excursus.

if you knew how much i struggle with this liminal doubtful mini-reality, even now...

boundaries have always been important to me; i categorize and define and trace the outlines of who i am and what i see and then along came a little imaginary black house and smudged everything all up. and the smudge scares me because believing in it might mean that i finally took that half-step i've always been afraid i could so easily take, led astray by my imagination into the proverbial white room. and yet the smudge is wonderful, because it was true magic and it caught me up in it.

and now nothing else is defined either and i'm sorry but i just can't be happy all the time, i am only this messed-up person no matter what color my hair is and the path to wherever and whoever and whatever might allow me to take off my own headphones is just my path, and that's always a longer path, i always take the long way around. and on this path there are no 3 a.m. friends so sometimes i spill out where i shouldn't. i reach out when i should just stand the fuck up and figure it out for myself. so.

sometimes i am writing stories and making pictures, and sometimes i cry. sometimes i am excited and cheerful and sometimes i despair. i try to keep it all to myself and not sprawl messily where i don't belong. i don't want to trouble anyone. i know my place, even if it is smudged 'round the edges.