Strange memorial
With Melanie's death, and talking about it publicly, now it seems disrespectful to post memes, talk politics, and squee about kittens and happy relationships in facebook. I also know many of my friends have lost people close to them, with whom they were intimate. For me it turns out it matters a lot more to lose someone you were intimate with than to lose someone who was intimate with 20 of the folks you were intimate with.
I don't know how to talk about it without making it about me.
I guess there's nothing wrong with me talking about how something seems to me, impacts me, and my thoughts on the matter. But it's not important.
I'm 51. At this age I'm going to be losing more and more people in the near future. She was 48 which is young to die of natural causes.
I could have been in better touch with her. She accused almost everyone of her exes of abuse or stalking after a breakup, though they had no such history and nobody else, including their next partners, said the same thing. Mel was high strung but she had measured physical problems - set the bar for me with fibro because while it seems many just say they have it and yell at the doctors for not agreeing or finding a cause, while Mel had no cause per se, I remember when she had the nerve conduction test and the signals from her shoulder or spine were 50% lower by the time they got to her hands. I remember once I thought she was bonkers when she said "look at this" before closing and opening her hands...until she explained she was trying to open and close them fast and it just wasn't happening.
But while we stayed friends we lost touch - more than once. I remember she moved away for awhile - came back and reconnected for a bit while she talked about one of the few guys she dated that wasn't regretted - "Ding a ling" she called him, apparently hot but not much upstairs. When I was with Janna I met her again in Elektrochok - not in great shape in some ways but a lot happier, open, now bi and with some bi stuff going on in the club. I heard she went to the hospital once, that she was at home - I could have reached out but did not. So was I close? What's the difference between important to me and important to where she was in my history? She could have asked me for anything but never did.
SEX. There's sex involved. Today.
It's weird - I don't want to talk about sex in public but she's a big, big sex memory to me. I ... I hope others are like this and I've heard something like this from others (but my friends are freaks). So there is a cast of dozens or dozens of 'events' that I replay in my head when I masturbate. Recent things and scenes from ages ago, undoubtedly adjusted for gloss, rose-color, and age, but that's still very much in my head - and she's in there, some memories of us. Oddly, spookily, she had made a resurgence recently. I am over here because this is "disrespectful" except sex is deep and important to me. Our memories in that area are still very important to me. And I still think of her that way even if our current reality wasn't like that.
Disrespectful.
What is that? How can you talk about someone else and not make it about yourself? With the recent loss of Voron, like the losses of Dirk and Bagel, it seemed some that didn't really know them made giant displays - part of my giggles at the display and call it a consequence of the lifestyle. Then again I may deserve the same, might appreciate it, and perhaps a gross display of attention whoring is fine. Plus, I don't know how people feel - I don't know how to feel - and people grieve in different ways whether that grief is about the loss of the person, the confusing impact on you, or grief about mortality in general.
Please oh please blow a load to the thought of me. Today. Tomorrow. Last week. And after my death - while perhaps filming it and making it a pornhub video would be considered disrespectful to many, to me - real me - I would be honored. May many beans be flicked, stalks shucked, at my loss. Is it weird? I sure hope so - love, lust, memory, mortality filled, weird. Good weird.
So I keep replaying memories of Melanie. Some are sex, one is gross, and almost all end in smiles. These smiles make me wince when I appreciate her memory and she's fucking gone. I got blackout drunk at brews at the zoo this Thur, briefly, and both fought with Veronica and then walked home...pausing occasionally when I just yelled at the air. No words. Not sure what that was but it was for me - it's not like I expected her to come back.
I found out Thursday when I was in the gym - having left work early to do the gym fast so I could get to the zoo in time for the unlimited beer fundraising event. I saw her father's hour-old post announcing her death - I finished my workout. I mocked my feeling, my pain, at how the weights were no better or worse than before I read that. I reached out to make sure Monty knew - who else should know? And what do you do? It just seemed important so people had to know. I wrote her dad at his erols account as requested. I stared at everyone there in the gym and felt so strange that this thing had happened and nobody knew. I wondered if I should feel more while I felt and thought. How can I keep working out? How can I still go to the drinking thing? Pokemon? I didn't wonder what Melanie would like so much - more what was appropriate. Now that I think about it I don't think she would mind much of anything so long as the intentions were good - except blowing out candles. Her mix of pagan beliefs included snuffing out candles, sometimes with knives, rather than blowing them out.
She burned candles. We listened to those old cleopatra goth compilations together - she's why I bought all those. We were just hooking up until I got stuck in her house for days outside baltimore...what was that area called there, by the projects, where I learned the term ghettobird? Andrea had moved in - the night she did guys from the projects were being chased by the cops (happened at lot) through her yard. The windows were open and the cops meowed back at the cats. Being snowed in for days is how we wound up going out - at least in part. I was probably ready to grow up a little too - but she was worth it. I saw her as maybe-wife material: beautiful, weird, nice, by the time we split she was a public school art teacher, but ... high strung. We had fights when I did nothing wrong - I couldn't understand even when she told me and it seemed just crazy and I was too high strung myself to work through that.
