(Following discussion of a friend of mine giving away a bed.)

Jenny: I might be interested if there’s room in my room. That way, if you have a nightmare, there’s room for you to curl up with me.

Yeah. That’s worth a whole lot of driving. That represents a lot of love and caring.

The internet is not doing tricks for me. Damn you all. Fine. I guess I’ll go be productive.

Homework for the week: done.

It sucked in a few very specific ways and it sucked in some very general ways.

I started off yesterday crying. Basically the first thing I did when I woke up was start crying. I went into Tom’s room and I cried and talked to him. I told him about all the things that are overwhelming me and why I’m having trouble coping. He was comforting for a few minutes, but then he started backing off. He needs to develop space and I respect that. It doesn’t make it easier. He was also in the process of getting ready to go somewhere and didn’t have time. So basically, sucked to be me.

I had a friend over yesterday. I didn’t entertain her much. I was so tired and shitty feeling that I didn’t get much done and I didn’t entertain her very much. I felt like a failure as a hostess. We watched a couple of movies and we both got some relaxation time. Not really too bad considering that neither of us sleep enough. Eventually we got dressed and headed up to the QoH party. (It’s a sex party, for those of you who don’t know.)

I played with two people for most of three hours. The play really didn’t go how I wanted it to go. The girl and I were being lesbian sheep and there was a situation with the guy that resulted in me feeling really rejected. I didn’t manage to recover. (As I left one of the hosts of the party asked if there was anything he could do to make my next party better. I flippantly said, “Tell ‘x’ not to be an asshole.” I didn’t mean it. If it was repeated to the person, I apologize. I don’t think he is an asshole. The situation just sucked for me.)

So I started driving home from the city. I was crying. I was feeling really shitty. I started really wanting to cut. It is a pathetic coping mechanism, but one that I don’t seem to know how to get over. I liken it to being an alcoholic. You never stop wanting to cut/a drink. You take it day by day trying not to do it. It also comes back to something to something I said to a friend recently. She is going through a bad period in her life as well and she related that she had felt briefly suicidal and is now more conscious of some things. For me, being suicidal is like being a brunette. I can color my hair and try to pretend that I’m not, but I always am, and the roots will always show again eventually. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t suicidal. I don’t know what it is like to not want to die. I live with it every single day. I don’t think people realize that I really would like to die. Each and every day I think, at least once, usually most of the time, that I would like to die.

And when I’m doing well being suicidal and wanting to cut is still there. Just not as large or as obviously. When I’m not doing well, which I’m not right now, I have trouble going five minutes without thinking self-destructive thoughts.

I’m really ready to get over this piece of being depressed.

I’m exhausted. I haven’t gotten enough sleep in weeks.

I’m doing one of my insanely long cycles again. I really hate being a girl.

Ethiopian food rocks my socks off.

My aunt actually called me today just to chat. I felt really happy about it.

If you are waiting for an email from me, it isn’t cause I don’t love you. My brain is totally over-loaded from school and I’m just not functioning well.

The lease for the apartment will be signed on Monday. I still have no idea when I will actually move. Having flexibility means I can be hella lazy.

Cocktails and Conversation: Tuesday. After 6. Be prepared to be kicked out by 10/10:30. If you have my address already, you are invited. If you don’t have my address, comment or send me an email and we’ll figure something out.

I miss Tom. When he sits next to me on the couch it is hard not to curl up around him. I miss knowing that he is mine.

I gave my three minute presentation today. It went well. I talked about how often I’ve moved. I talked about how my social skills have been impacted by not having any sort of stability. Kind of asking for a bit of leeway when I’m a spaz. People were very supportive. Not a bad group I guess. I still don’t like the uberbitch.

I’m jonesing on this Gaelic Storm song. It’s making me all melancholy though. God I miss love.
She was the prize

From my mother I learned the fine old art of stock-piling. My kitchen is always capable of carrying me and Tom without a trip to the grocery for at least a month. After a while we would miss fresh vegetables and milk, but there is technically enough food for us to survive.

Other than bread and lunch meat and milk I haven’t been grocery shopping in a while. Like, more than two weeks. I’m using stuff up. I’m planning out meals to clean out the pantry because I store food in tupperware and I don’t want to move most of it and I’m not leaving my tupperware. I won’t have much when I move, but he will have absolutely nothing. I feel kind of funny about it. It was part of our formal contract that I was to keep the kitchen well stocked at all times. I feel like I’m breaking the rules now. He will still have the can of Pork and Beans that he moved down here from Portland with in 1997.

I have enough white rice to feed a family of four for six months. I have an idea. *plot* *plot*

So, who likes drinks with tonic water? We have some open containers we need to finish off. Who would like to come over some Tuesday or Thursday night in the next two weeks for some drinks and conversation?

The stupid bitch that I hate has made life really intolerable in class. I told the teacher today that I need to be moved to a different lit group. I simply will not work with someone who is hostile and nasty every time she speaks to me. The teacher understands and said she would see what she can do.

