In The 4th Dimension, I'm Walking A Perfectly Straight Line

I always feel weird and edgy when we haven't rehearsed in a while. Like the bullshit bits of being in a band outweigh the fun bits, and I start to question if it's all worth it and if I wouldn't just be happier writing bedroom symphonies for myself again. (Is sex really more satisfying than masturbation when you haven't had sex in a while, and can't remember?)

Bit of a rubbish weekend. PMT-ing to hell, and sleep deprivation not a good combination. Spent most of it on the couch, crampy, bleeding and cross, eating chocoalte and writing smut. Didn't do anything I was supposed to do - finish guitar tracks, paint the house, or anything like that. (I found a really funny sample to start Noyfriend, and got some great backwards-wah sounds for it, but that's about as far as I got.)

I'm starting to worry about the amount of smut I've been writing. Most of the time I can kid myself that it's art or self expression or something, and writing is good for you, it's psychologically helpful. But I don't know that it is. It's just this solipsistic escape fantasy that I slip into when the world gets too difficult. I don't even write much about sex any more, it's more about the fantasy of... feeling *loved*. Those tiny day to day moments of intimacy and connection that I miss about a relationship - though a best friend type relationship, as much as a lover. Even though the relationship I'm writing about in this story isn't a normal one, it's conducted through mobile phones and email and blog entries and sporadic bursts of intense physical intimacy that drown in confusion and emotional chaos and insecurity. You know, kind of like real life relationships at the moment.

I got far drunker far more quickly than I intended at AMP's party. Alcohol + Medication usually = sleepy time, which is what happened eventually, but first I went down a weird downward slope. I can remember sitting on the floor, rehashing an argument (a friendly one, though) I'd had earlier with my mum about transdimensionality. My mum said that human beings could not conceive of extra dimensions. I said that's rubbish, maybe we can't visualise them, but there's a lot more to imagination than just the visual aspects. I know that other dimensions could exist because I can conceive of them mathematically, and that's as real a metaphor as any visualisation.

And as I was explaining this, I felt myself disappearing into another plane. No, not literally, but figuratively - an impression not helped by the long, corridor-like setup of AMP's flat. The perspective seemed all wrong, I couldn't connect with anyone, felt myself growing more and more distant from my friends like they were slipping away down the wrong end of a telescope. It's that fear of being unable to connect with people emotionally - not helped by the unexpected appearance of a difficult personal situation. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, after I missed the last train home, too tired and emotional to talk to anyone rationally, feeling isolated and disconnected, but it was too noisy to sleep it off.

No wonder my fantasies aren't of kinky sex any more, but just of emotional connection.