Ladder?

No.

Yoko Ono managed to attract John Lennon with a YES at the top of a ladder.

And I have used yes or no on occasion, as a question.

And it means nothing. Some people who I do not like say yes, and some people who I like say no. Or why?

I think it was the ladder.

It Didn’t Start That Way

This momentary depression.

It will change by the time I wake up tomorrow, and possibly before I even go to bed, which will be sometime in the next half hour.

But for tonight, for this moment, at 11:24pm on yet another Saturday night where I’m stuck at home, paying respect to responsibility and an early morning wake up call, I am sad and lonely and wishing that I could go to that party along with Chris and Ryan.

I like to sing this song when I am upset. I don’t think that’s the meaning of the song, I think it’s more about inner peace, but I always feel it most when I’m sad.

The sadness stays no matter what. Maybe that’s what I’m made of, more so than anger, more so than the machine gun assault of emotions that compose most of my days. My inner core is comprised of not fire, like I’d always imagined, but a dank and stagnant swamp.

No. It’s fire. What the hell am I talking about?

Fuck sadness.

Loneliness is what plagues me. Ever present and never welcome, but so familiar. I suffer from this loneliness even when I’m surrounded by fun people and fantastic times.

I was told that this blog is inferior to my other blog, that myspace carcass where I had subscribers and comments and strangers contacting me about my writing. I was told that the videos were distracting and unnecessary here. So I stopped posting video links.

Fuck it. I have no subscribers here. No one’s reading this shit. It’s nothing more than a glorified diary written by a lonely exhibitionist.

I’ll post what I please. The opinions were just making me self conscious anyway.

And Groceries, Too

And popped.

I am back to normal.

Back to the downside of normal, anyway.

Sleeplessness, boring dreams, general feelings of discontentment, loneliness and a regular appetite.

The pressures of life are once again weighing down upon me. The dresses that must be made to send out to other cities, the money that must be made to send out to bill makers, credit takers and landlords, not for my own enjoyment.

No socializing, mind you, I must work and then come home to work more, follow that up with more work, and again several more days of work.

I suppose that some of the work could be considered an investment of sorts, working to allow myself a more pleasant work environment in the near future, but most of the work is catching up on my month of time wasting and money spending.

And for what? What will I have accomplished at the end of this? There’s no meaning to life. It’s random violence, disease and ridiculous accidents, and if you’re lucky, you can survive long enough to come to some pointless conclusion about your inevitable mortality.

I’ll Trade in the Ipod for the Bedroom Suite, Monty

I’ve been a pig lately.

I’ve been eating more than my fair share of food items and it stops now. Oh sure, the hormones may have a hand in this. My girl parts are likely just revving up for another bloodstorm of biblical proportions. I have been consuming so much sodium that my fingers were swollen like little sausages today.

The uterus, she has done nothing for me. I have no need for her, no interest in bearing or rearing children. Kids are screamy little bloblings that can stay the hell away from me.

But hot damn, have I been having some vivid dreams. I’m in the midst of a subconscious maelstrom. I have been tantalized by beautiful landscapes, wild story lines and unexpected cameos.

Last night, I dreamt that I was visited by a group of uninvited late night partyers. They took over my entire apartment, which was larger and more scenic than in waking life. They were mostly strangers, all drunk and all jovial.

Someone stole my ipod and replaced it with an older version, full of industrial music. I don’t like industrial music, but I appreciated the person’s consideration.

And there was some sort of orgy going on in my bedroom that involved an Asian businessman and several Vietnamese prostitutes. My bedroom of course was a suite that included a living room, sleeping chamber, and a bathroom with a waterfall.

It was lovely.

Right Side, Dark Side, Flip Side Out

Last night, I dreamt of the moon.

It was near and large and very bright. It was also disk shaped, rather than spherical. It flipped over, to reveal it’s dark side. There was a different face on the other side of the moon. Not a bad face, just a different one.

So I went to an observatory with my ex boyfriend, and we could see billions of stars illuminated by the moon. The stars looked like a blizzard of snowflakes, like when you look up into a streetlight during a snowstorm.

I wonder what it represents. Opportunities? Business ventures? Inter personal relations? My own self?

I dreamt of the moon once before, when I was a teenager. I had dreamt that I drove my mom’s car to the moon and there was a playground on one side. I went down a slide and a bear took a swipe at me on the way down.

