after a nearly three month lack of posting

I have to confess, I haven't overcome my internet addiction, though I don't spend all that much time on the internet. I haven't made any zines. I haven't really upped my journaling, though I'm sure that I should. I haven't started fiddle lessons. I have attended a few yoga classes. I'm trying to trust someone. I moved. I'm trying to go to dark, scary places that terrify me, in the hopes that the sky will be a little brighter on the other side. Yes.

uh, whoops...

So.... So, today, I tried to, after a... five month hiatus, I tried to start therapy again. I was nervous, I was excited, I was ready.

Part way through the initial meeting, but mind you, after I had divulged a lot of really personal information--definitely not the sort of stuff I normally talk about with people I've just met--my assigned therapist told me he'd realized that he knows David and Terry. He wasn't specific about the context in which he knows them, just said that he saw them in social contexts. Okay, so he was exceedingly vague, which, after talking to David, I realized why he was so vague.

Anyway, so, we decided that it would be weird for us to continue therapy, and he would set me up with another therapist in the program.

I need to go deal with this. It's weird.

Internets and Zines and Things

So, I've realized that my internet addiction is circumstantial and not really an addiction. Most of the week, I am without computer and internet, and I'm fine--no withdrawal or anything. Also, while I've known what zines are for years, I don't really have much exposure to them. However, I recently read a great zine-- Doris 24--and I've become involved in organizing events surrounding Love Your Body Day (October 17), including the making of a body-positive zine, and I want to make zines. I also want to write letters that I actually mail, or hand deliver. Bless the internets and blogging, but I'm ready for paper, for up close and personal, sabulous (look it up) relations. It is time for confrontation as a way of life, my friends.

thoughts

Okcupid asks me, "What makes for a better relationship: passion or dedication?"
I don't remember how I answered. It depends on what type of relationship you want I suppose. That is, I suppose, the point of the question. What if I'm not limiting myself to one type of relationship? They say you can't have your cake and eat it too, but I'm hungry...
I think that a relationship needs passion to begin and dedication to continue. Of course, there are relationships that start as a dedicated friendship, and suddenly or gradually become passionate affairs. Hmmm. Hmmm, I say.

Time and Space

Having had some time since being mugged, I have come to some realizations. First off, I am so glad to be alive. I will never be thankful to my muggers for giving me perspective... Should I thank everyone that doesn't kill me for letting me live? No, that would be ridiculous. However, it can always be worse, until you're dead, and after that, who knows, so it's not worth thinking about (in my humble opinion).
I'm glad to be here to deal with the bullshit that ensues when your shit is stolen and you have to deal with the bureaucracy in order to avoid paying for charges you didn't make, and getting back money in your account that you did not spend. I'm glad I get to deal with looking for work, and carving a niche in a new city. I'm glad that I have people in my life that care about me and send positive thoughts and energy my way.
Also, should I again decide to invest in expensive electronic equipment, the first thing I'm going to do is write down the serial numbers. And should anything like this happen again, I will file a police report as soon as I can. It didn't occur to me to call 911. I think it was beaten into my head as a child that 911 was FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY, yet emergencies were defined as "your life is in danger." So, once the immediate danger has passed... Anyhow, when, days later, I went to the Philadelphia police web page, looking for a number to call to file a report, the only number listed was 911. Though I doubt my stuff would have been recovered, the chance was much greater immediately following the mugging. I have filed a report, but again, at this point, I think the main point to that is so the credit card companies have something on file.
Main point--glad to be alive.

i need me sleepies

Yet, here I sit, on the computer. I may just be tired enough to sleep, but if not, I'm not opposed to taking benadryl to help me sleep... this is how addictions are formed.
But seriously, yesterday I took a xanax(sp?) to help me try to relax, and today, while sleeping between 11a.m. and 2p.m., I had the most amazing lucid dream, with the most beautiful, vibrant colors. I was told that the dream was drug-induced, which made me sad. I never have lucid dreams--once I realize I'm dreaming, I wake up. This time though, I was like, "I'm going to fly!" and so I did. It was incredible, the whole of it... according to David, it was full of classic sex symbolism, and I have to admit, I think it turned into a sex dream... but it went way beyond that, in its amazingness... okay, I'm making up words. Goodnight.

Sucks, that this is my first post...

Last night, on my way home (to David and Terry's), from my house meeting (at my soon-to-be new house), I got mugged. I was on my bike, and had crossed the South Street bridge, heading away from West Philly. I was heading in the direction of 30th Street station, debating whether I wanted to try to ride my bike all the way back to Mt. Airy, despite having forgotten my bike light, or whether I should try to take the train, since I didn't have enough cash to take the train, and wanted to avoid ATM fees... What happened obviously put things in perspective... Anyway, so I was just sort of meandering on side streets. I came to a not-too-well-lit intersection, and there were two teenagers, a boy and a girl, probably about 15-years-old, standing in the middle of the intersection. The girl was like, "Hey, do you know how to get to, um, um," turning to the boy, "Where are we?" I had slowed down to listen to her, and it was about this time that I started to get really nervous. It all happened really fast, actually. From nervousness, to starting to try to get away to realizing that I was about to be attacked... The boy shoved me down, and started screaming, "Give me everything!" and I guess I handed him my backpack, and he repeated, "Everything!" and I choked out, "I don't have shit!" which both meant, "I have 2 dollars in my wallet," and "You're taking everything I have..."

For some reason, they didn't take my bike, thankfully, and they sauntered away as I straightened my handlebars and rode off, quite shaken up.

I made it to Lacey's, where Tandy and Lacey were just chilling, thankfully, and they took good care of me.

While making an inventory of what had been in my backpack, it took me the longest time to remember that my digital camera, with all my pictures, from Dyke March in Chicago, my bike ride, Falcon Ridge Folk Festival, and everything in between--all that was gone, as well as my mp3 player, with all my music... The irony is that I haven't even gotten used to owning those, and hardly ever remember to bring them with me, but had made a point of remembering yesterday.

Thankfully, I sustained no worse injuries than a scraped knee. Possessions are just things, and they don't really matter. It really f*ing sucks that all my pictures are gone--those can't be replaced, but again--I'm alive, and I have good people in my life who take good care of me.

I'm pissed, and sad, and grateful to be alive, and just really shaky and freaked out. I want to be more careful about where I ride at night... At the same time, I don't want to be afraid of my own shadow, and I think it might take some time to feel... okay riding any where at night. I think I'm mostly pissed at those kids for making me feel so powerless and victimized. Jerks! I give them a big thumbs-down!

Anyway, as you see, I've retained my quirky sense of humor--my favorite coping mechanism--so I guess that makes me a survivor, not a victim. And my sarcasm and cynicism, which makes me want to make jokes about those word choices (survivor vs. victim), even though I take the distinction, and the empowerment therein, seriously. Ah, coping.

Well, folks, I believe it's time to sign off. I need sleep. Let's see if we can make that happen.