Winter, a reflection/Pretty in Pink (Partially music)

 Have you ever considered the lyrics to Pretty in Pink? Here they are if you haven't.

Caroline laughs, and it's raining all day
Loves to be one of the girls
She lives in the place in the side of our lives
Where nothing is ever put straight

She turns herself 'round
And she smiles and she says
"This is it, that's the end of the joke"
And loses herself in her
Dreaming and sleep, and her
Lovers walk through in their coats

Pretty in pink, isn't she?
Pretty in pink, isn't she?

All of her lovers all
Talk of her notes and the
Flowers that they never sent
And wasn't she easy
Isn't she pretty in pink?

The one who insists he was
First in the line is the
Last to remember her name
He's walking around in this
Dress that she wore
She is gone, but the
Joke's the same

Pretty in pink, isn't she?
Pretty in pink, isn't she?

Caroline talks to you
Softly sometimes, she says,
"I love you" and "Too much"
She doesn't have anything
You want to steal
Well, nothing you can touch

She waves
She buttons your shirt
The traffic is waiting outside
She hands you this coat
She give you her clothes
These cars collide

Pretty in pink, isn't she?
Pretty in pink, isn't she?

I feel this. I've always felt easy to leave. I've always felt like I live just to the side of other people's lives, not really a part of anything. I know I can be seen as cold and distant, but I love too easily, so I stay away. I'm not sure anyone really knows me, which is my fault. The people who knew me best are gone, and I don't meet new people easily. The person who knows me best, currently, the most attached I am to anyone, is...complicated, to say the least. I've lost quite a few people throughout the quarantine, most have walked away. I get it. It's fine, mostly. I do care. I just don't know how to change it. A couple have died. A friend from Atlanta left this world. Maybe friend is too strong of a word? I helped move a washing machine for her once. She was friends with my ex for many years. She always smiled and hugged me. She used to grab my face and look into my eyes and tell me I was beautiful. I was warned about her when I first moved there. Drama, constant drama, she lies, she's untrustworthy, she just wants attention, attention, attention. She'll never "have it together." Many people doubted how sick she was before she died. I hadn't talked to her in a while, the last time I saw her she was neither sober nor exactly...clean. I hugged her just the same. She looked in my eyes, holding my face, and told me I was beautiful, and kissed me on the lips. Once upon a time, she organized events in Atlanta. Love her or hate her, almost everyone knew her, in certain scenes. She never caused me any drama, but her passing has made me think, very hard, about how I'll be remembered, and it makes me very sad. I think I'll mostly be remembered as whining about a broken heart or stumbling drunk in a dark bar. I don't even drink often. Only in bars. Makes me hurt (physically) less so I can dance more. But I know that's how people see me. I'm more than that, I promise. I wish I could say I've had a positive impact on anyone, but I don't think I have. I'm not particularly good at anything useful. I like making things, but they are generally mediocre at best. I live in the space at the side of your life, where nothing is ever put straight.

I wish I had kept in touch with her better. I know she found some happiness in the last few years. I wish I could tell her that I smile when I picture her face, so much closer to mine than I usually let people get. 

I hope you smile when you think of me. I hope I made you feel beautiful, even for a moment. 

* This isn't a goodbye, it's a reflection. I don't know how I feel right now. Re starting or starting psychiatric meds, there's always and adjustment period when you sometimes get worse, before the benefits start. Going through an emotional time while two weeks in is confusing. I don't know what feelings are real. I'm not sure that I am real. I'm a mostly rational crazy person. 

End of the night dancing with her memory song. Not a memory unique to me, by any means. 

