I'm thinking about editing or removing some of the things I wrote when I was first hurt and super fired up about the music thing, because I love him and even though there isn't anything there I haven't told him in person, I just don't want to hurt him. I also don't want him to see any of the comments you might have felt safe enough to leave for me that you may not want him to see. On the other hand I don't think I remember any comments from anyone that might have upset him...but I just wanted to give you fair warning, just in case you wanted to go back and delete any comments you might have made that you wanted to keep private.
I guess I could make that entry private so that I'd be the only one who would ever be able to read it, and then I could come back here and erase this part of this entry, but somehow that feels dishonest towards him, and since dishonesty was the crux of the upset between us, I want to be as clean in this area as possible. However, I do love this weirdly Orwellian aspect of Live Journal.
Things are going really well for us. He honestly did everything he could possibly do to make up for his dishonesty, (this, of course, is the part that stings the most, seriously, it burns deep in my gut and it frightens me -- makes me feel unsafe, but what am I gonna do, I have to risk and try to trust again or we're done for), and his lack of support.
I'm also making this Friend's Only because I really don't feel safe leaving all of my personal angst hanging out there for people to pounce on. I often use my journal to work through unfiltered and random psychological issues and unlike a lot of people whose journals are very presentational and perfect I prefer to risk being real and raw, I like to let it all hang out, or let whatever I'm currently focusing on to hang out. People who read these entries will often make the mistake of thinking that because I make myself vulnerable in ways that they would never dream of, that I'm so needy and screwed up that I'm just begging them to come along and kick start my ass for me. Nope, no thanks, I've got more than enough of that going on inside my own mind, thank you. I also think it takes a certain level of trust to be able to share things about myself that aren't that attractive, areas of my life that need attending to, and even though my friend's list is still a little top heavy and somewhat unfiltered at this point, it's getting better as I work my way through it.
I'm having such a good time here at my Scotty's house. It's always nice to get away and take a break but I feel guilty when I'm having fun instead of digging myself out from under the huge burden of stuff I have to get done, and all of the stuff I've buried my life under. If I'm not dealing with my mess, clutter and chaos, I feel like I should at least be helping him deal with his -- I mean as long as I'm here I could help him sort through a box or two...
My sweet therapist Susan thinks that my "depression", (I think, in my case, this is just a neat clinical way of describing the sensitive artistic temperament, maybe I'm in denial, who knows, it just feels so unfair for someone like me, who has been given so much, to be depressed), is situational, and I can always see what she means by this when I feel this incredible lift any time I go on a trip away from home for a few days.
However, I'm the one who rescued all the animals that I can't seem to find good enough homes for, because no home seems good enough to me. I'm the one who collects all the crap that I hope to one day sell, but that I store in boxes until everything becomes too dusty or rat nibbled, or that gets left out in the rain by careless housekeepers and winds up being too ruined to sell to anyone. I'm the one that hangs on to too much, creating this huge burden of possessions that makes it impossible to find anything that really matters, and I'm the gal with the treadmill and the bikes, yes, bikes plural, that I never ride. I'm the gal with the backlog of videos and DVD's, magazines, and books, unread mail, unpaid bills, and unfinished and unstarted art projects galore, bla, ba, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla...see what I mean.
No worries, it may take me this lifetime to work through this, but bit by bit I will get there. I know where I want to end up, I know where I want to go, it's just that I am such a perfectionist that baby steps don't feel like enough to me and I'll often do nothing rather than do anything that won't measure up to my ridiculously high and very driven standards, and I know this won't make sense to anyone who doesn't struggle with the psychological dis-ease of hoarding. I'm working on the baby steps thing, and I'm so much better than I used to be, well, in some ways, but I have areas that I have become completely paralyzed in dealing with and it's driving me nuts. Just had to get this off my lovely chesties.
I'm hoping to be able to come on over here early on Valentine's Day so I can help Scott get all of the things he's been dragging his feet over for a couple of months now out of his way. I don't want to see him living for years with all of these unpacked boxes, sticky resinous dust building up on every surfuce, like it did in every one of the last three apartments I helped him move into. He never has any free time, and when he does have a tiny bit of down time, I think the idea of spending it unpacking boxes and cleaning his house must feel depressing and oppressive to him. Aside from the emotional burden he also has health issues to deal with. My semi-secret plan involves coming over super early with Esther and Anna, cleaning the mess, and attacking the disorder, sending the gals home, then making it look pretty and romantic and cooking dinner for him. Wish me luck.
I had a dream last night where I went to an expensive hair salon and got the worst cut ever, and was just devastated. I kept looking at myself in the mirror thinking, "Oh no, I'm gaining weight! I'm not pretty enough to pull this weird hair style off. Oh my God I need my hair!!!!" The stylist shaved the back of my neck up to a certain point, and most of one side of my head leaving me with this weird circular patch of long hair that he combed over to one side, with a bit of hair, a la Mrs.-Brady's-bad-70's-shag-hair-cut, (Anyone remember that?), hanging down all around the neck and sides. I so didn't want to look like Mrs. Brady, or Keith Partridge, and I was horrified that this had happened and we got into a fight about it.
I need to get a trim and have my roots touched up so that's probably why I had this dream. I washed my hair last night before going over to the studio with Scott and even though I'm using the best hair care products on the planet, honestly, and went to the trouble of using three after care products designed to moisturize, replenish natural oils, seal the cuticles, and add plenty o' shine, even though I used my little ionic blow dryer, I was surprised at how awful my hair looked when I was done. I thought, "Oh man, I need help."
I guess one of the big drags about dyeing your hair blonde is the upkeep and how much it dries out and thrashes your hair. This is probably the reason why so many women around here are willing to spend unGodly amounts of money on their hair -- why there are so many celebrity salons in Beverly Hills and West Hollywood, that charge five hundred dollars and up for color and have the nerve to insist on being paid in cash. I still remember when you could buy a good used car for that and considering that I'm having to rent one right now, I'd rather have the second car and the shaved head, well, on second thought...
I'm heading back to the background music mines tonight -- one more night down, at least two more to go.
Okay off to get things done even though I'm away from home...
Love you all so,