Last night was Halloween shindiggery,and it was much more festivious than expected. I'd anticipated a somewhat sedate gathering on the smallish side, and ended up with a house packed full of love and noise. I don't know how these things happen, but god bless us, every one. While missing some regulars, there was a smattering of the usual no-shows -- I had a great time.

This is me, having a shadowy, but great, time.

I am truly an avant garde artiste:

There once was a man from Toronto
who loved the Lone Ranger and Tonto.
He watched the TV
with unparalleled glee
and ate tacos while reading the news.

 

As you can see: very much ahead of my time.

As Lauren succinctly put it yesterday, love sucks. It kills me to hear her recite the monologue of heartbreak, when I read from the exact same script a few months ago. It gives me a perspective that might be funny if it weren't so profoundly sad. Her girlfriend is moving out, and while her breakup is a terminal disease, not Chris' gunshot to my heart, the language is identical. I wish there was a way to circumvent the grief -- as though I could say,"Don't bother crying, I did enough for the both of us last winter, and I've seen the ending, it's not nearly as bad as you think." I think I know how my mom must have felt when I sobbed my heart out, at fourteen, when dumb Pete Nye and his creepy mullet dumped me. The trick will be remembering this feeling the next time I need it.

It all leaves me thinking god's creations are highly lacking. I wish we had monitors, to display on our chests, that read the signals of our hearts faster even than our own brains could interpret them. Gay, straight, bi, single, seeking -- whatever our hearts believe of us -- for each other, and to ease our own confusion. How many times have I not known whether to settle or run? If only my neon heart could flash out the answer where I could see it.