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back and forth

Ya encontré de nuevo la cueva, la cueva que pensé tontamente que había dejado en Los Sorbones. La cueva de la soledad, de no quiere salir nunca, de ponerme tenso cuando escucho llaves en las puertas de mis vecinos.

I went home and saw a lot of people who love me. This time "who love me" counted more than "that I love". It was heartbreaking. It helped. Not just once I thought: it isn't getting your heart broken that's so hard. It's getting your heart chipped away at, piece by piece, cada despedida dejandote uno menos. Each goodbye leaving you one piece less. Each visit meaning another goodbye. (And no, moving home won't cure it, because there will be goodbyes in that, too.)

I feel poorer than I ever have.

There's a new quasi-hypochrondriac obsession: locating researchers of memory.
There are new obsessive fears.
There is too little new.

There is nowhere I want to be.

I am in the shit. I am worried about all of this. I am losing the battle at turning the voice off. I can't sleep, well. I only have two strategies:
do new things
constantly ask self (wwjd-esque) if what I'm doing will make me happy/ feel better. If it won't, I won't do it. In many cases, nothing is going to make me happy, but I can clearly see it often. Like, -checking fb? :no. doing dishes? :yes. Thing is, being social? :mostly never want to. again.

aight aight, self-preservation. 5 good things:
1. met Joel on bus, talked and pre-networked for 2 hours
2. went to gyno, got most of needed exam, she was awesome.
3. Irina
4. knowing there's a reason I have awesome friends
5. accessibility of fresh-squeezed juice (this is a good go-to)


Aight, I admit it: I'm taking 5 days off fb and that's why I'm here. Okay.

Now that that's off my chest. Phew! I've been writing to my grandma, and writing in English is really hard! I don't write much in either language except for in chats. Yikes. Full of confessions today.

This weekend, I was so slovenly and things sucked. Then I went to a fashion show. Right, but leaving the house did the trick. So does the garden. I have one with partner.

Romaine lettuce, including one red one, to eat
Tomatoes, plums, ripening
Tomatoes, round wild ones (smaller than grapes). I harvested the seeds myself., fruiting
Tomatoes, a shit ton of babies. We're giving them away
Epazote, tons. Most aggressive seed-spreader I know.
Jalapeños, just now flowering
Poblanos, tiny sprouts, from leftovers
Melons from el pueblo, takin their damn time
Lemony Basil, one plant from which we have about 10 babies. Wish it were less lemony.
Sunflowers, contrabanded through the mail from my moms, about to flower
Marihuana, given to a friend for safe keeping at 7 inches

Also, today....One of the mango seeds which I had place in lieu of rocks in a pot evidently had the will to live! Huzzah! And so. Time to rejoin the world, when it means writing grandma from this piano bench, my dying laptop perched on the piano. César is piping in music, a radio program featuring his band, to the speaker, circumventing the soundproof window between us, where I can see him, hunched over his computer. Both of our doors are open, and the crickets outside chirp loudly. It won't rain this time.

on suicide notes and survival

I stumbled (fb) onto V's suicide note, http://vanessalibertadgarcia.com/all-my-love-v/. I wish I hadn't.

I decided long ago not to off myself, as it were. After having stood at the front lines when a friend/boss*'s son turned up dead of an overdose (he's been clean for a year or more), and he was left doubting whether or not it was an intentional move. I saw clearly how selfish the decision is.

It's a valid decision, of course. People make selfish choice all the time. But I said no. I neither wanted to succumb, feel victimized, nor put friends/family through tragedy.

While I love many things about life and living, I am not conscious of them all the time. In fact, many times dark emotions take control of my line of thinking and those things are buried deep. Passionate anger or depression roll in. And, like Vanessa was, I'm capable of despising myself. It was upsetting to relate to so many of her sentiments.

This one---> I’m acutely aware of my presence at all times. It seems impossible to distract myself from being myself long enough to participate aka fully immerse myself in an enjoyable interaction. Yikes.

The good thing, though, is unlike Vanessa, whose "I have nothing to contribute" surely was typed as a fallacy which became a self-fulfilling prophecy, I do. I have something to contribute.

