Blue Machine

My heart feels like it's locked in one of those medieval torture devices, with the spikes inside, and it just keeps pressing tighter and tighter.

Could be all the horrendous fatty food I've been craving almost robotically the past few days. I guess my body is trying to build a nice layer of blubber to get me through the harsh winter. But how can I grow the emotional blubber I need to sustain my soul?

Spoke to my ex-husband today. So trippy and weird. The person who used to be dearest to me is now for all intents and purposes an awkward stranger.

So it goes.

Life is a series of meaningless vignettes. Or, rather, there is meaning sealed into each one, but they don't necessarily relate to one another, or flow in any sensible way. Life is like a goddamned indie art flick. There's all this emotion and angst and beauty, bubbling just beneath the surface, but try to make others understand it, or garner some real universal meaning, and you fail. That's why Hollywood movies will never go out of style. It's nice to be able to pretend, at least for a little while, as your eyes are glued to the screen, that things make sense. That stories have beginnings and middles and ends. That it isn't all just one big clusterfucky soup we're all swimming in blindly.

Saturday night after my unexciting comedy show in Columbia, MD, Kayla and I met a trio of "revolutionaries", as they called themselves. They were the strangest, most mis-matched group of people I've ever seen together, on a late-night outing no less. One was a 70-something-year-old man who was obsessed with my feet and my hair, another was a short greasy-haired artsy-bearded weasel who was pretty damn talkative and entertaining, the third a tall Viking of a creature covered in tattoos, with a shaved head. We shared some surprisingly affectionate moments, right at the bar of Chadwick's, as Pete looked on.

He turned out to be this guy:

http://www.lowerbranch.com/artists/christopheranway/




Incredibly talented. Quiet. Punched out Andy Dick at a bar in San Francisco. What a life.

I don't expect to hear from him again. *sigh*

I just want to get through this week and get the hell out of here. Really looking forward to going to New England with Kayla Thursday night.

I don't know what I would do if it wasn't for her, always listening to my whining, going to stupid open mics with me, making me feel not alone.

I hope I can be a good friend to her.

I need to go to yoga.