D.

When I spoke to him last night he delared himself, in his own way, to be someone for me to fuck til my Mr. Right comes along. It pains me that he thinks that way. It seems like he has decided that I don't love him, I only want him and care about him. I barely heard from him for almost two weeks after I returned home from visiting him, a few text messages were exchanged and emails, but we didn't talk online or on the phone. I would text to see if he was avilable for a call and he would not answer til I was sleeping or not able to call. When we finally spoke for a few hours on the phone he implied halfway through the conversation that he had not decided if we should be just friends or friends and lovers, at the end of the conversation he said he wanted me to visit again. I allowed him this, the freedom to choose what would pass between us, I decided to go and see him, love him in what time I had to do so, and give him the choice of what it would be to him and where it would go from there. I think that he loves me more than he likes to, and that he tells himself it's something platonic with a side of lust so it doesn't scare him. I think he is afraid of losing me and has let me go before he can do so. I don't know what to say to him about it, because I know I'm not the woman for him really. I would cause him pain if he loved me as I think he wishes he could.
I love him, but we are both the kind of silent protector that tries to help another grow while swallowing our feelings. He even moreso than I it seems. So far it's not working out well for the conbination for us two.
Also I suspect he has jealousy in him, and I simply don't want to be possessed by one person, currently at least.
M.

CENSORED

If I censor myself for fear of the feelings and thoughts of others than I will live a life of silence and isolation, no matter how many people I surround myself with. All my life I have been quiet, but even moreso since the death of my mother. The behavior of those around me made me withdraw. With some it was to protect them from seeing me in pain, with others it was because they made it plain they wanted to pretend everything was life as usual. For my father's sake I put froth the strongest face I could gather, with my friends I did my best to carry on as normal, with those who were not afraid to see me fall to pieces, I cried. One of my best friends said she only remembered me crying once or twice in all our childhood, for her my tears were a sign of something terribly wrong in the world. I received a thousand unrealized wounds and betrayals during that time, some of them sit undigested in my mind because I do not wish to contemplate them. In my relationship with my former best friend I became more quiet, she could not tell my thoughts so easily. She was one of those who wished to pretend I was the same person living the same life. So I pretended for her. After things fell apart with her and I was together with my ex I shared more with him than I had with others for a few years. As he demonstrated that my opinions had no merit unless they were in line with his, or became argumentative if I told him I thought he was wrong or pointed out somthing I disliked of his behavior, I began to withdraw from him as well. And now, where I stand in the world with the people I am surrounded by, I still say little of what my mind wills. When I speak to my father I have a certain guard, not because he has any intention to hurt me, but because we have incredible ability to hurt each other, I feel I have to be a smart adult to make him not worry about me. With my best friend I do not wish to interrupt her right to her own sharing of pain with my idle thoughts. With my stepmother I can share my thoughts and feelings pretty freely becase she will listen and provide good counsel, insofar as I don't mind things I say being repeated to my father. Many of the other people I speak to have no capacity for serious conversation, so long as I keep my statements inane I can remain part of the flow of talk, if I try to raise an important question or share a serious thought everyone moves on and ignores me.
All I want is to speak, if it doesn't come out quite right everytime so be it. If I can make my mind known perhaps I'll be lucky enough to have a few of the right people understand what I mean.
M.

Traitorous Vessel.

I really shouldn't think that way, it's such an incomplete way to view one's self. But anyways, here I am waking after having clutched my belly and whimpered til I dozed off once again. Sometimes it's quite irksome to be female. Humans are such odd creatures. What other being could survive as a species if it's females were subjected to immobilizing pain every twenty-eight days? Couldn't we get anything really cool out of being the higher intelligence on the planet? Ok, I take that back, it was an idiotic thing to say. I'm just grumpy. I'm made more grumpy by the fact that this time next month I'll be at the beach. I don't want to deal with this nonsense on my vacation. I'm reminded of something I heard from a friend that she was told by her doctor aunt and experienced to be true, swimming in ocean water stops periods. I wonder if that's true, and I wonder why it would be so.
My body is no kinder to me than I am to it most of the time.

I hate the idea of body and mind as seperate things, but the idea is so common and it has been present in my world for so long I find myself using it's terms in spite of myself.

Sometimes I do things just for the hell of it, and ocassionally it is not an enjoyable spontaneity. Case in point, I decided to shave my pubic hair. If you know me, which few who might read this are likely to, you know this is a very odd thing for me to do even with some specific intent, much less just for the hell of it. I shave my legs only when I am annoyed by the hair or plan on wearing a dress or shorts. I tried shaving my underarms once and immediately forswore doing it ever again. I pluck a few rogue hairs but generally I don't dislike them enough to be bothered by them. I have an intense dislike of people who find it unfeminine or nasty for a woman to have body hair. It's in our DNA just like guys, so get over it. If I was intended to have hairless legs, it wouldn't grow there. And I'm terribly sorry, but I'm not enduring nicks and razor burn for anyone's approval, so society will just have to agree to disagree with me. Any man who would not want me for such a reason is not worth the skin that holds him together, and any woman who dislike me for it is no friend of mine. With these fierce opinions you might be baffled that I would do this, but I also hold that there's little I wouldn't try at least once in the right situation. Boredom and a nice new razor proved the right situation, so I tried it. My skin tends to be hyper sensitive and thin all over my body, so it was rather enraged with me immediately. Only now, about three days later, has my skin calmed a bit. I discovered some scars I did not realize I had, chickenpox scars I believe, and a mole I had nearly forgotten. Quite amusing to rediscover marks and recognise them like lost friends...
I hate the way it looks, and the way it feels is nothing special either. I've come to the conclusion that I could not fuck a woman with a completely shaved pussy. It's simply too unnatural and creepy looking. It would make me feel intensely pedophilic.
My mind is a rather strange place, I must say.
Enough body related ramblings.
M.

Connection.

My wireless seems to have left me for good. So no internets for me. I'm currently logging on from a library computer, and will have my own internet installed Saturday afternoon, hopefully at least. So cross your fingers for me.
*Not dead or missing*
M.