If I don't know what that will be, that's not my fault, it's my responsibility.
If I have wasted time, years
If I am too angry a person to support children
If I am ignorant
If I don't know what's next
... well, that too is my responsibility. Even without a creator or Grand Plan, it's obvious that each second spent in daylight, twilight, or darkness is a goddamn gift.

mental health confession

It's been forever, I know.
I look up/half stalk people I knew, or know, most of which fairly accessible there on the face books, and they have done things, and in the last three years, I have been stuck.
Not growth-wise, not for three years, but for a good long while now.
Life path-wise, too.
Maybe even about things I can't say. Please leave out the talking-to. I know where the things I say/write am coming from. Nonetheless, I feel them.

I will not, this time, talk about romance or sex or relationships, except to say this: I continue to carry on with same-named gentlemen, one of which is my boyfriend. This is positive.

Watching the last of the day's sun fade through my drawn blinds, I am exhausted by the unasked questions. Agoraphobia? Boredom? Laziness? Clinical indecision? There are times when I cannot entertain my thoughts for very long. Come to think of it, perhaps these occasions are more frequent than I realize, resulting in time spent sleeping, watching TV, wasted on the internet, smoking pot, eating.

For some reason --is he the friend-guy (BFF listener, friend-zoned dude), only well-disguised? Hmm -- César has been patient and helpful with this severe lost-ness. I do not question his concern for a friend, but his interest in being involved with someone who has nothing good/cool to contribute. He suggests that I do what I love. Easy for him to say, I think. It's too late for me to pursue half the things that I am interested in, especially with the aim of making money at them. When Cé says that we are the same, he means neurotic. I do not particularly agree but the idea of being accompanied is nice.

I am petrified of going home like this.* I am petrified of going on like this.**
* So I have stayed. **So I must not. I must move on.

head first- musical version

Back after a long weekend on boyfriend island, as it were.
Today: washing/hanging laundry, organizing room, looking for last min tickets home.
Mood: Numb. See below

The weekend, Fri to Mon:
Fri.pm Cèsar el bueno (good Cèsar, aka Little Cèsar, aka Cèsar II) was disappointed that I had plans (to go see The Ghost of Piramidia
with Original Cèsar http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8opA-Mz1EA,
although of course I didn't say that explicitly), and I felt bad because I'd had to turn down hangout invites with him during the week. On the way to the movie, I stopped by and talked to him, and agreed that I hadn't been letting him in. I apologized but admitted that I didn't know if I could. When I was ready to leave, hugged me sensually - easily, as he's an irresistible chorizo of a man, and told me, "Quiero hacer el amor contigo, ahora."

And of course I couldn't sleep with him then, because I was meeting O.Cè and Checo for the movie. Right then, O.Cè sent me a message postponing his appearance until afterward, making the offer more tempting. That feeling was uncomfortable, and not cool. So I knew then I had to pick one.

I'd love to know more about how poli relationships are managed and perhaps learn to manage them, but when two dudes are falling in love with you and want your time, it's hard to attempt to sort out your feelings. Or for me, to perceive them. One tough thing about ending my last relationship was that I liked the relationship, the logistics of it. And now I guess I'm looking (not-looking) for something similar, but better (more functional).

Fri.night Movie was awesome, Cè and Checo and I went to a classic salón and got drunkish. We said goodbye to Checo and on the way home I decided on another beer. Officially drunk I suppose. At Cè`s house I ate some marihuawnie alone (strictly booze, he's a bit of a funcshdrunk) and got a little weird. Probably trying to avoid feelings.

Sat.In the morning, he went to his Nahuatl class and I went home to a much-needed shower, as his water was off (buildings in the center tend to be rundown). I spent the rest of the long weekend with Lil Cè. Lily and I post-party chatted, then in the pm, Lil Cèsar picked me up and drove me to Toluca, a city 1 hr north of DF, to visit his house. He bought a house there, idea that he'll swap for an apt with dad, who works in Toluca, and taking advantage of an good offer for a mortgage. It's a weird McMinihouse in a half-sold, 1/4 inhabited, still-being-built, neighborhood, the kind with a guard and a gate. Then we went to his sister's, where his mom also lives, and then back to DF, where we holed up in a good way at the house.

