I don't like to think of myself as an angry person. I'm generally carefree and outgoing. Snarky and sarcastic yes, but that's only mean if I do it in a negative manner. No... I'm definitely becoming an angrier person.
Could it be the testosterone that I've kick started again by hitting the gym regularly? Or maybe it's the fact that I'm anxious and energetic to get things done and cross them off my to do list? I'd like to think it's a little of both with a little sexual frustration on the side (an unfortunate side effect of the testosterone).
I'd feel worse though if I didn't feel it was justified.
And boy... do I feel like it's justified.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Dreams
I dream of making forts with our mattress under our kitchen table, using candles as light, making love for hours on the bare bed. I dream of the smell of your skin after a day of life entering my nose like aromatherapy as I hold you close, your shoulder under my chin.
I fantasize about our sex, sensual and passionate, fun and exciting. Your prickly stubble scratching my face and body as you kiss me from my head to my feet, seemingly covering every inch of skin exposed to the world. Your kisses heal my cuts and scrapes, physical and emotional, brought on my my clumsiness and fragile spirit. You remind me that I am beautiful and that all you want is to wake up in my arms.
I dream that you have a new name. I never have to use words to call you to me. It's merely a thought, a gesture of the mind that pulls you to my side where you can hold my hand and squeeze just gently enough so that I feel my ring press against my middle and last fingers. The ring that you gave me when you told me that you never wanted to look into anyone's eyes other than mine ever again. Our world is magical under our table. In our fort. Where the candle wax drips over the edges of small plates we use to catch the drops that fall like rain on a dreary day. Where the mattress slips and resists, like a hedgehog's spines or my hair after I buzz it. Where we have to move slowly, not only for the safety of our skulls, but because every moment we reside in our castle is not enough for us.
Because when you call me close to you so that I can squeeze your hand, you feel that same pressure on your two fingers from the ring I gave to you when I said:
I want to share my castle walls with you until the day I die.
I fantasize about our sex, sensual and passionate, fun and exciting. Your prickly stubble scratching my face and body as you kiss me from my head to my feet, seemingly covering every inch of skin exposed to the world. Your kisses heal my cuts and scrapes, physical and emotional, brought on my my clumsiness and fragile spirit. You remind me that I am beautiful and that all you want is to wake up in my arms.
I dream that you have a new name. I never have to use words to call you to me. It's merely a thought, a gesture of the mind that pulls you to my side where you can hold my hand and squeeze just gently enough so that I feel my ring press against my middle and last fingers. The ring that you gave me when you told me that you never wanted to look into anyone's eyes other than mine ever again. Our world is magical under our table. In our fort. Where the candle wax drips over the edges of small plates we use to catch the drops that fall like rain on a dreary day. Where the mattress slips and resists, like a hedgehog's spines or my hair after I buzz it. Where we have to move slowly, not only for the safety of our skulls, but because every moment we reside in our castle is not enough for us.
Because when you call me close to you so that I can squeeze your hand, you feel that same pressure on your two fingers from the ring I gave to you when I said:
I want to share my castle walls with you until the day I die.
I wrote him a letter
So I wrote Chad a letter outlining how I felt and what has been going on in my life and basically saying I hope you're well and I'm sorry.
At least that was the first page...
The next two pages basically go on and on about how much I was hurt by what happened between us and what I've been doing in the romantic sector of my life since. Which is basically feeling lonely, crying, and sleeping with my stuffed Raccoon Zoidburg that he bought me. I literally go back and forth from wanting to get the next set of tickets to Canton-Akron Airport and calling his roommate and having him take me to their apartment so I can apologize face to face and just see him one more time to hating myself for writing the letter and being hung up on him when he seriously hurt me. My friends definitely fall into two camps, Camp He's an Asshole and Camp He's the Love of Your Life. But I know that both camps just want me to be happy and honestly, I'm not sure which will make me happier. Things got so heavy so quickly with us and it was amazing and romantic and fairy tale and great. But if he does want to talk to me after he reads the letter, (if he reads the letter which I hope to God he does) we're gonna have to have a long talk about setting guidelines and boundaries and maybe him getting a laptop so we can talk to each other face to face once in a while instead of only on the phone. We'll have to do skype dates and see each other regularly and talk about plans and what's going to happen and work incredibly hard to not repeat the mistakes of round 1. It's been four months since we broke up, so we're coming up on 2 months away from the actual length of our relationship. I should be trying to get back out there if things were resolved, if I honestly was ready to move on. But I can't. Talking to other guys bores me and doesn't excite me sexually and honestly the only guys I tend to like talking to are guys that look like Chad. It's kinda a problem. Granted I do have a time, but seriously? I think I should probably vary a little bit in tastes...
But who knows. Maybe I'll get my movie script ending. Or maybe life will go on.
At least that was the first page...