I had to have someone that I was out with in the class. I just couldn’t handle full closet-ization. So the chick I have been carpooling with is now a confidant. She is really nifty and I was enjoying her company in general. She is very cool with stuff and she can now understand some of the things I have said. heh. Life is plugging along…

Birthday party: A+
First day of MSF class: A
Friends birthday party: C- (It was both really great and really crappy because I was involved in hurting someone.)
Second day of MSF class: B (I was tired and distracted by thoughts of being a shitty person.)
Passing MSF class: A+
Negotiating with Tom for things in the house: D
Homework productivity: D- (Utterly unacceptable. *sigh*)
Getting new laptop set up with my stuff on it: C+ (Not done yet, but progress was made.)

Outlook for coming week: Social life? What’s that? Homework… homework… homework… *sigh*

Tomorrow I get to finish my transcription of The Dictes or Sayengis of the Philosphres, and create a lesson plan for “Romeo and Juliet” and write an analysis of said lesson plan, and do lots of reading for classes. If I finish all of this (unlikely, but technically possible) then date night on Tuesday can be all fun and games. If not, more homework! Ew.

I feel really bad that I hurt someone. I dislike being a selfish person.

My birthday party was amazing. I made out like a bandit. I got a laptop and The Dress. I got books and cd’s and hugs and kisses. I felt loved and special and the people in my life rock.

The MSF class is going great! I passed the written portion with a 96% and I’m doing really well on the riding. It is so fun. God I want a bike.

Does 23 feel any different than 22?

Nope.

Still all kinds of mixed up. Can anyone please relay to me the exact age when I will feel like a grown up and not be such a confused bag of emotional whirl-windyness?

I really need to sit down and write a post about my interesting group/loner tendencies. I seem to be unable to be any sort of a group participant at school. I am significantly hostile to the idea. However, ya’ll know just how freakin group oriented I am in my private life. It has been a really interesting thing to obserb. It seems as though I don’t bond if there is 0 sexual energy exchanged. (Not that I fuck everyone I am friends with, but it is ok for the energy to be there.) I’m pondering this a lot.

Now I get to try and stay awake through 3 hours of personal revelations from people I couldn’t care less about. hm. Nap time this afternoon I think.

One hour and 35 minutes until my birthday.

Lately I have been feeling a distinct lack of hope. I have occasionally managed to feel happy; I have felt loved. I haven’t really felt much hope for my immidiate future. Of course I was mostly aware that eventually things would get better, but I thought that big chunks of my life were going to suck for a few years. Mostly, I was worried about housing. I have a shitload of anxiety about moving. Most of this is tied to moving around so much as a kid. Feeling safe and secure and welcome where I live is a much bigger thing for me than it is for most people. I didn’t think I was going to find a housing situation that would fit and be happy.

I think I have. It looks like I am moving in with a friend. Possibly another friend as soon as well when we can actually ask her about it… heh. Two women that I adore and respect and get along with.

I might have a home not just crash space.

Wow, it makes so much about my life better. Just this thing, and all of a sudden… I feel more peaceful. Ok, so I’m bouncing so I don’t look peaceful… But I’m not as scared as I was. Please God… let me have this.

But the hairy fuzzy navel is really nice. And I’m not sure I will actually get the long ramble done. Oh well.

I’m in a class on “Multi-cultural Foundations of Education” and all sorts of stuff is coming up for me. First is my gut reaction to some of the reading, which is: The author (Beverly Daniel Tatum writing Why Are All The Black Kids Sitting Together In the Cafeteria?) seems to believe that people who are white can never do enough to atone for the inherent “white privelege” in our society and that really really bothers me. She talks about how white people need to form support groups of other whites to deal with their shame and guilt. Which, to me, implies that I should feel shame and guilt. Ack. Ok, but I don’t want to go off on that rant. What I do want to talk about here is that I am very interested by stuff about self-definitions. How we chose to define ourselves.

Most of the people I consider “friends” at this point in time would classify themself as some sort of “alternative” sexuality. (I personally like mistressmatisse‘s term “sexual transgressor”. It just seems fitting to me.) I wonder why we choose to make it such a huge part of our personal identification? Do we just need to have a way to make us vs. them happen?

I know that I am having trouble connecting with anyone in the class. I know that I feel distinctly “different” and I think part of it is that I know that I have to be in the closet. I can’t tell people who I am. I feel like I am denying myself. I feel like if anyone finds out why/how I am different that I will be ostrasized. If

Or girl, or something like that. I went to the gym yesterday and then the Plough. My arms and shoulders are sore, and my legs. Dude. 😀

Right now I feel like I’m looking at the world through a veil. I’m fuzzy and distant. I want something and I don’t know what.

The “one night” is bothering me.

Tom is sleeping even less than I am. He is really upset. I feel like it is all my fault. I wish I could take his hurt away.

Fuck. Life is complicated sometimes.

My nipples are still so freakin painful that it hurts when the water hits them in the shower.