I don't even know what i'm talking about anytmore.
I don't know how to talk about it without making it about me.
I guess there's nothing wrong with me talking about how something seems to me, impacts me, and my thoughts on the matter. But it's not important.
I'm 51. At this age I'm going to be losing more and more people in the near future. She was 48 which is young to die of natural causes.
I could have been in better touch with her. She accused almost everyone of her exes of abuse or stalking after a breakup, though they had no such history and nobody else, including their next partners, said the same thing. Mel was high strung but she had measured physical problems - set the bar for me with fibro because while it seems many just say they have it and yell at the doctors for not agreeing or finding a cause, while Mel had no cause per se, I remember when she had the nerve conduction test and the signals from her shoulder or spine were 50% lower by the time they got to her hands. I remember once I thought she was bonkers when she said "look at this" before closing and opening her hands...until she explained she was trying to open and close them fast and it just wasn't happening.
But while we stayed friends we lost touch - more than once. I remember she moved away for awhile - came back and reconnected for a bit while she talked about one of the few guys she dated that wasn't regretted - "Ding a ling" she called him, apparently hot but not much upstairs. When I was with Janna I met her again in Elektrochok - not in great shape in some ways but a lot happier, open, now bi and with some bi stuff going on in the club. I heard she went to the hospital once, that she was at home - I could have reached out but did not. So was I close? What's the difference between important to me and important to where she was in my history? She could have asked me for anything but never did.
SEX. There's sex involved. Today.
It's weird - I don't want to talk about sex in public but she's a big, big sex memory to me. I ... I hope others are like this and I've heard something like this from others (but my friends are freaks). So there is a cast of dozens or dozens of 'events' that I replay in my head when I masturbate. Recent things and scenes from ages ago, undoubtedly adjusted for gloss, rose-color, and age, but that's still very much in my head - and she's in there, some memories of us. Oddly, spookily, she had made a resurgence recently. I am over here because this is "disrespectful" except sex is deep and important to me. Our memories in that area are still very important to me. And I still think of her that way even if our current reality wasn't like that.
Disrespectful.
What is that? How can you talk about someone else and not make it about yourself? With the recent loss of Voron, like the losses of Dirk and Bagel, it seemed some that didn't really know them made giant displays - part of my giggles at the display and call it a consequence of the lifestyle. Then again I may deserve the same, might appreciate it, and perhaps a gross display of attention whoring is fine. Plus, I don't know how people feel - I don't know how to feel - and people grieve in different ways whether that grief is about the loss of the person, the confusing impact on you, or grief about mortality in general.
Please oh please blow a load to the thought of me. Today. Tomorrow. Last week. And after my death - while perhaps filming it and making it a pornhub video would be considered disrespectful to many, to me - real me - I would be honored. May many beans be flicked, stalks shucked, at my loss. Is it weird? I sure hope so - love, lust, memory, mortality filled, weird. Good weird.
So I keep replaying memories of Melanie. Some are sex, one is gross, and almost all end in smiles. These smiles make me wince when I appreciate her memory and she's fucking gone. I got blackout drunk at brews at the zoo this Thur, briefly, and both fought with Veronica and then walked home...pausing occasionally when I just yelled at the air. No words. Not sure what that was but it was for me - it's not like I expected her to come back.
I found out Thursday when I was in the gym - having left work early to do the gym fast so I could get to the zoo in time for the unlimited beer fundraising event. I saw her father's hour-old post announcing her death - I finished my workout. I mocked my feeling, my pain, at how the weights were no better or worse than before I read that. I reached out to make sure Monty knew - who else should know? And what do you do? It just seemed important so people had to know. I wrote her dad at his erols account as requested. I stared at everyone there in the gym and felt so strange that this thing had happened and nobody knew. I wondered if I should feel more while I felt and thought. How can I keep working out? How can I still go to the drinking thing? Pokemon? I didn't wonder what Melanie would like so much - more what was appropriate. Now that I think about it I don't think she would mind much of anything so long as the intentions were good - except blowing out candles. Her mix of pagan beliefs included snuffing out candles, sometimes with knives, rather than blowing them out.
She burned candles. We listened to those old cleopatra goth compilations together - she's why I bought all those. We were just hooking up until I got stuck in her house for days outside baltimore...what was that area called there, by the projects, where I learned the term ghettobird? Andrea had moved in - the night she did guys from the projects were being chased by the cops (happened at lot) through her yard. The windows were open and the cops meowed back at the cats. Being snowed in for days is how we wound up going out - at least in part. I was probably ready to grow up a little too - but she was worth it. I saw her as maybe-wife material: beautiful, weird, nice, by the time we split she was a public school art teacher, but ... high strung. We had fights when I did nothing wrong - I couldn't understand even when she told me and it seemed just crazy and I was too high strung myself to work through that.
I don't even know what i'm talking about anytmore.