Random Acts of Awesome

1 - I'm afraid of the dark. Like, seriously afraid of the dark. I never sleep without a light on when I'm by myself, because I hate waking up alone and not immediately seeing everything around me. 2 - I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. If I start experiencing any weird symptoms, at all, my mind immediately goes to worst case scenario and I start preparing to die. 3 - I'm a little fixated on death. This one should be made obvious by #2. I think about death all the time. 4 - On my OKCupid profile, when it asks "What do you think about on a regular basis", my answer is "terrible things". It's the most honest thing on my profile. 5 - I really love broccoli. 6 - My favorite book growing up was "My side of the mountain". 7 - In related news, I carried fishing wire and hooks in my backpack from the age of 12 on. I still carry a ridiculous amount of survival gear with me. 8 - I love horses because I'm terrified of them. They scare ...

I'm boring myself again. Looking back over the past couple of posts, I don't see any real sense of me in them. They feel like a stranger wrote them. A boring stranger, who gives a fuck what others think about her, and who can't write about anything that doesn't involve something that makes her feel good about herself. I'd like to blame winter for my self centerdness, for my maudlin focus on everything MEMEMEMEME. But that would be a total cop out. It's not winters fault I let myself get like this, all tawdry sex and tawdrier emotions. It's my own damn lack of motivation and drive. I get so fucking lazy, to the point where even knowing exactly what I need to do, what will drag me back into myself and make me whole again, doesn't matter. Don't want to do it. I suppose in some ways that's classic depression, and I should get it checked out. I need to fight the ol' New England "Buck up and do it on your own, weakling, or it doesn't cou...

I've been saying that a lot lately. That, and Meh, along with a fatalitistic shrug of the shoulders. The guy from the last entry did not, in fact, work out. We'd have been great in bed, but jealousy and possessiveness would have quickly intruded. So close to exactly what I want, yet so far. That keeps on happening. I met a guy last night, while I was out with Joe for Valentines at Twisted. Hot guy, pretty lips, very, very aggressive. Pulled me aside as I came out of the ladies room, complimented my glasses, ascertained my state of takeness, and proceeded to quickly and cleanly get down to the brass tacks of wanting to fuck the shit out of me. And I was tempted. But I was there with J. Who would have been not only fine with, but completely thrilled by the knowledge of me being fucked by another man. He'd have wanted to watch, but I'm absolutely positive we could have worked something out. But I was uncomfortable, and told him I was going to stay with the person I was...

I'm sitting in Baileys, off in my corner, and my lips are tingling every time I touch them. My hips keep on shifting on the seat beneath me, because my cunt is throbbing in time to the heavy music I'm listening to. The skin along the underside of my arms feels like velvet that's just been rubbed. The skin at the base of my skull is pulsing like my hair has just been yanked back, and my mouth is watering at the thought of the cock that would be offered. All this just from words. Well played, man. Well played. Dominance. It's an ephemeral thing in my world. I enjoy it sexually, and fight it with all my being outside the bedroom. I don't meet many men who can do this to me. Circumvent every thorny little hedge I've put up over the years, to get to the gooey, caramel-y center. And I meet even less men who can touch that center without making it dirtier than it already is. God, I hope this guy is one of them.

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I think, sometimes, that it is just as important to be reminded of who we are not as who we are. I am not an East Coast girl. I used to think of myself as a transplant, enjoying where I live now but not truly belonging. But that doesn't mean I belong back here. I am not a perfect person. I can try to be kind, I can try to be nonjudgmental, I can do my damndest not to be cruel. But in the end, I fail sometimes. And that's ok. I am not a traditional person. Oh gods, am I not a traditional person. I don't what, exactly, a traditional person is, but I know I am not it. I love my family, I love my past, but I love me now more. I am not ok with confrontation. Apparently I have never been ok with confrontation. My mom told me a story yesterday of me being a newborn, and crying as newborns do. Except when she leaned in towards me and said Sarah, in a disapproving tone, I got huge eyes and shut up, snivelling a little but no longer wailing. Her and my dad looked at each other in...

I woke up this morning thinking "What the FUCK have I done?? WHY did I say I'd stay for 3 weeks? Oh god... another week and a half to go. Maybe I can claim an emergency at home and change my train tickets." I'd say that thought process is about normal for halfway through an extended family trip for most people, wouldn't you? Right?! Right. This trip has highlighted some things for me. Some things I really, really needed to remember, to have beaten into my head. I love my folks. I really do. They're awesome, wonderful, weird, crazy people. And I'm just like them. And I love them. But. The ever present but. They are broken. And maybe I'm broken too. But I've been stitching myself back together for 12 years now, and I'll continue stitching myself back together, catching my threads as they unravel, creating a course patchwork, but always bringing myself back together. And they might not see themselves as broken. Why should they? They are ca...