Sun.I invited Cè to seafood brunch in my old 'hood, where we walked from his place. Honestly the rest is a little fuzzy but hedonistic eating and awesome sex is the name of the game. Except, at night, I broke the news. Of course, I started crying first. I told him that he's going to have to let me go, that I was not talking about home but other romantic ventures, that I want to fall in love and I can't if I'm in the middle of things, like this. And he got quiet and sad and went out for a smoke so I got dressed and I didn't know if he'd ask me to leave. But he came back and told me that he loved me, that even though it happened like this, he wanted me to know, that he was just now (we've been seeing each other for a month) realizing it. That he hadn't felt or said that in six years (when his marriage to babymom split up). What could I say? I didn't say that it changed things but I told him I love him too. It's so easy to. And then we didn't talk about it any more but had more awesome sex.

Mon. Both of us had to do a little bit of work, and we did. Then he drove me home and we walked around the park where he told me about his druggie past, which quite surprised me. Then again, it was high school. And I said, "Do we need to talk about stuff?" and insisted when he said no, because I wasn't sure he got it. So I told him, again, but more explicitly, that I didn't want to date anymore, that it was over. It was such a hard thing to do. And he kind of folded. Honestly I don't know what the difference between this and that conversation was, but this was worse. He cried. Eventually he asked if he could still see me, under even any terms. I asked what if I said yes, but I was in a relationship with someone else, I asked how could I ask that of him. And, after a terrible walk home (I quote, "A piece of my heart fell down with every step," more mutual, futile Love-oaths, drama ("You're the best thing that happened to me in 6 years," "I would leave everything for you"...that one I chastised him for), we said goodbye. Then the call-back, he hadn't left and wanted me to come down. Then he did acquiesce his kisses: he grabbed me. Pathetic, yes, but also romantic and understandable, he asked to come up, make love. At least I knew enough to refuse.

Plus, I was already late to talk with Original Cè, and my head was there...TBC

Damn, stupid technology. Cè II just posted on his FB this heartbreak song, by his bro's (vocalist) band

feet first?

This has a bit of a recap in it, so sorry if redundant.
Ro and I broke up in the very end of July. I can't believe it's been so long and I'm not exactly better. I decided not to run away home but I know I had esperanzas que volvemos for a long time. Only recently we've talked a few times. I know he's still in love with me (too, probably), and it's weird. I saw his family two weeks ago and it was heavy. I still ask myself, how do I know it was the right decision?

Since then I rekindled a sexual relationship with Cèsar, who rejected me justo pre-Ro. He's a composer and musician and right now most of his time is spent preparando por estrenar el nuevo disco de su grupo huapango, Nostalgia Huasteca (buscalo si estas curiosa). And since we were friends already, and I needed someone, etc, our fuckbuddyhood turned confusingly heavy for me. Still, no pasa nada for nearly four months, and just when I meet/hook up with Cèsar (graphic designer, divorced dad of two=mature!, friend of friends, and pretty much your textbook buen tipo, without being square), Original Cèsar (so-called for his affinity for hip hop--he's El Negro in the group, and milks it since his gramps was African-American) confessed his love, a 180 from being a stonehearted patàn for the past five years. OC and Little Cèsar (so-called for making good the size of the boat vs motion of the ocean metaphor ;) now know about each other, although not that they're tocayos, and they both aren't real pleased. Being the guilt factory that I am, I feel pressured to pick one, overwhelmed enough to doubt everything, and thoroughly unsure about how to proceed.

I'm superhomesick as it's been seven months now, but I'm not going home for Semana Santa. For a while, I was terrified of going home/seeing anyone I know because of the possibility that I'd loose my shit and because of frustration about not having my shit together (emotionally-that's calmed down, but professionally, legally, financially, etc is still a mess). I am now more sick of being scared than scared, which does not mean that I might not freak out a teensy bit.

2013 NYE affirmations

Things I wrote while tipsy (drunk?) on New Years Eve. This was kinda interesting. Inglés below.
Estoy conciente de mis acciones
Sé que hago aqui
Soy unica
No cierro mis ojitos
El amor que tengo ni llevo ni arrastro
Aquel amor es suficiente para todos
No existe obligaciones solo gustar y disgustar
Sé amable
Estoy, soy, parte de la fiesta. Soy parte de todo, eso no es elección. Mi gusto de eligir cúal parte sea.