The next two pages basically go on and on about how much I was hurt by what happened between us and what I've been doing in the romantic sector of my life since. Which is basically feeling lonely, crying, and sleeping with my stuffed Raccoon Zoidburg that he bought me. I literally go back and forth from wanting to get the next set of tickets to Canton-Akron Airport and calling his roommate and having him take me to their apartment so I can apologize face to face and just see him one more time to hating myself for writing the letter and being hung up on him when he seriously hurt me. My friends definitely fall into two camps, Camp He's an Asshole and Camp He's the Love of Your Life. But I know that both camps just want me to be happy and honestly, I'm not sure which will make me happier. Things got so heavy so quickly with us and it was amazing and romantic and fairy tale and great. But if he does want to talk to me after he reads the letter, (if he reads the letter which I hope to God he does) we're gonna have to have a long talk about setting guidelines and boundaries and maybe him getting a laptop so we can talk to each other face to face once in a while instead of only on the phone. We'll have to do skype dates and see each other regularly and talk about plans and what's going to happen and work incredibly hard to not repeat the mistakes of round 1. It's been four months since we broke up, so we're coming up on 2 months away from the actual length of our relationship. I should be trying to get back out there if things were resolved, if I honestly was ready to move on. But I can't. Talking to other guys bores me and doesn't excite me sexually and honestly the only guys I tend to like talking to are guys that look like Chad. It's kinda a problem. Granted I do have a time, but seriously? I think I should probably vary a little bit in tastes...
But who knows. Maybe I'll get my movie script ending. Or maybe life will go on.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Oh, Nostalgia. You fuckin' cunthole.
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Thursday, May 5, 2011
Visual Literacy
I can't help but look at pictures every now and again. Pictures of men with scruff, dark hair, glasses, hipster style.
Hipsternerds.
My new thing. I identify as a hipster nerd. I love hipsternerd things. Old school video games. Pokemon. I like 8-bit Megaman music. I liked Shin Megami Tensei before Persona 3 hit the market. I play card games that no one has ever heard of. I have seen every episode of the Simpsons. DJ Hero is my jam.
But these pictures, they stir my soul. I just want to hold one of them close. The real person though. Not the visual reproduction. I want to see them wake up, sleepy eyed, morning breath, stubble scratching my face as I kiss him on the cheek.
Maybe then this ache will subside.
Hipsternerds.
My new thing. I identify as a hipster nerd. I love hipsternerd things. Old school video games. Pokemon. I like 8-bit Megaman music. I liked Shin Megami Tensei before Persona 3 hit the market. I play card games that no one has ever heard of. I have seen every episode of the Simpsons. DJ Hero is my jam.
But these pictures, they stir my soul. I just want to hold one of them close. The real person though. Not the visual reproduction. I want to see them wake up, sleepy eyed, morning breath, stubble scratching my face as I kiss him on the cheek.
Maybe then this ache will subside.
Stephen
It's weird to think that you've impacted my life in the way you have in the short time we were romantic.
I love you, hubby.
And if I ever meet your boyfriend, I'll probably punch him.
I love you, hubby.
And if I ever meet your boyfriend, I'll probably punch him.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Michael
I don't know where you are, I don't even really know anything about your current life. But I certainly know that when we met during a third quarter break at the LOLHS @ ZHS football game Fall 2005, neither of us expected our lives to cross again. But they did. Again and again and again.
Knowing what I know now, hindsight is 20/20. We could have made things work, we could have grown up together, grown old together. But I think that despite all the fights, all the tears, all the crazy.
I still look for people who will be my pillows. I still have a weak spot for musicians. I still feel like I should fix my lovers.
But I learned a lot about myself through you. I learned that resilience is key. I learned that it doesn't take much to remind you of someone. I carried that stone, wore that ring, kept your picture in my wallet for so long. I learned that you don't have to like the same things as your partner. And I learned that sometimes you can't fix the other person. Most of all, I learned to walk away.
You broke my heart. But I broke yours, I guess it was only fair. But I learned that you have to keep moving, fighting to hit the light again. And I learned that I needed to learn much about myself before I could ever be with anyone for a long time.
So thank you.
Goodbye and Good Luck.
I hope you're well.
Knowing what I know now, hindsight is 20/20. We could have made things work, we could have grown up together, grown old together. But I think that despite all the fights, all the tears, all the crazy.
I still look for people who will be my pillows. I still have a weak spot for musicians. I still feel like I should fix my lovers.
But I learned a lot about myself through you. I learned that resilience is key. I learned that it doesn't take much to remind you of someone. I carried that stone, wore that ring, kept your picture in my wallet for so long. I learned that you don't have to like the same things as your partner. And I learned that sometimes you can't fix the other person. Most of all, I learned to walk away.
You broke my heart. But I broke yours, I guess it was only fair. But I learned that you have to keep moving, fighting to hit the light again. And I learned that I needed to learn much about myself before I could ever be with anyone for a long time.
So thank you.
Goodbye and Good Luck.
I hope you're well.
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