I think I am starting to let the doldrums of work get to me again, and lull me into a false sense of security. My tarot reading from last night would have soothed and comforted anyone, but it seems to have spurred me on again, like any good muse must do.
The cold is settling into the air. The sky is more consistently grey, and the air soon spins and whips itself into a frenzy that speaks of little droplets of cold cold water rushing in from the lake, in mid-air transforming into cold pellets of pesudo-snow. The stuff that you can't see until it actually hits your eyeballs. Refreshing, and yet painful at the same time. That's my kind of town, Chicago is.
Read my tarot last night, Julie had me choose my cards, and the first card she turned up, from her left hand, was "The Devil." And it's true. I see myself as such, only because I am so unsure of myself that even when things are going incredibly well, I still fear that I may be just an imposter, someone who is acting selfishly and without remorse when I suck the life from people around me. Goodness knows I have had many mentors who have taught me such dim and grimy states. I am afraid I will become like them, because I am so angry. Still. After all this time.
Wow, why do I get so drained? Why do I feel like I am giving so much, in whatever I do? Why do I feel flashes of youth creeping into my cheeks, and why do I feel the vibrations once more in my fingertips? There is this palpable energy that I garnered in high school, when I began to catch my reflection in mirrors and think to myself that maybe I had finally left behind the dull brown hair and dark circled eyes of my very gothically-inclined childhood. I felt more like I did a little later, as evidenced by a bright smiling school picture of me, no more than 8, maybe, with a Tenielle (of Captain and, oh yes) haircut and blue dashiki, and that charming gap between my front teeth that hinted at braces.
There is something deep within me that will not die. I've had to fan it into fire a little more diligently than I would have preferred, for its inception was so organic, would not its rebirth call the same? But no, crown of thorns, and stations I must carry my burden, yadda yadda yadda. I am my own Christ figure, how do you like that? But at the same time I've been playing the Fallen Angel, and it fit me. Like a glove. I couldn't breathe.
Scott was gone for four days, and in that time I got very down. I think it was because we had just done some major work in making the apartment a little more liveable, and I wanted to share that with him, because dammit, a clean and cool-looking apartment is almost no good alone. But when he came back, and hours later I am at this tea, it hits me with a silent explosion at how much I have come to love him, and how happy I really am. Not how happy I think I should be, not how happy others might see me, but how happy this long-haired man makes me. Oh, let me ramble about him. He's marvelous. And I have no idea where he and I are going on our separate paths, but I can tell you that right now, this very moment, he is my everything.
The weather grows colder, and I wonder what form my dreams will take now that they will be esconced even more firmly in my lover's arms, and in warm comforters and midnight black cats. The two cats we have are delights to us. They are truly faithful and warm, and very demanding, much like children. I adore them. One is regal, and the other is barely four months, and I never thought she'd make it. I remember when I could hold her entire body in the palm of my hand, and I fed her with warmed formula made from some powder, in a plastic bottle the vetrinarian had given us. How she cried, and meowled into the night. How her mother finally came around. There is a definite bond there. Yay for that.
As I point my brain towards what kind of auditions are out there... wish me luck. Or a broken leg. Anything.
