts of last week, and as a result, I've spent a great deal of time by myself.



(Grendel's Children has rebuilt, substantially, and a large part of the rebuild is INSANE GLOW.)

I've sketched out plans for a good six new frocks; I'm contemplating starting to learn hair again; I'm contemplating going back into jewelry design; I'm even contemplating building a tiny...something. I don't know what, yet.

I'm working on skins, on casual wear, and yesterday, I made a forty-meter tower that may never be textured and finished. I'm learning sculpts. I'm creating and importing textures like mad.



(At four places on the main floor of Grendel's are now found mist fountains. They're very interesting, and can be walked into with ease.)

But all of this is just mental fodder, the desperate attempt to distract myself from standing, heart and arms held out, begging for attention. And yes, I know the bulk of the rest of it is avoidance. Because the things that swim in the deep parts of me are stirring again, and I don't want to hear them when they do decide to speak.



(In Lovelace, before the move of the mushroom ring, Clockwerk struggles through the deep grass.)

I can't stay on your life support, there's a
shortage in the switch,
I can't stay on your morphine, 'cause it's makin' me
itch
I said I tried to call the nurse again but she's
bein' a little bitch,
I think I'll get outta here, where I can

The tragedy here is, in terms of distractions, I have friends. Seven hells, I have offers. Offers to spend time with other gentles, hands upon my skin I've known before, and gods, sweet gods, but it's tempting. And now I add in fighting against my baser natures along with yearning for love's return and shaking my head against the rising knowledge of...whatever it's going to be this time.



(Jakkar Carlos is an attendee of many Bare Rose events. The event before this, he wore a shimmering, brightly-colored span of wings that were easily twice as high as he was. For the month following, we had the running joke of blaming Jakkar's wings for lag. Then he showed up at the Final Furry Fantasy event, in an even more insanely detailed pair of wings. Now? I think we'll be blaming Jakkar's wings for EVERYTHING.)

On the one hand, I've never worried over fidelity before. So this is a new concept. And it's not even that I'm being asked for fidelity, precisely, by my loves--I'm more asking it of myself. Though I think all of them would like to know, when I fall, if I fall...



(Apparently Nessie favors mangrove swamps. I'm quite amused.)

It's very far from easy, right now. Discipline, self-control, denial...it's not that these are all negative things, but they're draining on a daily basis. Maybe I'll get used to them, maybe not, but right now--some nights, it's...difficult.



(At times SN@TCH is very direct in their signage.)

Run just as fast as I can
To the middle of nowhere
To the middle of my frustrated fears
And I swear you're just like a pill
Instead of makin' me better, you keep makin' me
ill
You keep makin' me ill

And in the meantime there's stirring in the depths and I don't want to know. So I'm throwing myself into creation again--more eyes, skins, frocks, tops, textures, entries...the one thing, in fact, I'm not doing write now is writing, on my own, though I know why on that, too.



(Not realizing the Shiva costume I had was a face-up, where the head was concerned, I had an idle thought of making a Shiva catgirl, to comply with the 'Furry' part of the 'Final Furry Fantasy'. It failed utterly, but I had fun anyway.)

Writing, after all, would gift me with a direct line to my subconscious self, and frankly, I'm in the process of--at least temporarily--cutting off all contact.

It won't work; it never does. But I always hold out the vain and useless hope that this time, when I do the things I've done before, when I mentally, psychologically, turn away instead of turn towards...that it will work.

It never does. It won't this time. Sooner or later...I'll know what my subsconscious wishes me to know.



(Random brain in a jar.)

I think I need some new inventory rules, too.

If I haven't worn it in four months: gone.
If I haven't unpacked it in four months: gone.
If I can't remember buying it--GONE!

It's frightening, but also freeing, to just make the decision to delete rather than preserve. I don't have to hold onto every single prim I've ever owned. No. I can move past that need.

I haven't moved from the spot where you left me
This must be a bad trip
All of the other pills, they were different
Maybe I should get some help

This will be more difficult with furnishings, but I think I can hack together a rule set.

If I haven't put it out in a year--and it's not specifically for some holiday--GONE!
If it seats one, and is not a single seat, or a meditation cushion--GONE!



(Dying, in one of more than a few ways to die, at the Raft. Be sure to explore beyond just the saint overlooking the death bay. There's a store. There's a UFO. And there's the haunted houses, below the water...)

Hmm, the holiday rule should go for costumes, too, but--I think rules there, too.

If I haven't worn it since Enigma closed--GONE!
If I haven't worn it since Taiyou closed--GONE!

I think the exceptions to those should be, things I can't get anymore. And there won't be many of those items.



(At Curio Obscura.)


I can't stay on your life support, there's a
shortage in the switch,
I can't stay on your morphine, 'cause its makin' me
itch
I said I tried to call the nurse again but she's
bein' a little bitch,
I think I'll get outta here, where I can

Or maybe--no more than five costumes per category--so, say, no more than five cheerleader outfits/school uniforms; no more than five swimsuits; no more than five Bunny outfits (be they Easter or Playboy)...

...well, you get the idea.

Now it's just a matter of seeing if I can comply with these rules.

Run just as fast as I can
To the middle of nowhere
To the middle of my frustrated fears
And I swear you're just like a pill
Instead of makin' me better, you keep makin' me
ill
You keep makin' me ill



"How long can you be agile, dancing 'tween the altar and the mercy seat..." Because dancing I am, at present. As fast as I can, to keep myself distracted. Long into the night before sleeping. Long enough I'll be too exhausted to remember my dreams. Long enough I'll be too tired the next day to function, nearly, but it's the price paid for not listening.

Not listening to what I'm trying to say. And that is the hardest part. Because it's so very easy to shut out the world...and so very, very difficult to shut out the world inside.

As I know, all too well...

(Lyrics taken from Pink's Just Like a Pill.)