Torchwood Day 2019

This day, each year, is an important day for me. Not Father's Day, though I do usually do something for my Mom, since she is a single parent, and always has been, but June 16. I call June 16 my Torchwood day, or at least I have since 2006 or so. If you haven't watched Torchwood, you should probably go do that, instead of reading this. Or not. The intro to Torchwood says the 21st century is when everything changes. Many life changing things have happened to me on, or very near, June 16, so I use it as a day, each year, to reflect on things in my life, and think about changes that need to be made. On June 16, historically, I have lost a friend, had a friend buried, lost another friend (in a different year.) I finally knew that I had to end a relationship, though it took me a few months of planning to leave. I have seen The Cure, not knowing it was the last night of an almost three year relationship, and that I would be quite single in the morning. Nine years ago, I was in an ill advised relationship, and Concrete Blonde was touring, but not coming here, so I decided to take myself on a trip for a few days. I could choose DC or Atlanta. I chose Atlanta. On June 16, 2010, I decided that I was going to move to Atlanta. I also met the man I thought would be my forever human. To this day, he'll tell you that because I decided to move there the day that I met him there, that I moved to be close to him. I decided to move while talking to Sydney on the phone, standing in front of my hotel, waiting for a cab to take me to The Vortex to meet a friend for dinner. The man who would end up shattering me more of me than I ever thought possible was meeting the same friend. Which is how I ended up in the foyer of The Vortex with some strange man staring into my face and forgetting to let go of my hand after being introduced to me, for an oddly long time. It was an amazing show. It was a really great trip, the first time I had just gone somewhere by myself. I saw the whale sharks for the first time. I was hooked. This is the correct timeline, no matter what he'll try to tell you. There were other reasons to move there.

 There are other things that have happened on Torchwood day. It just seems to be a day of change, for me. Not always negative.

If I had gone to DC, what would have been different? Would I have decided to move there? Would I have come back, and just, stayed? I know so many truly amazing people from my time in Atlanta. So many people I can't imagine my life without, now. I got more involved in conventions, though I had been to both of the ones I return to Atlanta for before. Multiple times, even. But I have the convention family that I have now, because of that decision.

So, today I ponder.

Gramma is still dead, and will remain so. I've been feeling lately like I am nothing but a burden. To everyone. So, I've been hiding. It's not uncommon for me to not leave the house, or put on pants, or talk to another person for two or three consecutive days.

To be honest, I am making positive changes. I start working tomorrow, at a job I will actually get paid for. I'm a little terrified, but it will be fine.  I'll be putting on pants and interacting with people, anyway.

That shattered heart and life are healing in ways I also never thought possible. I'm going to be okay.
It turns out, I can fathom, imagine, and manifest whole worlds without the pain he left behind.

It's a full moon. I love the moon. While I have many witchy ways, I follow astrology only haphazardly. It's just not my thing. I follow the phases of the moon, but not really horoscopes. I do know that this full moon is in Sagittarius, and that it signifies (for those who follow) celebration, philosophizing, owning your passions, seeking a sense of purpose, standing up for justice, and wild adventure. Excellent. I do these things most of the time. So, I will carry on. Well, I'm lacking in adventure, but there is adventure potential. There is someone that I spend time with that feels like adventure to me, even when still, even sitting on my couch. They feel like the joy of looking at the full moon, like a strong breeze under the stars, like sitting on a bank with my feet in a swift, cold mountain stream. Which are all on my list of very favorite things. It being Torchwood day, I feel I should be brave enough to pose a few questions that I wonder about. To say things that I stumble over not saying. But I most likely will not. It's Schrodinger's fear, I am both afarid and completely unafraid of the answers, while the questions are safely in the box. When the box is opened, though... perhaps there's another, smaller box inside.

Go look at the moon tonight. Here, it will rise at 7:59 pm and set at 5:25 am. I do love astronomy. It will be at it's fullest at 1:30 am. I think. The moon is beautiful, no matter what you believe.

I leave you with this, a video from the actual Concrete Blonde show on June 16, 2010. Actually from very close to where I was standing the whole night, though I did not take it. I was to busy crying at this point, no matter that I'd seen it live before, and I've seen it since.

She's Gone

  My time being a caregiver for my grandmother is done. She's gone. She started having a pain in her right arm in February, she died May 19, 2019. I spent a lot of April and May by her bedside in different hospital rooms. Despite my best efforts, she died alone. I'm pretty sure I haven't told anyone that, at all, in this process. She wasn't aware. She hadn't been aware since Friday, she died at 2:45 on a Sunday afternoon. She had been moaning that morning, so they gave her a morphine drip. The moaning stopped, then so did she.

  I'm not handling this well, at all. A lot of my stuff has been moved, but I still live in her house for now, for complicated reasons. There are things that I should be doing, that I'm not. I'm just, not. Right now, I'm sitting in the den where she spent most of her time. Sitting where I would sit on the couch, reading or playing with my phone. Her recliner is in front of me, to the right. Where she would sit and watch TV, and do the crossword puzzle from the paper every morning. I still start everyday by making coffee, and getting the paper from the paper box at the end of the driveway. I bring it in and sit it on the arm of her chair, then I pick it up and wander around aimlessly with it. There's a TV table in front of her chair. There's a pair of shoes under it, from the last time she walked in and sat down and took them off. That would have been in April.