Should I send a thank you card?

I want anyone and EVERYONE who reads this to post in here something they would like to do with me someday.
Then post this in your journal to find out what people want to do with you.

Thank you joedecker

First: a poll…

Me:”If anything were to happen here, would you want it to last a day, a week, or a month?”
Him:…. pause for thought… “A day.”

Well. ok. In theory I really don’t have a problem with casual sex. Heh. Ok, so in practice I don’t have a problem with casual sex. But how casual is too casual for me? To follow up on this situation is to agree to one day. How do I really feel about that? In some ways I’m ok with it, in other ways I’m having a bitch of a time wrapping my head around it. I’m not sure what part of it is so hard for me to process though. It isn’t as if I haven’t had one night stands. Ok, I haven’t had many, but I have done it. Usually though they are truly casual. Pick-ups in a public place that I won’t ever see them again. Someone with whom I have a brief courtship and then it disappears is an entirely new animal for me. If I were a manipulative little shit I could acknowledge that he is trying to get me into bed, that he only particularly wants it to happen once, and then make him wait for a while. That way I could control getting more attention in exchange for giving him his “cookie.”

That’s just not me though. I guess that if there is a clear, stated goal that I will accept it, either agree or disagree with it, and carry it to completion pretty much immidiately. Now I just have to decide if I am really ok with that as a stated goal. I have come to the conclusion that I really like FWB. I feel extremely comfortable with the paradigm. That way there is a connection of some sort, but it doesn’t have to be artificially romantic. I sleep with people because I like them, and it feels kind of harsh to say that I won’t deal with them after I get the one shag. I will, however, totally honor the request for no additional contact. Even if I want it. Even if I just want him for his ability to help educate my musical palate. 🙂

Lots of things have been going through my head lately. On many levels in many ways. I think I am probably going to hit a lot of “experimentation” stuff in the next segment of my life. I haven’t figured out yet how I’m going to handle a lot of it. I haven’t figured out if I’m going to follow through on some of the experimentation I’m pondering. I feel like I am all primed to take Dad up on his offer to chuck my life and run away to Portland to hide and lick my wounds. It wouldn’t be the Mature, Responsible thing to do though. And I’m all about being mature and responsible. Well, if and only if being mature and responsible includes lots of sex for me. Ok, I’m on a roll today already. Mr Hitachi, here I come… (Heh… come…)

If you can see this, I am not upset about you touching me.

I did get really annoyed at having to tell Joe Blow to stop touching me every 45 seconds for about 15 minutes though. (The advice on the DHP list that I just should have said, “No” is kind of funny. I do say no. I just get sick of saying it every 45 seconds.)

I got a little snippy and eventually started asking even people who can see this to stop touching me because I hit massive overload. But as far as any sort of general rule goes:

If you can see this, you have my permission to do pretty much any form of casual touching. 🙂 I love you! (Yeah, this is a tight filter.)

I was touched. I was held. I was told everything will be alright, I may even believe them.

I was going to have a nice calm sort of date. Sure, of course there would be sex involved. Then a conversation about how I was sad that I had not had the threesome that was planned for the weekend lead to…

A phone call. “You wanna?”
“Hell yeah!”
“Come over.”
“I will be there as soon as I can.”

I took a nap in the interem period. It is truly strange that waking up to sexual activity is one of the most rapid ways to turn me on. But then again, I really wasn’t worried about getting turned on. One boy who excels at my idea of the perfect fucking and another boy who has introduced me to the concept of… *gasp* foreplay. *fan face with hand* The two of them combined truly have to be the perfect shag. They massaged my legs and talked to me for a long while. I think most of the conversation was geared around making me blush. Why do so many people like seeing me blush? There was touching. There was stroking. Once in a while I worried that I wasn’t paying enough attention to both of them, so I verbally checked in. All was well. The sex was really really good. I have never before experienced some of the….combinations… of activities. mmmmm.

In the middle of this act, which I had looked forward to with glee and terror, I was frightened that I would feel like the dirty, horrible, bad whore that I was told I was when I was younger. I didn’t. I have connections with both of these people. They both feel a combination of love, respect, adoration, and appreciation for me. They are friends who were quite happy to combine efforts in my behalf. I was told over and over that I am loved. I was told over and over that I am beautiful. I was fucked hard and fast, I felt used and filled and wanted. I made love, slowly, gently, delicately; I felt appreciated and wanted. Both have their place. Although, I will confess that I am more interested in the slow lovemaking when I have had a good, hard fucking just before so that I am not frustrated with my desire to just come already!

The very best part (though I am not disparaging the sex, lord no) was being snuggled between them and listening to them talk over me. I was there, and part of the moment, but I wasn’t the center. They were enjoying their friendship and I was just incidental. But I was encased with acceptance and love anyway. Being involved, but not the focus, is wonderful for me.

I almost feel sated. It may take a bit more effort though. 🙂

Thank you. Thank you for everything.