My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

Back in December, when I was “exhausted,” I had a talk with a psychologist. I was explaining why I felt like killing myself and what-not, typing it all out at a rather decent rate. During this chat she said to me, “you know, you should use abbreviations, it’d be much faster. Try things like grl frnd, or how r u?” I felt so astonishingly frustrated and out of place.  

Obviously, I’ve thought about shortcuts. Obviously, they’ve been suggested before. I just can’t make myself use them. Words and language are really important to me. The way I express myself best is in words. My voice might be gone, but I still have written language. I never “spoke” incorrectly, so now that the alphabet is all I have, I can’t make myself use it incorrectly. It might be easier, faster, but I can’t lose such an important part of myself. 

I really do worry that I’m tedious to people, everyday, almost every conversation. I just hope people understand, understand that I can’t give up another thing that I love, words.

We made the paper…

Where's Michael?

I’m kind of on a quest to be more social. I mean, I’m friendly, outgoing, not socially awkward, but I want to be able to go somewhere without my computer and be able to meet new people. Sometimes, I need a break from typing. It’s been just about two years without old-school talking, yet I still feel awkward sometimes talking to people with the alphabet, especially trying to meet new people. I want to change that, I want to feel less lonely in a crowd.

So, just for kicks, I dragged my friend, Sarah, and my assistant, Sarah, to a TweetUp at Tampa’s MOSI (museum of science and industry). A TweetUp is a gathering of Twitter users who often belong to a specific group. Last night’s get-together was for members of tampabloggers.com. I’d never been to a TweetUp before, and neither Sarah had ever used Twitter, so none of us had any idea what to expect from the evening. It was definitely an interesting experience.

There was a room full of people, all rather friendly, all seemingly familiar with one another from previous TweetUps. My little trio were definitely the “outsiders,” not quite so hardcore into the “Twitter lifestyle.” I mean, technology’s obviously really important to me. Back in the day I was quite into technology conferences and what-not, and I did enjoy much of it, yet deep down it never felt like “me.” I think I got so into tech culture because it was easy, it made sense to everybody. Yet, the me that I am today feels right and honest. I love my black nail-polish, my piercings, my fourteen tattoos, my dark books and music, the way I write. I’m home at goth clubs, dive bars, coffee shops, talking with other writers. I know technology so well because I require it, not necessarily because I love it. These things really kind of hit me last night, I saw how much I used to pretend to be someone else.

Still, I did like the people, I do want to go again. It’s good sometimes to be “out of your element.” I had a couple of short, but decent spontaneous conversations. I need to get better at introducing myself to people, rather than always waiting for people to come to me. Not being able to “talk” is still difficult for me in group situations. MOSI has a huge domed IMAX theater, at the top is an outdoor terrace, we hiked our way in the cold to gaze upon the majesty that is Tampa. I didn’t really care for the cityscape, but the sky was absolutely clear and gorgeous.

Now, pictures…

Me and Sarah, TweetingUp.

Sparkle Hat Guy.

Whole expanse.

Oh, and for those new to the blog, I type it all by myself, really.

So, I’m out at dinner with a lady-friend and my assistant, Sarah. It’s a lovely evening, I’m enjoying an excellent bisque, talking to a beautiful and witty woman. While I’m alphabeting something to my friend, I notice out the corner of my eye that this chick is whispering to Sarah. Apparently, she’s an “energy healer,” and has “worked with MD kids before.” Technically, I’m not a kid and I don’t have muscular dystrophy, but that’s just semantics. Anyway, she says, “he’s beautiful.” She says, “he has great energy.” She introduces herself and goes back to her table.

As we’re leaving she asks to say good-bye. She puts a hand on my legs, one on my head. I move my eyebrows in a “okay, bye, well-meaning and bizarre lady” kind of way. She says, “oh, he likes that.” She says, “he’s really feeling it.” After that, we part ways.

Now, I’m pretty sure I was completely healed for about an hour, but then it wore off.

If you don’t watch Battlestar Galactica, this probably won’t be amusing…

So, I want to write something profound and beautiful, but I’m a little tired. I spent last night, mostly awake, in the e.r. My trache decided to go crazy for no apparent reason, as is its way sometimes. The doctor stabbed the Hell out of my arm trying to draw blood, but didn’t get a drop. It’s kind of unpleasant being a zombie.

I’m breathing fine now, but I’m tired. I want things I won’t get.

So, aside from knowing that it was directed by Danny Boyle, and that he’s a genius, I had absolutely no idea what to expect from Slumdog Millionaire. I had no idea it was set in India, no idea that it involved the Hindi version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, I had no idea about anything. I’m glad I didn’t know anything about the film, or else I wouldn’t have been so spectacularly surprised. It’s such a beautifully compelling love story, and so much more. It’s definitely a must see.

I’m going to write something more full after I see it again. I wasn’t watching it in the right frame of mind to write a proper review. My mind was a little bit somewhere else, with someone else.

Last night, my friend, Sarah, and I went to see the spectacular foreign vampire film, Let The Right One In. It’s playing at the very old, and very gorgeous Tampa Theatre. I’d been there plenty of times for concerts, but last night was my first movie. It was a rather beautiful movie, but I want to see it one more time before I really write about it. 

For Christmas, a friend, Jayleen, got me an Amazon gift certificate which I promptly used to buy Incesticde, the only Nirvana CD I didn’t own. I totally love it, particularly Stain, Big Long Now and Downer (Downer being originally found on their first album, Bleach). Obviously, I only like the happy music. Though, lately I’m really digging Tracy Shedd’s Cigarettes & Smoke Machines. It’s music that sounds sad, but her lyrics are actually pretty “up,” as “up” as I like to hear. Also, Cigarettes & Smoke Machines is just a fucking cool album name.

I’ve been to see Doubt four times now. Honestly, that movie is as relaxing as any drink for me. It’s so compelling and brilliantly acted that I just kind of lose myself in it. Also, I have decided that I want to become a nun.

Yesterday, my allergist said I’m “an inspiration,” which is interesting, as I’d only known him for fifteen minutes. I’m not really sure what I did in that amount of time to be inspirational, aside from breathing and moving my eyes. That label is always weird to me. I mean, I understand it, but I don’t think it’s right. I’m nothing spectacular. I do good things sometimes, I totally fuck up sometimes, just like almost anyone.

Dear Diary,

Today I was actually very sad. The nice lady with the puppy was hit by a BIG truck running across the street after her puppy. What does d-e-c-a-p-i-t-a-t-e-d mean? Daddy lost his job and said we can’t afford to feed my tabby kittens anymore, so he drowned them in the bathtub. The nice ice-cream man was going to give me another free ice-cream sammich, but I had to go in the truck to get it, then he touched me in a BAD place and I ran. I told mamma and she told a police-man who took the ice-cream man away. I didn’t get my sammich. An older boy at school was making fun me and I told him to stop because Jesus loves me. He said Jesus is burning in Hell because He let Himself get crucified and that’s suicide. I don’t understand what that means, but I cried and cried because I don’t want Jesus burning.

I’m very sad.

Dear Diary,

Today I was so happy. I got to pet an adorable puppy and I adopted a basket of six tabby kittens from the nice lady walking the cute little puppy. Then, the ice-cream man gave me a free ice-cream sammich just because I’m SO nice and Jesus loves nice people, he said. I believe him because mamma tells me Jesus loves me all the time.

Nothing makes me sad, nope. Not ever.