Regarding red hair: it’s been far too long.

Regarding Redsong: the mix is rough, rough, ruff, roll me over now, but I think the arrangement is exactly what I wanted, and I does believes that Eric will be happy with it, as well (the really important part).

Regarding red… okay, I lied. Only two red things.

And on other fronts, it’s amazing how things fall into place sometimes.

I tell myself that I will stop looking, stop acting, start adjusting; and I do, sort of, or at least I feel like I’m well on my way. I’m playing by my own self-enforced rules, and though there are some roughs spots (and I’m obviously self-medicating, trying to do too many things in order to distract myself — though admittedly it’s a lot healthier than alcohol as a red herring), I’m getting through okay.

And as of last week, I find myself fighting promises I’ve made, rules I’ve made, boundaries I’ve set in place.

But as expectations fall away, and realizations about content come to the surface, I start to realize that those rules are stupid. Sure, there’s some adjustment internally to be made; if not, history repeats itself, and I’m tired of being in that loop. But…

But. There’s the key word.

I’m walking through the day surprised at myself, unable to think straight, fidgety, ready for the night to arrive. And none of this is surprising, except that I had thought that a part of the past, dead to the bitterness I’ve gathered and stored.

I had decided a while back that people with whom I shared mutual surface interests were not all that great. And I still stick to that, but I’m reminded that there are no rules, only expectations. Tattoos, comic books, horror movies, the English language…

If she’s not so bad, then that means I’m not so bad, either, hunh?

Amazing how a negative view of others with commonalities to oneself can affect self-image. And equally amazing, and wonderful as well, how finding someone who breaks that stereotype can boost the mirror image.

That’s just knowing that they’re out there. And there’s so much more than that.

…

Things feel as though they are falling into place across the board — not necessarily at the top of the chain, but at least another rung on the ladder, another step forward. And while I remain constantly aware that this is just another wave in a repeating series – well, at least it’s the apex ahead of me.

I’ll worry about the break when it comes.

There’s a certain gambler’s beauty in anticipation, in the art of practicing patience. There’s a level of excitement that builds, wondering if the awaited event will ever come, when it will come, if it will be as good as you hope, as good as you expect, as good as you need it to be.

You don’t understand the addiction to gambling unless you have experienced the gambler’s win.

And in this moment, I’ll say this and only this: well worth the wait.

Such a small thing, and yet so amazingly gratifying. When the world can disappear in the moment, absorbed into a second that stretches into eternity… that’s when you start to realize that whether life has purpose or meaning or a larger point — well, it doesn’t really matter. That one moment, the clench of your gut, the wonder and expectations bleeding away in a glorious rush: this is what matters, if only for a little while.

And so you do your best to capture that, and store it away.

“Forget for this moment the smog and the cars and the restaurant and the skating and remember only this: a kiss may not be the truth, but it is what we wish were true.”

I will never grow tired of this quote.

Be there. Or don’t.

We love you anyway.

THe Exhibit(s): voted “Worst Band in Birmingham” (by it’s own members, no less)

…and yet, so right…

Newhouse A1: “Gitmo is the gulag equivalent of a Ben Affleck movie: no one’s seen it, but everyone has an opinion about it. Given all the rhetoric that’s been spilled about this sorta-kinda-not-really Death Camp, it’s time we re-examine the facts, and remind ourselves what’s really at stake. Herewith a summation.”

I’ve posted about PostSecret before, I know… and if you haven’t gotten over there, you’re missing what might be one of the most moving artistic ideas out there. It’s very hit-and-miss – I haven’t found any of the cards on there that just suck or anything, but damn it, this one made my stomach clench when I read it. Great combo of words and visuals…

A Brief History of the Apocalypse: “Ronald Reagan, in a 1980 interview with Jim Bakker, said, “We may be the generation that sees Armageddon.” Before that, in 1971, Reagan commented to James Mills regarding events in Libya, “For the first time ever, everything is in place for the Battle of Armageddon and the Second Coming of Christ.” Obviously, Reagan thought that the end would come SOON! And to think that a man with apocalyptic delusions like this had his finger on the nuclear button for 8 years. (Grosso p.8)”

Otherwise, a really informative look at the history of the beginnings of the end…

Celsius1414: Zen Pockets: “There is a reason monks renounce worldly possessions: they are distractions from important work.

There is a reason people in therapy talk pejoratively about carrying around ‘baggage’ from relationship to relationship. Baggage is Bad.

Carting around pounds or kilograms of unnecessary stuff is so, well, unnecessary. It hurts your concentration, and physically hurts, too. Take that extra minute and filter your cargo.”

http://www.putfile.com/media.php?n=galaxy

Don’t go here and watch this.

Seriously.

What if Burroughs had written Johnny, the Homicidal Maniac?

Ohmygod.

Sometimes, things go exactly as you would expect, and that’s good.

Sometimes, things go so totally and indescribably aginst the grain. That’s often not good.

And sometimes, things just go, and it’s certainly not bad. But perhaps it’s confusing, because this is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

But new is good…

At the very least, I am happy the past three nights. Calm, content, no drama, so it might not be obvious on my face… but inside, very, very happy. Comfortable.

Like I said, different.

In other news, I have seen the face of Dear Abby’s evil twin — let’s call her Dread Abby — and she is my new goddess.

Just because.

And no, I’m not sharing.