i'm never going to dance again...

... the way i danced with you...

back to that other place i ever write anything. my morning spot. big chair in the green room, staring out at downtown above the trees. people working or sleeping, others passing through all the time. only twenty minutes until english but that's enough to get a few thoughts out. "careless whisper" is stuck in my head. the most spectacular version ever - a ben folds and rufus wainwright duet. i'd go gay for rufus. i'm not even kidding.

i just finished up a guilty gross anatomy lab. i say that because i have thoughts that i can't say out loud for fear of being outcast. shunt. we're looking at big, meaty leg muscles like adductor magnus or soleus. after working with mr. jones and mrs. jackson for so long, you get lost in them. i don't even see them as people anymore... or i forget. i hold one of those fleshy muscles in my hand and think... delicious.

oh, also, when we were getting things wrong around the bodies today, my prof. would tell us, "no soup for you!" awesome. i also learned that bone is colored "desert sand." go figure.

today feels good. i don't worry so much about seeing spesso anymore. usually only when i walk up to or leave my room. every now and then, i notice how cyclic my life becomes . early last semester, i didn't know her or clam (her roommate) at all. by the time we actually met, early this semester, i'd hope not to see them when i walked out my door, always glanced down to the left, simply because we were too new of friends for me to be comfortable with. when we got close, i always wished they would pop up because they brightened my day. now i'm back to wishing for my solitude. who knows what's next. it was a strange moment last night when i told clam that i'd love for her to drop by anytime she's alone.

i feel drama-queen good about the situation. leaving spesso in tears was best, i feel. she knows i'm hurt but hopefully not a complete bastard. i know it's hurting her and can take my time and head back when i'm ready. as long as she doesn't get angry at me, and she hasn't yet, the game is still being played by my terms. i am a cruel son of a bitch.

i'm realizing a strange, frightening thing. i think i enjoy being the victim too much. it's a comfortable, vindicated spot to be. i know i'd love to be the winner every now and then but as rare as that is, i'm afraid of it. we used to have an old rescued racing greyhound named sapphire. every now and then, she'd see a rabbit while we were out walking and she'd try and bolt off to chase it, as racing dogs do. my mother often used to say that she wondered what the hell sapphire would do if she ever actually caught that rabbit. i don't think she knew.

i sure as hell don't.