...I'm back.

Hnn. It's been a while since I've updated. Let's see... last week I broke up with Mary. I can't tell how she actually feels about that-- she seems alright, but we all know that I am not the most adept at discerning indications of emotion. She says she's fine, and normally I would take that at face value, but people keep mentioning things that make it sound like she's not fine, and... if she's not fine, why didn't she just say that so we can do something about it? We went to the Euclid, and played pool, and she was more of a jackass about it than I expected her to be, but I was really bad at pool that night... and if she was trying to tell me something with body language, or between the lines, or something... yeah, I don't get that. I mean, I can usually recognize an emotion, but I just don't... I just don't understand. People, and their problems, and their hangups, and the way they cannot handle their problems even when the answer is staring them in the face.

I just... it's things like this that make me feel isolated from the human race. I wish I could have this intuitive knowledge of them, that I could know why they do the things they do, and read their body language... and sometimes I can figure it out, but when things get moving I don't have time to focus on it and decide what this twitch of an arm or that shift of weight means. (And given enough time I would make the connection-- I've read lots of material on body language, so I'm certainly well-versed in the theory, it's the practice that I have problems with.) I'm much better at deciphering vocal indications; I can pick up on the differences in tone of voice, isolate the patterns of pitch and timbre and speed to figure out what this person is feeling. But so much of body language is just so subtle. ...okay, this is depressing, new topic.

So. Broke up with Mary. Mostly because I don't love her, and it's just not fair to string her along. I thought, maybe, over time I would develop affection, but... I was still thinking of her as my best friend, so it was really for the best. Hopefully she'll find someone-- Mary has this desperate longing for love; probably because her parents are such a clusterfuck. And for all of her hangups and neuroses, she deserves that happiness.

Oh. In a similar note, I'm exploring the possibility of being asexual. We've been over all of the 'don't touch me, sex is repulsive' stuff before, so I won't repeat myself because that's not a topic that's bugging me much right now. The body language thing is more frustrating, but I'll deal with it. I've dealt with it this long-- it's resulted in a few confusing social tangles (thank god for charts... yes, I really do figure out social environments and sort out social problems with the aid of pencil and paper). But it's nothing I can't handle. I have a thick skin when it comes to the actions of outsiders-- they have little to no lasting effect on me. Although, depending on my current state they do sometimes have a temporary effect, but... sometimes it's really not hard to get under my skin temporarily. My father was teasing me yesterday by putting his wet hands on my neck. (I cannot stand feeling wet. As an infant, I apparently screamed every time I was given a bath. I can handle bathing now, but getting unexpectedly wet is something I cannot abide.) I actually broke into tears. I wasn't even sure why, I just all of a sudden couldn't handle it because I was wet and I hate being wet and he did it on purpose. But my father is always teasing my sister and I, and it usually doesn't bother me, so... I don't know what that was about.

...and if someone I know reads this and gets me wet to freak me out... I will kill you. I'm not joking. Doom and woe. Watch yourselves.

Mmm. I had a dream last night that I remembered in the morning. It was intriguing. It is unset, and whistles through me, but the basic idea is that I (for once 'myself', although my gender in this dream is undefined) hunted down a dark blue stone. The stone was very small, perhaps an inch in diameter, perfectly circular, and in every way unremarkable. This stone, for some reason, speaks to me (presumably to no one else). This stone acquired, I return to my 'home' (which presently looks like a dark fortress of some kind, with numerous battlements, though few towers). Waiting for me at the upper battlement is the Poisoned Witch. This is what she's called, although she herself is not poisoned, but rather her blood is toxic to mortals. I sense that the whole point of getting the stone was to battle the witch-- with little ado, we fight. I have no weapon but my little stone, and am put mostly on the defensive-- the witch is clawed and obviously capable of some astounding magic. The battlement is lit green and gold by some barrier she has placed around it. The stone commands, I obey-- I force the witch to the barrier and strike her with my little stone-- she screams. Her blood, the poison, leaks from her eyes and mouth and fingertips, searing my skin. When her body is dessicated I pull the withered corpse into my arms, cradling it like a child, and descend into the fortress. I am met with no resistance, and no fanfare-- with the witch and the stone for my only companions, I enter my room and fall into bed, into slumber.

When I next awaken, the stone hums me a warning, but it's being deliberately vague. I feel fine-- clearly while I slept, the stone has been healing me of the witch's blood. I creep downstairs to the basement, still carrying the corpse of the witch. On my way to the basement I glance into the guest bedroom and see a long, wide-eyed face watching me blankly, apathetic. I don't recognize the face, but the eyes tell me that this is my cousin, though much changed and much quieter than I remember. I am disturbed, and again the stone hums it's vague warning, but I have a purpose that will not be distracted. I put the boneless sack of skin in the washing machine (don't ask why, I have no idea), but the machine in broken. I leave the witch there for the time being and climb quietly back to my room. My clothes are disgusting, still covered in witch's blood and the dust of hard journeying, but the stone is becoming very insistant now. It tells me that I have been asleep longer than I know. I check the date on my computer-- ten years have passed. Panic flares very briefly, soothed by the stone. I am now twenty-seven-- I have lost ten years of my life. I go back downstairs and am confronted by my father-- his panic and shock are rather more pronounced than my own. We speak briefly-- I tell him that today he must teach me to drive, and the next day I must get a license and a car. He explains some of the past ten years, but I am not interested. I go back to the basement, and change in new clothes-- black boots, black pants,  black shirt... while idling through the house I also somehow procure black fingerless gloves, a number of silver rings, a silver earcuff, and an aggressive haircut. I meet no one else, and converse with no one but the stone. We are busy-- we are making plans. My father teaches me to drive-- I get the license and the car. I meet no resistance, and no fanfare-- I bring with me only the witch's corpse (retrieved in the lull), the blue stone, a wallet of borrowed money from my father, a little food, and a handgun of some description. With these items in the back seat (though the stone is around my neck in a newly fashioned pouch, and the gun is sitting beside me), I drive away from the fortress ('home') to seek my fortunes. The stone and I have plans.

Very intriguing indeed. It whistles in the right sort of way. It pleases me and yet it sends the creatures cringing. I wonder what happens after. Perhaps I shall make it a story. We shall see.