crunchy

I wrote a very horned-up post last night. But underneath that energy was a wild undercurrent of anxiety.

Last night was so weird. I don’t even have appropriate astrology to pin it on.

K was on a date-type thing with someone she hadn’t seen in a long time. In my gut I knew it was going to be weird, that she was going to feel weird (spoiler: she did). She’s super intense with her attention so I also knew she probably wasn’t going to text like she usually does.

Logically, I knew all that. But then it was midnight and I hadn’t heard anything from her. So all my insides lit up like they were on fire. Sleep kind of became impossible.

I read some erotica because I thought it would distract me. All it did was make me feel even more on-fire. Of course.

So I texted a sometimes-lover to tell him about it. He responded by insisting that he come over—NOW. Yes, I’d stoked his fire by talking about princesses turning into slave girls. But the sudden intensity of his blaze still startled me.

He did not come over. It was midnight and I needed sleep or else I’d be worthless.

But K never texted so I did not sleep well, which meant I was still worthless.

Eventually, of course, I did hear from her. She feels terrible and wants to come over, cuddle, care, all of those things she is so good at doing. But I am feeling a little crunchy. It will all be okay, but I need a minute to catch my breath, regain my footing.

Also I don’t really want her to see me cry and I will probably do that if I see her.

Good lord, humans are so complicated. But also extremely simple and primal and beautiful. Now off I go to wrap my big raw nerve of a body back up in a blanket.

warning: this gets kind of horny

I’m feeling stuff so I’m going to write about it.

First things first, I have a girlfriend: K. I don’t know why that word feels scary to write when it’s true. She is the coolest person ever. A sensitive and curious artist. Extremely hot. Fun. Communicative. Adjectives. I feel incredibly lucky, and that scares me, so I try not to think about it like that. More on that later, I’m sure.

We are kind of open. We’ve gone to queer sex parties; I watched her zap a line full of curious people one-by-one with an electric wand (it was awesome). I told her that sometimes I hook up with men and she was okay with it, “as long as you don’t feel used afterwards.”

I also told her that deep down I’m really submissive. She got me a little leather collar that is on its way soon (taking a while to be constructed). Huff. She is the best.

Relationships and commitment scare me but I’m also just feeling flooded with how much I like her.

She’s mentioned wanting to try out being a professional Domme. That it would be really fun and fulfilling to help people actualize their fantasies. People are beautiful and complicated.

One of her friends is a trans woman with a fantasy about being pregnant. She is currently having dinner at K’s house. It’s a friend hangout but also kind of a date. K has played along with this woman’s fantasies before, telling her things like how she wants to impregnate her and take care of her, that kind of thing. They are going to make soup tonight. K’s focus can be really intense and I know this is why she hasn’t texted me.

I feel okay about her doing this with this person, but I’m finding that the not-hearing-from-her thing is not fun. But I’m dancing around my apartment doing chores and trying to keep occupied in the meantime.

…this includes reading a super-horny book by Anne Rice and texting men. [covers face with hand]

There are three men that I talk to, and lately I’ve felt weird about seeing them so I’m basically acting like a cock-tease at this point. But then I had a breakthrough fantasy today: that when I’m with them and making them feel good, K is in the background whispering approvingly in my ear. Or she’s trained me so well that somehow pleasing men is still coming back around to pleasing her. Or… something. *fans self* Is it hot in here?!

I don’t really know anyone who won’t think I’m a complete slut weirdo if I tell them all this, so I’m writing it down here. Thank you for joining me while I make sense of my own brain.

tidal waves

My dad is depressed. It gets into the air and makes everything feel thick, heavy.

He is not sad without reason. But he doesn’t have the right tools for handling his feelings. I caught him in the kitchen sneaking “sips” of vodka, which he is absolutely not supposed to be doing.

My dad has regularly gotten drunk on vodka for most of my life, but over the past year was told by a doctor not to have it anymore. Because it makes him fall down, forget things, say stupid shit, etc. Oh also he is on a really strong anti-seizure medicine that counteracts with alcohol. I wanted to go out and throw the whole fucking bottle onto the driveway.

But we had company over and I didn’t want to make a scene. So I hid the bottle instead.

Not anywhere difficult – just four feet away, under the sink. I mostly just wanted to see what would happen.

My mom said “this is between you and him.” He also apparently called me the “women’s temperance movement” but, in typical repressed midwestern fashion, didn’t say a word about it to me.

A day passed. Then this morning I checked the hiding spot and the bottle was gone.

My mom made jokes and I tried to smile over my nervous, sad stomach. But I couldn’t shake that this was alcoholic behavior and he’s been pulling this shit for years.

I blurted all of that out and my mom rolled her eyes, like “ugh, do we have to keep talking about this?”

I have watched my dad get drunk, fall down, and get sad about it an uncomfortable number of times. But I can’t stop this. If I hide the bottle in a brilliant place, he will just buy another one. I am so sad and angry about this that it makes me want to scream in his face. But that won’t stop it either.

Luckily I have a therapist. We talk about ways that maybe I could establish some boundaries and try to find a little peace. We talk about the good things that are in my life too. She reminds me that I’m at this lake house that I’ve been craving, and I’m doing everything I wanted to do. There are other personalities in this space too, but whatever they do is not a failure on my part. My dad needs to choose to help himself and he just…. isn’t.

So at least for the next few days, I guess my strategy is to figure out how to take care of myself (that age-old question), and then remove myself when things are too much. My therapist also reminds me that I always have a choice.

This family does not let itself feel things. But I do. So I feel all of it. Sometimes that is like getting crushed by a tidal wave. But it’s way fucking healthier than the alternative. So I keep doing it.

..but maybe I can step out of the way of the tidal wave once in a while, and lovingly towel myself off.

