Through the dark turns and noise.

I've been finding it increasingly harder to get to sleep as of late, some of which has to do with the fact that it's getting colder, and some of which doesn't have to do with that at all - sort of. And the majority of my body has been hurting the passed few days, and everything that hurts really hurts, but everything that doesn't hurt feels phenomenal when I'm not thinking about how much everything else hurts. Whine. Today I vented to my advisory about how much I detest my math class, having to lower my expectations of the drama class [some kids of which are in my advisory], and how tired I am of having teachers and administrators and counselors wanting to set up meetings with me about applying to colleges, and how important it is.


A pair of wings that I made a year ago, that were MIA for.. well.. a year, were returned to me today, and because I have terribly high expectations of myself it was like a reunion with a friend that I had met and spent the day with, but really knew nothing about. They're broken, and not suitable for wearing, but I might as well display them behind the golden bust in my room. When I got them back I remembered a story that was told to me about a boy, a band, a pair of wings, and a fork that ran away with a spoon. Coincidentally, when I got home that story was written down, and waiting for me to read.


I just hid 7 more people on my facebook, which makes me question why I even have one. I always find myself adding people and then not caring about what they have to say enough to pretend to be interested in anything they put up. Who woulda thunk?


On other non-harmonious notes: I've laughed until the point of crying several times in the passed week, Anne Hathaway's hair looks so fucking beautiful in that new chick flick she's in that I secretly want to see [because I'm a closeted chick flick lover], and these bitches on Top Model today are being so catty that I don't know if I can keep watching. I might just have to play my accordion badly for the next six hours. 


Last night on Glee, the episode dealt with bullying, tolerance, homophobia, and self-acceptance [among other things.] Kurt, the only out, gay, male at his school went to another school to see what their tolerance levels were like, because of the abuse he was constantly being presented with at his own school, and instead found solace in a student there who helped him to stand up for himself. Kurt, after being pushed into a locker and called something foul then followed the bully in question into the locker room and spouted off a strong but short monologue about not changing who he is. He then provoked the bully, "Do it! Hit me. Because you can't punch the gay out of me any faster than I could punch the ignoramus out of you!" To which the bully responded by not hitting him, but kissing him for a brief moment. After a few confrontations about the incident, the episode ends with him still shoving Kurt into lockers, and being vocally in denial or just severely confused about about the situation. This is not the only plot line in the episode. There were more rather shocking bits, but in the spirit of recent events you can imagine this is the one my mom, sister, and I responded most dramatically to. My dad, however, when informed that what we were all shocked and [in my case] rendered speechless by was on Glee had only this to say: "It must be about that little gay boy. Right?" And he closed his door. Turned on the talk radio. And frowned for the rest of the night. 


I've got an unrealistically great family. And there's not much that keeps us apart from each other. It's difficult for me because around the same time I entered adolescence, was when I was learning how great it was to be whoever you wanted via my sister and her collection of "scary goths," and openly gay and/or cross-dressing friends. So being gay, or just different in any respect is something that's always been a matter of fact thing to me. Do what you want. Love who you want. Be who you want. Want what you want. People will love you. End of story. Right? Of course not, Lucy. Remember? There are intolerant people in the world. Damn. And as I was growing into a person in my family it was all about fighting for what you believe in, and standing up for yourself, and the things, and the people you love. His door was open then. But as years went by it started closing. And that isn't the first time my dad's shut his door at the sign of support of homosexuality. Darla being on the RHPS cast at The Loft for a few years, us watching RuPauls's Drag Race, going to see Hedwig at LTW three or so weeks in a row, and showing any amount of enthusiasm in these things or a character in a show that I relate to who just happens to be gay and tackling "landmark" issues on network television - unacceptable. He's told my mom before that he doesn't understand. And he has every right not to. He also doesn't seem to try. It's getting around the fact that being gay doesn't define every aspect of who you are, that he can't seem to get around. The difficulty in this situation comes into play when my mom, sister, and I have to censor ourselves. Don't talk about anything remotely gay. You'll risk cutting the wrong wire in the bomb. "I got to see Chris [a homosexual thirty-something / one of my mom's only friends] on fourth avenue on Halloween for the first time since his attempted suicide a few months ago." Disregarded. This is the case with this Glee thing as well. No. I didn't love the episode because two men kissed. No. I didn't love the episode because the little gay boy sang a pretty song, and ran down the hall and in hand with another man. I loved the episode because in the context of recent events [i.e. Gibran's suicide, and the troubling amount of communication I've been doing online with teenagers dealing with bullies] it  hit really close to home. About being who you are, and not running away, and not backing down, and standing up for yourself. But he's gay. So no discussing it. And we don't with him. This is why we rarely argue. My mom as a voice of reason reminds us that he lives in a house full of women. And as the years have gone by he's become a little estranged to us, under the impression that we are the ones pushing him away. With the addition of constant conservative talk radio and FOX news being forced on us out of no where, that impression seems to be pretty bass ackwards . The issue is simply that we don't all believe in the same things anymore. And where I would love to think the three of us have changed as much as him, I can't bring myself to. Because I know it's untrue. As much as we can all be ourselves in our own home, or rather, should be able to... that can only happen to a certain extent when we're reminded if the differences between us. Which is really a shame. There's no getting around either side. The thing that it comes down to is that the three of us understand, and accept, and consider that he has the right to express of his beliefs and to support them until the day he dies, but it's hard to stay in that frame of mind when we're constantly told by him that ours are wrong. Plain and simple. But not. And the trouble my mom is having with feeling like she has no idea who he is any more will only continue until my sister and I get out of this house. And for what very well might be the first time, I say house instead of home, because it decreasingly feels like one. Which is terrifying to me because it's all I've ever known. 


Growing up I would usually only be really great friends with one person at a time. And their parents would often seem to trust me more than they trusted their own child. I'd almost always end up being used because of this. "You want to come over? I told my dad you would keep me company while he went to Patty's." And when I'd get there, "Oh. Kodie's coming over too. But I didn't tell my dad. Have fun on my computer. Us twelve-year-olds are going to go kiss in my bedroom. K, bye." And of course I wouldn't tell their parents because that's 'not cool' and I wanted so much to continue my friendship with the only person who seemed to understand what it was like to be different. Which made me feel like those relationships I had with their parents were so terrible. And I only now realize that my being a good influence on their child probably came from how quickly I was mentally maturing because of the freedom my parents allowed me to have and the trust they instilled in me. But doesn't that hold true today? None of those relationships lasted. And it seems that in every instance I had more influence whoever I was friends with than they had on me. What was I talking about before this? Oh right. Leaving home. It's foreign to even think about because if not at home, I was at said friend's house. And after high school started, that changed. Quick. If not home, theatre. But you can't move in with the theatre when you leave high school, and have your own room, and split the cost of living, and gas, and groceries. Which makes me think. What the fuck is going on right now? Oh that's right. I'm seventeen. A senior. Alive. And know what I want. But can't quite have all of any of it yet. Luckily I get closer every day. But every day seems longer. Boo.


I've got a four day weekend ahead of me. I'll rearrange the house. Do theatre related things. Be around who I want to be around. And will tell myself I'll make some art, but most likely wont [with that attitude.] But for now, I'll play that accordion, and eat some dinner.