Please note that, with rare exceptions, any and all names mentioned in this blog are pseudonyms except our own. We want to be able to speak freely without doxxing anyone.
I posted a video asking about what some guy issues I’ve been having might be being caused by, and the resounding verdict seems to be my gallbladder. So I guess that means greasy food – including the spicy Italian sandwich I got from Subway earlier – should probably be out of the question.
We’ll see.. I am a slut for pizza, and sometimes grease is worth the pain.
I made an appointment to talk about this further with my PCP, and I should be seeing her next week I think.
When I was a teenager, like 13-15, I was a HOPELESS romantic. I would write fully fledged, and ultimately fully produced and orchestrated songs for my crushes and create massive works of art across a variety of mediums that took months, sometimes years, to complete, at an age when most boys couldn’t be arsed to get a girl flowers unless their mothers or sisters prompted them, ESPECIALLY if that girl scared them shitless.
And I was intense about this art. If someone inspired a piece, they’d probably end up knowing. I was intense about EVERYTHING. I was often the teachers’ favorite, I knew the answers to most questions, I HAD done the homework, I had an excellent memory, and I wasn’t afraid to kick anyone’s ass if and when it came time for trivia in almost any subject. I was a pompous dick about it, too 🤣 I was gonna win by a mile and I knew it. I wasn’t the type of person in high school that guys wanted to date. Be friends with, if they were daring, but not date.
The transition from hopeless romantic to cynic came at about age 16-17 after endless rejections and being told to tone myself down over and over. I began to hate my happy, romantic side. After one final diplomatic rejection from the guy I had written “My Island” about and being told to tone myself down one final time, I marched into my long term hairstylist’s office as soon as she was free and told her to cut all my damn hair off and give me the pixie cut I’d desperately wanted since my headmate Castor had cut our hair short like that when he was 10. I buried the rest of my sentimentality with that haircut, too, and started playing my cards close to my chest.
I still wrote huge things for my crushes, but that, too, stopped after I wrote my album The Places We Come Home To in 2018 for my first husband when I was 20.
I hated it so viscerally that it took two years to release a proper follow-up to it, Light on the Final Day, and I had written that record a few months BEFORE most of Places ever occurred to me.
It would take nearly three years after that for us to release any kind of proper follow-up to Light on the Final Day, something broke in me so badly. And it wasn’t even really me that wrote any of it, Metacognition (2023) is Eight’s masterpiece.
And for someone used to writing and recording several records a YEAR, this devastated me.
It’s taken being in several lovely partnerships to get me to uncover a FRACTION of that sentimentality. I still really can’t write happy things without cringing or feeling sick, but I’m getting there. I’m immensely grateful for their patience while I unfuck myself.
Frankly, I like it better than Season 1 of the show. Shonda Rhimes changed a lot, and while her choices and those of her fellow writers might make sense later on, I liked book Daphne and book Simon much better than their counterparts in the show.
It’s called ZX Sushi and they had this all-you-can-eat sushi option that was 30% off for the time being. We both ate a metric fuckton of delicious food and I tried some dishes I’ve never had before, like ube and takoyaki. It was SO GOOD. Our server was lovely as well, and she called us darlings on the way out.
However, Laz came out and kinda went ham this evening to make up for it. Emerson was speaking at a panel to educate kids about queerness and sexuality, and the fourth speaker couldn’t make it at the last second. So Charisma McGee stepped in in the other person’s stead and taught a bunch of kids about…. polyamory in a very blunt and honest fashion.
This was apparently not frowned upon, and was, in fact, encouraged.
The absolute motherfucker also found an electric piano in the basement and apparently he can play. Really, really well.
He ended up recording an arrangement he’d cooked up on the fly of a song Allēna had written a couple of days ago, as well as a cover of David Bowie’s “Heroes” and something Allēna wrote so long ago we can’t even remember the name of it anymore. All we know is that she was approximately 13 when she wrote it.
He surprised the hell out of everyone, including himself.
I am both excited and nervous. I found this podcast on Threads and we’ve been corresponding back and forth, and I just hope I’m able to get some sleep tonight because last night was fucking ass in terms of that. I only got three hours 😭.
I don’t know what I’m going to do if this shower I’m about to take doesn’t manage to knock me the hell out. CBD pills? Maybe???
Sometimes having DID and headmates that are JUST as talented as you at both the same things – and different ones – is a fuckin’ gas, y’all.
Back in 2014-ish I wrote a poem that turned into one of my better-known songs about a crush of mine. It was called “My Island”. I was obsessed with the Mutiny on the Bounty for reasons I still can’t quite articulate, and the second verse contains one of my favorite lines I’ve ever written:
“Be the Fletcher to my island, be the Fletcher coming coming home”
I’m not entirely sure why that line gets me so bad more than a decade later. It may be the fact that it’s a reference to Fletcher Christian, leader of the Mutiny on the Bounty, choosing the South Pacific over duty, country, etc., and settling with a few members of his crew in one of the most remote places on Earth, Pitcairn Island, after mutinying, and wanting to feel chosen like that. Maybe it’s my love for history references in general. Maybe it’s that I still yearn for people like I did when I was 14-17 and I struggle to express it now, and I love that line so much because it’s My Peak Teenage Yearning, something I feel like I can’t verbalize anymore, even though I’m arguably more safe now to do so than I was then.
A different cut appeared awhile later on our first album The Mellon Sessionas well:
But my favorite version of “My Island” came much later when Eight was host and he snuck into a church while bored out of his fucking skull to record this absolutely achingly beautiful take of “My Island” for his then-partner Juneau.
I can still feel the longing even now, and his arrangement is so fucking beautiful.