On the other side of the moon, there was an outdoor market with stores and bars all over the place.

An active nightlife.

My Brain is on a Tangent

Strange night’s sleep.

Went to bed, and as soon as I started to slip into unconsciousness, I had a panic attack.

DEATH!!!

Falling asleep is not something I am usually aware of, it tends to sneak up on me. However, last night I felt the sleep descend and it felt like dying. If a living person could accurately describe the feeling of dying, at any rate. Like a virgin describing DP.

Then I had a dream right before I woke up this morning that I was looking at a photo album of my life. Of course, there had been some photoshop work involved. There were pictures of me as a child snuggling with aliens, and one picture of me missing my torso.

And lots of pictures of beer for some reason.

Turn my Eyes Inwards

I hear that there are things more boring than waiting for paint to dry, but actually waiting for paint to dry is pretty boring, too.

Just checked. It’s still wet.

Bah, I should hire some art and fashion students to make these things for me. Maybe some man servants. I really liked using man servants for my last party, even if two thirds of them didn’t actually work. Unless you count standing around and looking good as work.

I need more man servants. Just two or three to have around for company when I’m bored, like right now.

Like always.

Why do I always feel so understimulated?

No Fun to Hang Around

I have an angel and a demon sitting upon my two shoulders.

One is a sewing machine and the other is my facebook obsessed loneliness.

I should think that the sewing machine is the angel, as it’s the less appealing of the two options. It’s beckoning me, first with gentle cajoling, then with a stern guilt trip.

Don’t you want to make money, Mavis? Don’t you think you should be spending your time making garments for stores? They all need stock, summer’s halfway over and here you sit, lazy and lonely. It isn’t going to change tonight, nobody is going to invite you out at this late hour, so you might as well be constructive with your time.

And the demonic facebook nonsense.

Ooh, maybe someone sent you a message. Maybe some handsome man-broad wants to talk to you, bored and avoiding his own guilt angel! Why don’t you check again and again? Here, look at this profile, and this one, and this one too. Don’t worry about that silkscreening mess in the other room, it’s still wet, why bother doing any more work tonight?

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!

Ugh. That really did nothing.

The angel and demon are just laughing at me now.

Oh and now they’re making friends with each other. Off to the bar together? Can I come along?

Nope.

Full Wallet, Empty Chest

Back home before midnight, and decidedly sober.

My cat is trying to kill the fly who was unfortunate enough to find its way inside our dangerous home. It’s an annoying fly, buzzing around my head, possibly in a state of survival induced panic.

Ugh.

I’m not sure if drinking would have improved my night. Likely, to be sure, but not necessarily so. I’ve had many a drunken night that has ended with this same feeling of disappointment, like I’m missing the true essence of fun. Those nights usually involve a long sobering walk home through Parkdale, and there is more desperation with the drinking sadness. Like I want to reach out and make contact with anyone nearby, just to feel alive. Well, anyone hot and nearby.

I do miss physical contact though, drunken or otherwise.

I miss having crushes, too.

Go figure, I’m lonely regardless of my alcohol levels.

Now I Sleep?

One of my more recently acquired habits is to get up after I’ve gone to bed.

When sleep is elusive, often the case for me, I need to come back downstairs and finish my evening’s thoughts over a cigarette. Tonight was no exception. I have been socially under stimulated this week, after a weekend of over stimulation, and it’s given way to ridiculous musings and daydreams about a fantasy social life.

Yes. I am lonely.

Yes. I am also vaguely horny, which is preferable to the acute horniness that I endured this past fall and winter, but it’s still uncomfortable.

What is it that I want? Do I want a sex partner? A casual lover?

I’ve had those, and I find that I lose interest all too quickly.

I have been highly afraid of monogamy over the past year, since I managed to escape from my last relationship, and have avoided commitments at all costs. I don’t want to fall into the boyfriend trap again anytime soon.

Maybe I just want a gang of admirers, large enough to occupy my waking life, exciting enough to send me off to a relaxing post orgasmic slumber. Something comforting to wake up to the next day.

Truth is, I haven’t met anyone worthy of my attentions in a long time. I’ve met a lot of disposable interests, some sex worthy, some not even grope worthy, none worthy of my creative displays of love and affection.

I am lonely.