  I'm looking for a job. I don't know what I want to do. Well, that's not true. I know what I really want to do, fairly passionately, but it requires some learning and a trade school degree. That's not really possible right now, money wise. Groceries are barely possible money wise right now. I haven't gotten paid the entire time I took care of her, I'll figure it out. I need to be making stuff to sell, but my jewelry stuff has already made the move that I haven't, including the already made stuff. The candle stuff is here. I just, haven't. I don't know why I can't just do the things that I need to. I'm such a fucking wreck. I fake being okay pretty well in public, though, so, no, I'm probably not going to cry on you or be a big drag.

  About this blog, it's kind of a diary. I write more than is public. I do know people that follow it, because I'm not this communicative in "real life." Well, usually not. Also, while I am a wreck, not everything sucks. I do smile. I do write. I do see a couple of people kind of regularly. One of those has brought more comfort and patience and steadiness into my life in the past few weeks than I could ever have imagined, and I am imminently grateful. No words can express it, really. And no, this isn't passive communication, they know damn well how much I appreciate them, or I hope so. I say it a lot. Probably not enough. I'm interested in actually taking pictures again. I'm interested in other things that I haven't been interested in a while. My life is a little less flat than it has been in a long time.

  I've had a few people ask if I'm moving back to Atlanta, since I moved back to take care of Gramma. Right now, I couldn't even if I wanted to. Which I don't. Other than people, I can count the things I miss about Atlanta on one fucking hand. One is pretty big, though. I miss having good dance events to go to, more often than they are here. There are awesome events here, don't get me wrong, but there isn't one night of any week that I know that I can get that release. I'm pretty much a Don Henley song, all I want to do is dance. All of the weekly nights here have failed, due to disinterest, older goths, I don't know. This literally causes me pain. I guess it evens out to maybe twice a month, but still. Given my choice, I'd dance five hours a night, twice a week in a club. Yes, I know I can dance alone, at home. I do. It's different. In Atlanta, I know that at least each Saturday I could be wherever VJ Anthony is spinning. Well, it's the same place each Saturday, just the theme changes. I miss Coffin Classics night, like, whoa. So much. NC has a more Industrial crowd, for the most part. Even though I'm an introvert, and I don't like to be touched, dance floor energy feeds me, even on slower nights. I also miss really good bagels, though my very favorite place there is gone, now. I miss being able to see the whale sharks whenever I wanted. I spent so many hours just sitting there, staring. I miss Community Q BBQ, though the recipe for the best mac and cheese ever, from there, is hysterically readily available, and super easy. I don't miss traffic, hand gun fire (we get rifle and shotgun fire pretty often, here in the sticks), or the chance of running into someone with whom I have quite a bit of common interests. At least I used to, anyway. Who knows, anymore? Some people shift with their company more than others. So, probably not. I do wish I could visit more, say, every Coffin Classics Saturday, say, but I can't right now. Ha, just the two times a year I'm guaranteed to run into the aforementioned soul for twelve hours a day or so. I'm giving all of that some thought, too.

Enough for now. I will leave you with the eulogy I read for my Gramma, though some of you have seen it.

Dorothy Lee Whitley
3/14/1931-5/19/2019

My Gramma loved a lot of things.
She loved people and laughing and talking.
She loved tigers, especially white ones.
She loved gardening and all plants and flowers.
She loved country music and dancing.
She loved her family, her mama and her sisters.
I heard her say, more than once, that Big Mama was too good for this world.
She loved her kids, her grandkids, and her great grandkids.
Heaven help anyone standing between her and Avery.
She loved coloring books and crossword puzzles and chocolate.

I could stand here all day and tell you the things she loved.
I could even tell you the things that she hated,
But this probably isn’t the time for that.

The truth is, everyone you meet takes away with them a different version of you.
No matter how consistent you are, people will view you through the filter of their own views,
Personality, experiences, and even mood.

So, I’m going to tell you some of the things that I took from her,
Some of the things that make me, me.
I would not be who I am, without her.

I worked in photo labs inside of camera stores for almost twenty years.
Photography has always been a passion of mine.
By the time I was 10, Gramma had taught me f-stops and shutter speeds and framing a scene.
I could selectively focus a manual camera.
She taught me the right combinations of factors, and then taught me that the “right” way
Was not always the best way to achieve the image you wanted.

