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I had a relatively uneventful day at work. Bn had been chatting with blixa in the punk rock chat that I frequent. That "place" is attracting more people that I know every day. It serves admirably as a virtual place for a disparate individuals to carry on their relationships. The Internet has made it possible to maintain relationships perpetually.
I was feeling tired when I made it back to my house. There had been plans for a sort of party tonight in celebration of my 29th year, but it sort of just fizzled out in my malaise, bankrupted by my sleep deficit and thinned translucent by my fatigue. My housemates found other things to do one by one until I found myself alone. I was too tired to be sad, though that would have been the appropriate thing to be. I lay down in my bed and fell asleep briefly. Then came the gothic invasion into the Roman Empire of my misery.
Suddenly they appeared, the Charlottesville gothic contingent: Theresa, Monster Boy, both Brazilian Girls, and Theresa's friend Tiffany (after whom a building on the Downtown Mall was named). They were all ta-rashed on alcohol drunk back at Goth Central, Theresa's House, 1300 Wertland Street.
I was rather touched by their enthusiastic drunken greeting. They had thought ahead enough to make a crucifix of ivy for me, adorned with the very razor blade with which Matthew Hart, in a careless moment of exhibitionistic boredom several weeks ago, slit his arm open.
Monster Boy was DJ with my CD collection (which is notably depauperate of stuff that goths listen to) and chose to play Tool. It occurs to me that if I'm going to hang out with goths, I should stock more gothic music. I actually like most gothic music I hear, but I don't know enough about it to make informed music purchases. These particular musings no doubt go through most people's heads as they find themselves joining a scene. The evidence is clear that I am now spending much of my time with goths these days, though I am not known as a goth at all.
We watched some old Big Fun videotapes (which are also somewhat popular with my housemates) and drank a range of different forms of alcohol and smoked lots of pot. The evening becomes less clear at this point.
I found myself on a couch between Theresa and Leticia the Brazilian Girl, both of them sadists. This was not a comfortable place to relax. They occasionally attacked me, sometimes simultaneously, in a friendly but painful display of affection, using their claws to tear my skin. My hands and neck were especially mauled. Then Theresa clamped her teeth down upon the tip of my left thumb. This was a dreadfully painful thing to do and resulted in some internal damage that would take some days to heal. An angry blood blister formed beside the base of the nail of the injured thumb.
Such playful violence was overwhelming to me and I had to ask the girls to settle down. On two occasions I rose to my feet to escape them. I am not a masochist as Monster Boy is, and so I do not find much pleasure in such pain. Monster Boy is the normal recipient of these violent Sadistic attacks, but whenever I am around, we both are assaulted about equally, though he obviously enjoys it much more than I do.