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.

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.