Regrets

I don’t tend to regret my actions. Not because I don’t make mistakes, or reflect on my deeds, but rather because before I do anything of any significance I consider it and decide what it might mean if it turns out to be a bad choice, or what the worst thing that could happen would be. So in the end, if something goes wrong I will have imagined, if not prepared myself for it. In the past when I have not considered the worst case or have found the repercussion to be worse than my worst prediction, what I have learned from that has been comparable to the pain it has caused me. I would not say worth it, but a valuable lesson nonetheless. I try to mark what I learn, whether it happens to be just a simple fact or a misstep of mine, or the issues of some one else pressed upon me. I try me best to see the reason and source of my troubles, I am quick to assign them to myself. For it is often my own inability to interact with people and understand them that puts me in the path of another’s issues or pain. Whether it’s my introversion or my lack of instinct that cuts me down, I am my own worst problem.

Face

Last night I had a restless night and woke incredibly refreshed. I rose a few minutes after my alarm went off ready to face the day. I had gotten into bed at half past two and had tossed and turned long after the rise of the sun. I sobbed, I had not done so in a while. Either four years or two, I’m not sure which is more accurate. It was one lone sob, an odd feeling to leave it hang in the night but I had no others to follow it. I thought about my feelings and events of my life. Not the overly traumatic ones really, just the ones I have not previously admitted to myself to be just what they were. I admitted anger, fear, affection, and self-hatred. I confessed that I had been treated in ways I never should have tolerated, that worse things had happened to me than I was willing to face at the time. I realized that I had made my fears come true for fear that they were not the worst that could happen. I acknowledged that I am the one person I can’t seem to forgive, I only forget my faults for long enough to find some new reason to beat myself down with them. I have not been loved as I should be by many people in my life. I have been forgotten, betrayed, left, and neglected enough that I do these things to others to prevent them from happening to me again. When people like me even after they get to know me a little I either do what I can to change their minds or remain silent to avoid doing so. I admitted my anger at many people in my life, including many I love. And confessed that I have no reason to despise myself as I do, quietly but firmly in the corners of my mind. I feel like it’s okay to take care of myself, to look myself in the eye. I am not someone so terrible, and what is wrong with me is up to me to face and change.

In an Ideal World, an Ideal Life.

I think common society would think be a bad person for the things I dream. Some of them at least. The future I dream for myself could almost be normal, almost. I envision the company I will run from my home, doing a few different things, perhaps employing a few people to help me. I imagine the house I will live in as having a big yard and filling with sunlight for a few hours before dusk. Enough room for me to cook wonderful meals for a house full of people, and have animals a children running amuck. I picture myself living alone, or with a few lovers and a child. I find myself imagining a daughter, though I would be pleased to have a son or daughter equally. I feel that a child of mine should be raised to honor all love, platonic, heterosexual, or homosexual. And to see all people by their actions more than their faces. I want to have the animals I've dreamed of having room and time for at last. I want to help people, teach them, and create things for them to use and admire. I want to have a yard with a big garden of fruits and vegetables and room to spare for open space and climbing trees.
I want so much, I fear not having the focus and ambition to create this life for myself.
M.

If I Were Not a Coward.

If I were not a coward I would have said every word I thought to him, no matter if it didn't come out exactly how I had thought it. I would call him when I'm not sure if he has the time or inclination to speak to me. I would ask him any little thing that entered my head just to hear the answer. If I were brave, I would know for certain if I like or love him. I would know if he and I can really, ultimately, get along.
But I am a coward, so I can only hope my intentions will out and he'll have patience with me in the interim. I can only hope his affection is enough to put up with me.
I have too much love in me and too little idea of what to do with it.
M.

Longing.

I've been reflecting on all of the best sex I've had lately. It's not good for my libido I must say. When I was still a virgin I masturbated a lot, now that those fantasies have some basis in reality I'm much worse. I have certain moments on loop in my head, just wishing I could relive exactly that feeling, that sensation, that intensity. I want to have sex on my couch and make him come three times and almost pass out myself, and just colapse trembling from that pleasure. I want to pin him down and fuck him until I orgasm for two minutes straight, and fall back in exhausted triumph. I want to yield myself with complete trust to having him inside my ass, and gasp til I can barely breathe and am unable to move for the intensity of that feeling. When I want someone I want them all the time, every waking moment. And when I have them I absorb everything of that moment with the knowledge that as fantastic as it is, the next can only be even more amazing. My body aches to be touched, my senses cry out for the feel and taste and smell of my lover. Alas, longing is so sharp a dull pain.
M.