I know what I'm doing (here).
I'm conscious of my actions.
I'm unique.
I won't close my eyes.
The love I have, I have. I don't carry nor drag it with me. +
That love is enough for everyone.+
Be nice.*
There are no obligations, only choices.*
I am, always, part of the party. I am part of the everything, and that's not a choice. My privilege, my preference, is to choose which part I may be. +

As I struggle to find my place both in society and the larger World, I think these are good things to take along.

+ These are probably the most important ones for me.
*I must say that these two are inspired by 12 Steps, I think, via Ro. Be nice is word for word, and he'd always say "there's no good or bad, only likes and dislikes".

Thoughts, unprocessed

The friends = those you meet along the way vs. friends = similar folks with common interests battle rages on.

Went to Monterrey and then north to McAllen, TX for Xmas with a now-close friend and her now-beloved husband.

New Year's Eve was a dinner party followed by dancing attended by six people: five very handsome men and myself. There was some dinner table talk of what it meant to E. to spend NYE for the first time in 32 years with close, friends who are also members of the gay community. I was the only non-Mexican, non-man, and buga (hetero), in the group, possibly the only single, but I felt loved and included and received five chaste kisses when the clock changed as we listened to a very gay (IMO) new year's pop song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5KmzA_hMqE

After last night's post group bike ride nondate (mutual friend of Ro and myself trying to date me, yuck) I headed over to the center to drop in on Jhovanny and his equally cute, considerably-less-crabby brother (¿porque no?:) at the bar to let them know I was back in town and still alive, but as the city is still quite empty, the bar was closed. Time for previously scheduled booty call (he says we're saliendo. Impossible! you can't "go out" with someone without actually leaving the house!). It was 9pm, and said booty call somewhat surprisingly turned into a home date. Tom Collins, movie projector, short bike film and Santitos, only 1/2 of which is excellent and funny.

An abundance of snuggling and more, talking (about grandparents, medical issues, an awkward intimate thang that took place 26 months ago which we never really talked about, jealousy and assumptions (I asked who bought him the Kama Sutra and he flipped out :), friends vs more-than, being the exotic one in a foreign country (again), social/gender rules about pickups, norteños, and grammar (English, Spanish, French, again).

I cried (again). It's nice to cry, it's nice to get held while crying, even if the person holding you's objections to your tears attempt to boo you out of bed (or out of crying). No real reason. A rush of everything.

I wonder, and I worry, am I using this time with C. to learn something, be it about having meaningful intimate NSA relationships without (or with few) intimacy limits, or something deeper? Or am I re-learning how to break my own heart, remixed? From observing other people, it seems that sex gets less important. Maturity seems to involve having kids or less of a sex drive or both or something. But I'm just beginning to learn to have awesome sex, so how can I be "supposed" to downgrade its importance so soon? I know that if I don't cut things off with C. first, it will be a huge blow to the ego. But will I be able to? How can possibly I want to? I could, hypothetically, go home (yikes) or fall in love (not ready, not interested, I hate love), but barring those imposing options, I'm just not sure.

Well, I'm going to let these Valium-like sex chemicals start wearing off, or combat them with coffee, and get some work done. That's the plan for the rest of the week.
(Last) Week in Review: José, a friend of a friend, has been texting me out of the blue, "What's up? How are you? Do you remember me?" Umm, no? I met him at a party with a bunch of his housemates (there are 10), so I don't recall which one he is. Curiosity will eventually necessitate hanging out once.

Wednesday, I hung out with Jhovany, a friend and interested party who I met 2 years ago. From the most infamous barrio in DF, he's completely unpretentious. Musician, philosophy junkie, partier. At the Hija de los Apaches, a bar/pulquería that J. frequents "Wednesdays and Fridays", I danced salsa and cumbia badly with strangers because J. doesn't dance in well-lit places (instead preferring to introduce me to friends, "this guy will dance with you)". He may or may not have been wasted (didn't seem so, but I think he's a pro), and before I biked home, we ended up in a superhot makeout session by the light of the convenience store. Foolishly I invited him despite the fact that I had to be in class at 7:15 the next morning, but his decline came in a such a dulcet package that I couldn't be insulted, "If I stay over, we won't get out of bed until 3pm."

