i think the prey i was stalking is domesticated and has tags. fucktastic. oh, well, my life is like this. i am not meant for happiness, contentment or any reasonable sanity. if i want it, it's not possible. if i get it, it's fucked up.
what i reconstructed from my morning wake-up call conversation:
"Melissa, baby, get up!"
"uuuuuuhhhhhhggggg . . . i'm not equipped like that. i wanna be a boy."
"*sigh* get out of bed!"
"you wouldn't say that if i was a boy . . . i wish i was a boy. then you'd love me more."
"what? whatever. WAKE UP. get out of bed."
"it's ok if you hate me. i hate me. i hate me a LOT. i would rather be a boy."
"quit that. wake up. GET OUT OF BED."
"i'm sorry, you are mad."
"no, i am tired and i need you to get up so i can go to sleep."
"oh . . . i wish you were here. i wish i was a boy."
somehow i need to find a way to live. i need to breathe. i need to find a calm, soft, love that is contented, fun and balanced. i want to cook for people and throw parties. i want to have quiet evenings just goofing off. i want to sit and grin at someone and see them grin back. i want warm arms around me at the end of the day. i don't expect the world, i'm easy to get along with. i make everything fun. i take care of all the little things. i don't frequently need help and i'm not expensive at all. i'll try anything once and i'm usually game for whatever.
i have had my requirements eroded to the point that all i need is trust, conversation and someone that turns me on and STILL i can't find them . . .
fuck this life.
confessed on Wednesday, Oct. 18, 2006