How Odd.

I got home from my vacation late in the morning on Monday. Upon returning home to my apartment I greeted all my animals and they greeted me. My betta fish flared up his fins and gills and danced about to welcome me. Later that afternoon when I was checking on my rats in the same room I found him on the counter. He had been out of the bowl too long to rescue, he had already begun to dry up. It was a gallon bowl, with a good two inches between the water and the lip of it. For all the time I had spent watching him swim about and build his bubble nest I had never seen him jump out of the water even when riled. My poor fishy. Rest in peace, Bootsy you nutty fish.
M.

You Know I'm No Good.

The only person who believes me when I say I'm evil is my best friend, she knows it, she and I are of the same mind, she's seen it, and I trained her in my ways. The rest laugh at me when I tell then, wide eyed, that I'm trouble. They'll call me cute, dismiss my warning. But I'm a heartbreaker, not that I intend to be. I'm too easy to love, too willing to love back. I will hurt them without planning to, and shed not a tear. No matter how my heart writhes in my chest. Maybe it's just my own unique damage, for often it seems my fault is loving too much, caring too much. I'd rather break someone's heart outright then stab them in the back a little more each day down the line, at least this way I can stay up all night and fix it a little. I have too many men swooning over me, and countless more who simply want me, it's a dangerous thing.
It's not a good thing, they can't tell I'm a bad woman, and I only go for good men.
M.

Georgous Uncertainty.

In less than a week I leave on a plane to visit a man I have never seen face to face before. I have known him for about six months on the web, talked to him online for hours, and on the phone for hours on top of that. I don't feel that he's a stranger at all, but I am aware that I don't know him well. I have no hesitation in this, no doubt about what I'm doing. If I am with him for a little less than a week and he decides I'm not what he wanted me to be, or I decide he's not as remarkable as I was convinced he was, than so be it. Better to know, better to know his smell and taste and feel and never know it again than to ache for him and never know. If it makes me a bad woman to do what I do and choose what I choose, than I can live with that fact. I don't have to be good, I don't have to live as I'm expected to. I won't regret my misdeeds, but I shall learn from them always. He's so beautiful, not just in body, but in mind and heart, that I know however long I'm allowed with him will be something I cherish. I can work out the future once I know more than the simple, blinding fact that I want him.
So here's to latest adventure in this little life of mine.
M.

I'm Only Easy on the Internet.

Ok, so that's a complete misnomer, I don't think I would ever call myself easy. What I mean to convey is that the internet is such a easy place to live dangerously, no one can touch you, your actions don't have to come back on you. And there are so many people, sometimes it feels like you can get all the world in one room having an intimate little chat. Because there are so many people who can feel free to express what ever they wish I find that there are numerous people I would love to have the chance to fall for out there in the world wide web. Sadly none of them are extremely close to my physical location, and in fact some of them are quite far away. People often caution that someone you meet on the internet will probably either turn out to be not at all as amazing as you hoped, or to be a psyco killer/rapist/freak. I have a friend in real life who I first knew on the internet from a great distance away, and he's just who I believed him to be, I've known people for long periods of time via the internet and considered them as much friends as those I saw face to face regularly. I'm not an easy woman to get, but I can be an easy woman to love, the thing I find the most endearing in another person is how much they love me. That's not all it takes to win my affection, but it's a big weakness of mine. These people I adore, part of my affection towards them stems from the look on their faces when they speak to me, or the warmth in their voices.
M.

The Same Words, Again and Again.

I have finished moving out of my old place, the lease ended last Saturday and I was there until midnight cleaning without power or company. What a way to end things. My ex provided little to no help with the clean up and waited till the last minute to have his stuff out of my way for me to clean the place. Typical. When he was there he hovered over me and watched me, stared at me more accurately, and occassionally said random innane things that he seemed to consider chitchat. Shadow told me she didn't want me alone with him, ever. Puck made fun of him and grumbled about him, in turns. I'm just happy to be free. I've been asked about the details of why I left him by a few people, mostly ones who don't know me too well, and I really can't go into it. It makes me too uncomfortable to go over, Shadow knows the details, and Puck in so much as she has told him and I have told him which is probably not all of it. Both of them would react violently if he were to try to touch me, let alone harm me. My father and stepmom don't know the details, they know some of it, what I could handle telling them, but they will probably never know some of the deails. It may be healthy to speak your trials, but that's only true if it won't cause you more harm than good to do so. And I will talk about it, when I'm far enough away from this moment to feel safe recalling it. Until then I have my life to carry on with.
M.