Saturday night, this proved half-true. Downtown, near damaged buildings from earlier's inauguration protests, we went to one bar, then another, his former employer and that of his brother, Jorge, cuter, more gentlemanly, with whom I had perhaps more engaging conversation than with J. From there to the gay bar where I first picked him up, where we got separated. I was hit on hard, by both straight and gay guys (the hair) and he ended up dancing with some girls who weren't me, but we ended up in a taxi together. TBC.

Lucas, half-Jewish lit freak (whose name is that of a different apostle) from NYC/LA in town studying Spanish, further proves that some Earth girls are easy. An impromptu blackout party last Saturday found various roomies and self drinking in the courtyard, and after meeting and hitting it off riffing on each other a bunch the night before (his standup comedy background, my love of self-deprecation), without much fanfare we ended up making out all night long, at which point I remembered such delights as making out and only making out, with a new person, all night long. He forwent my invitation to stay over (a new thing for me, I think it's good, but also I didn't really want him to stay over, so I need to practice both abstaining and inviting). The next day I got all dramatic, "I felt nothing!"

Later I assured myself that I had indeed felt my tongue and lips touching those of another person. We made out some on Tuesday and were supposed to hang out Friday, but moving took forever. I didn't call him and vise versa, more because of Jhovany thing having happened than having heard rumors about him and strip club prostitutes.

Friday, suspicions that my new apt building is inhabited by M's mom were confirmed when that señora and the aforementioned's black lab were seen exiting the building. M took me to her place for lunch once, oblivious to the fact that girls like me ascribe importance to meeting boys' families (see forthcoming J. entry), and when Lily took me to see her place the first time, I thought it looked mighty familiar. Thankfully via email he has told me that "we're cool."

Disturbingly, a chat message to R-- the first communication in 4 months, written with aims both logistical (like the loss of my bike) and emotive (closure/apology) but, yes, in a moment of weakness and solitude -- resulted in a text back reading, "I'm at NA. You, where are you sleeping? Tomorrow let's go to the bath house, the movies, dinner. Mi amor".

Sure, my sense of nostalgia and my ego was into that, but what a chilling divorce from reality! The next day, I responded amiably, "Don't get ahead of me. I want to talk. I've been very busy but let's find a time to meet soon," and received no response.

on crying in public (inspired by carecia):

Uardo and I saw some girl crying in public together. We walked by the way we would've walked by a homeless person. And the same way, pero más, me dio cosa. And Uardo commented, "That girl was crying in public. You don't see that a lot," or something just as neutral. And I thought had I been with one of my other dude friends, all of whom almost are more sensitive that Uardo, or express it more, or something, would we have stopped? Alone, would I have stopped?

I live near many hospitals and saw a couple sobbing outside of one of them recently. I have also sobbed outside of a hospital in Mexico, sometimes within eyesight of other people sobbing, although never together. While I can begin to imagine the reason behind their tears and cannot begin to imagine the feeling, I felt very empathetic in those times. At times I knew the reason, and I cried with them, silently, keeping my distance. I believe in common humanity but often doubt that I can recognize where privacy is required and when not. In the end, it took more courage than I had to confront or comfort a father standing on a chair in the waiting area to watch as hospital staff revived his 16-year-old mortally wounded (as it turned out, later that night) son.

"It's something I've been getting good at lately," I told Uardo, giggling at the way it came out while he stood a little horrified. I've been proud of myself for being increasingly comfortable with expressing my feelings right when they strike. I've cried, at 30th st station, in a cafe, on the street, on the bus, in another cafe. Mostly a little but sometimes silent sobbing. And I'm ok with that-- although it encourages the pleasant trappings of anonymous/invisible, it also feels a very present thing to do. Feeling your feelings.

I've been happier lately, and crying less, in public or elsewhere. It's a challenge to hang out with the other humans and in this stage, all the impersonal but disagreeable things about singlehood are hitting me, but especially the challenges to do with getting to know and dealing with other humans.



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