I am an intensely geeky individual, with a deep love of science fiction.
Gramma loved PBS, so I grew up watching Doctor Who and Dark Shadows on summer afternoons.
When Doctor Who restarted in 2005, I knew the stories, the incarnations of the Doctor, and the old villains.
I grew up with a Gramma who watched with me, and then chase me around the yard with a whisk in one hand and a sink plunger in the other, imitating one of the robot villains.

I love the sky, day or night.
I always know the phase of the moon.
Because of Gramma, I can look at the stars and point out Cassiopeia, seated on her throne, or the Pleiades, and tell you their stories.
She taught me to always look up.
She loved satellites crossing the sky every bit as much as she loved shooting stars.
She taught me about space and space exploration.
During the day, she always looked for shapes in the clouds, and would make up little stories about them.
I still do.
On days like today, she would say that God had pulled a blanket across the sky.
I can’t tell you how many hours I spent with her, when I was young, laying on our backs on the pier at Bath Creek, looking at the stars or clouds, and listening to the water lapping at the pilings.
It’s still one of my favorite sounds, to this day.

About that pier.
She taught me the joy of running, full speed, down the lawn and right off the end of it.
Just jump.
From this I learned that you don’t have to always see what is waiting for you clearly.
I also learned that the pain of jellyfish stings is temporary, and will be followed by ice cold watermelon from the cooler, always with a sprinkle of salt.
Just like hers.

I might not dress like anyone else, or make the same choices, but I’ve always known that Gramma loved and supported me, no matter how strange I might be.

She taught me to argue, just to get a better understanding of a situation.

It was a privilege to be able to spend the last two and a half years with her.

She was simply the best Gramma for me, and I will miss her forever,
And always carry her in my heart.

