me thinks

thankfully i have not descended into that cliche pit of despair that apparently all unattached people are supposed to spiral into during this most Wonderful Time of the Year. sure, i've been loitering around the edge, peering down there every so often then shuffling a few steps back to more secure footing. but no plummeting has occured. for this, i am grateful.

i have numbed myself, i think, into an utter lack of inspiration. after a weekend of excessive eating at various events in various locations hosted by various friends, i suppose a prolonged food coma is to blame. i slept a lot, but also got the filing done, was disappointed by this film, spent a shitload of time on limewire, made a buncha new cd's, attended to work tasks sporadically. oh, and felt a whole lot of tepid about politics.

i've been cooking, reading, puttering, singing, daydreaming. i've been worrying.

i've been thinking about contradictions, in the world but especially within myself. where am i going and what does it all mean and all that shit. i am an anti-social socialist, a cynical idealist, an independent co-dependent. i am an intellectual pop singer, a lazy workaholic. i am plugged in but tuned out.

i've been thinking about human contact, human needs, and what it means to be human. i've been thinking about the kind of humankind we attract when floundering versus when thriving. what sort of humans we reach for, and when. who we cling to when we shouldn't. who we repel when we wish to entice.

i've been thinking about the peculiarity of massage. how completely strange it is that we strip down to nothing and splay on a table so the hands of a stranger may roam over and dig into our flesh. nudity is indeed the ultimate in vulnerability. i so easily disrobe to be probed by a stranger and yet to be seen au naturel by a lover is a ginormous challenge through which i have to coach myself like some sort of self-personal trainer. so anyhoo, i've been thinking about mental massage treatment instead of generic counselling: imagine exposing all those sensitive inside bits to someone who would relieve the darkness with soothing fingers in fluid circular motions and bore a pointy elbow down into the knottiest of trigger points. lordy i've really got to work some of those right the fuck out.

i've been thinking about the sheer corniness of year end reviews, the often futile taking of stock. i loathe new year's resolutions: recipes for disappointment, conjured up at a time when i most lack resolve.

so there is a new year upon me. an appropriate time for a new attitude, new beginning, new leafs and so on. i've been thinking about how to make new of all this old stuff, what to discard and what deserves more chances. i will forego the cheesy rituals and pursue my very own version of renewal.

but first, i will face a scene tonight that is hardly dissimilar to most other social encounters in my life: i shall usher in 2006 in a smoke-filled room filled with the pulsing beats of homemade cd's. i will likely be the only practicing hetero in the joint. at midnight, i will raise a cosmo-filled martini glass and toast the fact that i actually exited my house for an evening, and i will wish i was kissing someone who is somewhere else. and after drinking a few too many, i will long to nuzzle my head into my delicious down-filled pillow.

and tomorrow, i will start over. anew.