[image found here: https://www.etsy.com/listing/112266137/apres-moi-le-deluge-fine-art-print-by?epik=dj0yJnU9WVE4RjBmQ01pTnVoaFE0cGdBTnZOTE1oRjlUb09QbUEmcD0wJm49Sm1GMFJIMVN0bEpZcXI2dHNVQnVRZyZ0PUFBQUFBR01UMGdZ%5D

oh and by the way you should thank us

I’m at a lake and it is Friday. The water is still like glass from my window, barely moving. It was so hectic getting here but now I’ve made it. Take a deep breath of cool air.

The city was hot madness but now from what I hear, it is cooling itself off a little too. Come live among the rats and trash, in this paradise where winters make you depressed and summers melt away your sanity. Where you’re paying way too much for way too little and everything is too close together.

Fun!

Wait.

Why aren’t you having fun?

vulnerability hangover

Okay but what was the point of that. Why did we open our hearts up and why did I cry and why did we journal about each other if none of that changes anything.

This is my stubborn contradiction. I crave closeness. Emotion. Connection. Then I get it but sometimes it feels suffocating. I float out of myself and ask “why did you do that? was there a reason to open up those old wounds?”

We broke up three years ago and I knew I was over him. We are still in touch. He mails me postcards but I look at them with a kind of detached fondness, oh that’s nice. But last night I was typing on my phone, bearing more of myself than maybe he deserved to see. Tears pouring because something had been newly reopened and for what purpose. Healing? Is that what this is?

At what point are we just picking at things for the sake of feeling something? What’s the difference between “doing the work” and just plain hurting yourself?

“I’ve changed so much.” he said.

“You have and you haven’t.” I replied.

the truth of things

Last night got intense.

I watched something extremely stressful before bed and had a rough time sleeping.

In reality that’s all that happened. But “tossing and turning” is too cute to describe what it was: endless panicked thoughts that wouldn’t ease, even with meditating. Flashing worries that every single component of life was being lived incorrectly. Even though that’s not true. Even though yes, of course meditation helped. But where was that instant hit of bliss. Why isn’t it like that. Why is it actually something so much deeper and more subtle.

Why does it make you work for it so hard and not at all. Why do we make ourselves panic when nothing is there. Or maybe that’s just me.

The morning had a completely different mood than the night. It was so much more innocent. Watched a friend’s dog. She lives in my neighborhood, a few streets over. Her dog is sweet and ugly-to-the-point-of-cute. He never left my lap except to go on walks.

It was such a simple shift, being in a space like my own but not mine. Curled up with a little friend. How is that all it takes to feel completely different. It’s how we’re wired I guess.

Over and over we face that cold lonely terror at night. And every time we try to remember that love, warmth, coziness are alchemizing forces against it. Sometimes we remember and sometimes we don’t. But that doesn’t take away the truth of things.

where my thoughts go

Spending time with you makes me want to dream and listen to sad music afterwards. Take long walks, stare out the window, burrow into the inner world, where everything feels sweeter and easier to sit with. In that inner world I can remember your hair falling into your eyes. How you look when you’re asleep. The tiny starburst that went off in my heart when you said you’d been thinking about me.

I was in a car, going to dinner. We drove by your neighborhood and I whispered your name.

Hours later, you were slipping a finger into my shirt and pulling me closer. You were standing over me and kissing me with your hands on my face. I was sitting, arching my back, my mouth reaching hungrily for yours. Mind just crying please, yes please, I can’t believe this fantasy is real.

Maybe if I lie still in that inner world, I could write something that would connect with and move you. You who are so public. You who the world is trying to move. You who have built such a shiny persona to mask the deeply quiet well in your heart. You who will not actually read this.

secretly soft heart

When I texted you last night, I wasn’t thinking I was going to see you. But it would be a lie to say I hadn’t missed you.

I walked into my apartment after dinner with a friend, just as you were asking me to come over and have a drink. I ordinarily would not be so impulsive. But it was you.

Next thing I know, I’m in your apartment again and you are making me a cocktail with a clever name. You are deeply shy, and I think that’s beautiful. Sometimes you stared off and got quiet. Your eyes looked like they were a thousand miles from here. A lot of heavy had happened for you recently.

You also love to buzz about and describe things, pull out bottles with elegant shapes and difficult-to-pronounce names. While you were explaining one of them, you poured a little onto your palm and held it in front of me.

“Am I… smelling this?”

“No,” you said, “you’re licking it.”

And I sure did.

I told you later that when you did that, it turned me on so much that I would have let you throw me onto your kitchen counter and fuck me while I licked your fingers.

Instead we fucked in your bed, for four hours. And then you let me sleep over. You slept with your arms wrapped around me. I barely slept.

Which might have something to do with why I’m so tired now that I could cry.

Today marks the first time I slept with two different people in 24 hours. It’s also a day where someone else dumped me and made me feel like shit, even though I wasn’t even that interested.

So, you know. This whole thing is a lot. I don’t really know what I’m doing. You put your heart and body out there wanting to connect with people. And you do, and it feels wonderful. And you don’t, and it breaks your secretly soft heart.

winter still

There’s always hope.

I read a quote the other day. Life has been gifted to you, and gifts don’t need to be used efficiently – they just need to be treasured.

Those words take the edge off for me. A little less anxiety about it going away.

Yesterday I sat and listened to my radiator slowly hiss on and off. I whispered “thank you for all this” over and over to… something. My hands tingled and felt light, all while thoughts hummed like moving wallpaper in the back of my mind. Once it was finally silent I opened my eyes and an hour had passed. Things felt happy, calm, clear.

Today I don’t really feel like that. I’m sleepwalking into a cold sunny morning to get my coffee, perform my tasks, try not to think about you.

I don’t know. Just doing our best.