Hug Your Friends, Or, A Love Letter to a Man I've Never Been in Love WIth

So, here we are. One year ago, I was counting down to going to Atlanta to see Gary Numan. I was so excited. Best laid plans, yeah?
It was the beginning of the worst year of my life, not even being melodramatic. I literally almost died this year. Like, honestly almost died. By the anniversary of that, I don’t think I’ll even be able to see the scar that saved my life, it’s so wee. There have been good moments, sure. I’ve even made new friends and such. But December 10, 2017 started a vortex of suck. I lost what I honestly thought was my forever human in a disastrous way. It left me far more broken than I can describe. It left me completely alone. It’s not that I believe that I’m not worthy of love, I know that I am. I’m just not sure that I can do it again. I am a whole, complete, person on my own, I don’t need anything or anyone to “complete me.” I find the thought ludicrous. Several people have told me that they don’t know what happened, really. That’s true. I’m not a victim. I made wrong choices. I fully trusted someone with my heart. Turns out, that was a bad plan. This is what I will say, as plenty of you are friends with him, this isn’t a secret. He has an addiction to pain. As a mate, I don’t scream and yell. I don’t try to wound another for my own leverage. He found someone better suited to his needs. He hurt everyone involved tremendously in the process. As he says a lot, just like Bill Belichek says, it is what it is. I don’t hate her. I don’t hate him. I am tired of being nice. How should you be expected to treat your junkie ex’s dealer? I love him. I always will. I will never be with him, no matter what. I have no intention of being with anyone in that way, ever again. I’m broken, heart and soul. Just as much today as I was then. Just, broken. But, that isn’t the focus of this missive.
I don’t remember much about the actual show, I was slowly dying inside. I know that I have an autographed copy of Savage. That’s cool. Everyone involved with this idiotic farce was in the same room for the show. I lived in Atlanta for six years. I was desperately looking for anyone to talk to that I knew. Not like, serious, meaningful talk, just to say hi. A reason to walk away from him, as I went to the show with him, and was leaving with him. I saw entirely one person. Which brings us to the point. You ever know someone who affected you profoundly, but probably has no idea? This is kind of about that. It just needed that much setup. But wait! There’s more setup!
When I was a young goth, I loved going dancing. I lived in NC, but I went to Georgia a lot. Fun Fact: I am the only member of my direct family for many, many years not to be born in eastern NC. Generations, even. I was born in Duluth, GA, because my mom got pissed off and moved away. We moved back when I was five, so I grew up here, but spent a bit of time down there, because that’s where her two best friends live. Well, when I was of travelling on my own age, I discovered The Chamber in Atlanta. It was my super happy place. I have never cared about dancing by myself, but sometimes it’s just nice to be surrounded by a lot of people really digging the same thing at the same time. And at The Chamber, there were so many boys that actually danced, and danced well. It was like The Fallout Shelter here, but four times the size and people. Maybe five. There was one, especially. He was like a work of art. I could watch him for hours. Not even in a lustful sort of way, just like art. When I was living with and married to the first ex husband (it’s a joke, haha. There has only been one,) he frequently spent his nights elsewhere. On more than one occasion, I would drive to Atlanta, dance, and come back, and no one ever knew that I was gone. That kind of thing is very easy, when you are young. When I was stressed out, I would go watch this guy dance. Never tried to talk to him, nit sure that it ever crossed my mind. Years pass, and I end up getting pissed off and moving to Atlanta. Perhaps it’s genetic. Anyway, I go dancing, like I am wont to do. As often as I can. One night, I’m in the parking lot of the bar, and my most favorite car drives up. I’m finishing my makeup, as I do, in my car, and guess who gets out of that car? Right?!?! It’s him! So I go in, and I’m not sure it is him. Until he dances. He dances like I do, not really looking at anything around him, except for collision detection purposes. Completely lost in the music. He dances perfectly. He’s beautiful, perfectly. He really is flawless. One of the top three most beautiful men that I have met, ever. Like, ever. Oooh, but I haven’t met him, yet, right? So, one night, I walk up to him, because I was drunk, and I learned what it was like to have that brilliant smile aimed at me. Also like me, his neutral expression is very neutral, but if he makes eye contact with someone familiar, the smile is nearly blinding, it lights up his whole face. He smiles with his whole body. So, I’m fuck-it-all drunk, and I walk up and say hi, and tell him my name. He tells me his ( I knew it already, we’ll call him Kevin.) I tell him. That I used to drive for six hours to dance, and to watch him dance. Then, I quietly freak out. What if he’s not very nice? His (then) girlfriend was a customer of mine, she wasn’t ever very nice. Oh god, I’m thinking, this is why they tell you not to meet your idols, because you never know what people are really like. He’s not an idol, he’s just so intimidatingly perfect. Again, I wasn’t flirting, his (then) girlfriend was a customer of mine, and she was so pretty. Me? I’m forgettable, at best, maybe completely ignorable. I’m usually surprised when people remember me. I’m not pretty, not like that. Different league. Fuck, different sport, even. My attraction to him has never been a crush, not lust, not physical. He’s just like, a little sun in any room. So, I’m still freaking out, and wondering where I’m going to find a hole to crawl into in a second floor bar. It seems like forever since the stupid words came out of my stupid mouth. Complete suspended animation. The air has become jello. I might drown. (I don’t people well.) So, after fourteen years (or two seconds) he smiles. At me. And laughs, and hugs me, a real hug, and tells me that that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to him. From then on, as long as I lived in Atlanta, when we were in the same place, he would smile and wave, occasionally I got a hug, if we were close. Y’all know, I’m completely weird about touching about 90% of the human population, even casually. He seems to fall into the 10% that don’t make me cringe. It turns out, he’s honestly nice. And so fucking smart. I read his facebook arguments, he’s always logical and not condescending. He doesn’t call people names. He’s smart and funny and gorgeous and classy and perfect. He dances like an angel. This is the strangest love letter to someone I’ve never been in love with, or felt that way about, ever. I told you there was more setup.
December 10, 2017. Gary Numan show at The Masquerade (new location.) Nothing makes sense. I’ve been stress crying and puking. I am literally falling apart, holding myself together with my own arms wrapped around me, trying to act okay. Looking for a reason to walk away from the ex. Any reason.
There he is. Kevin. I walk up in front of him and give a silly little wave. He smiles that smile at me, a real smile, and gives me a hug. A real hug. A hug I don’t back out of, which is uncharacteristic. We make small talk, he asks about NC, I point out that he’s tall (in case he’s never noticed, I really don’t people well!) I go to walk away, and get another small hug.
Are we friends? Superficially, sure. We aren’t close. I always see him dancing, in my head, when I hear Cuts You Up or Fade To Grey, I’m not sure why those two songs, specifically. But I will always remember that moment of kindness, that moment that literally held me together when all I wanted to do was fall apart. I thought it couldn’t get worse (it did.) I don’t remember as much of the show as I should. But I will always remember the hug that grounded me. He probably doesn’t even remember that I was there. I have no words for what that hug meant. I actually hug more people now, because I know what that one hug meant for me, in a moment of (hidden) crisis.
Be kind, y’all.