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Eugh.
I feel like I did when I was married.
Sexually, I mean.
Wanting to cum, but dry as a freaking bone.
Why???
Maybe it's the weather.
Maybe it's my standard post-menstrual hormone crash.
Maybe it's cause there's a guy coming over to my house tonight. With other people, thank goodness.
That last, I must say, is worrying for me.
That I'm nervous about having a guy - a guy I've known for *years*, who I KNOW isn't going to try anything with me at all, ever - in my house, anywhere near my body.
Basically what I'm getting at here is that my discomfort around guys - not all guys, by any stretch of the imagination, and certainly not in all contexts, but often-enough in cases where the guys outnumber me (why do I have feelings of deja vu when I'm writing this?) - isn't just about "Oh Gods, What Will Paul Think".
This is... frustrating.
I mean, yes, duh, Amazon has Issues.
<*sigh*>
It's like I said to Ami_B a few weeks ago. Issues are like freaking cockroaches. If you see one, you just *know* there are fifty-thousand of them hiding in the walls.
And I've seen a lot more than one scuttling around *my* head, let me tell you.
<*shudder*>
On a similar note: I feel gross.
There's this icky, cloying, sickly-sweet taste in the back of my mouth (maybe that's from the amaretto cookies, I dunno), and my skin feel grimy.
The kind of icky feeling you get when you've not had enough sleep and/or it's really muggy but still too chilly to strip to your skin.
Eugh.
Also: I want cranberry juice. <*shrug*> Outta luck on that one, I guess. ;-)
You know what's really frustrating?
The fact that I don't know how long I'm going to have to do this for.
How long I'll have to keep my house looking Utterly Spotless, how long I'll have to count pennies if I go to the grocery store, how long I'll have to keep my lights on when I'm not at home, how long, how long, how long.
What's worse - or at least adding to an already sucky situation - is that I don't actually know *how* to do the kind of magic that would bring a buyer in.
I'm a fucking kitchen witch, for goodness sakes.
Everything I do is cooking and sewing, garden and table, threshold, hearth and home.
How the hell am I supposed to do magic that will sever those ties, particularly when those ties are what - in a way - lets me do the magic (in any way successfully) in the first place?
It's very, very frustrating.
This is what I wish for (on the rising moon, on the star-bursts of opeing echanacea flowers, on lightning flashes in 4am thunder storms, on a daily bloody basis):
I wish that someone (most ideally a sweet, girl!couple with a kid on the way - either from Equador or thanks to a donor - who like gardening and live lightly on the land) would come to View my house, would love it immediately, would make me an offer - by the end of this week (oh, wait, that's today!) - for $151K+, and would want to move in on the first of September.
I wish that I would have a month and a half to pack all the rest of my Stuff up, clear out the auction items and the freecycle items, and find that perfect appartment. The one on the second (or third) floor of The Elizabeth, with its all-inclusive utilities, in-building laundry, and in-appartment dishwasher for less than $850/month.
I wish I knew when (soon!!!) I would be moving out, so that I could arrange for the place I'll be moving to, could arrange for people to help me move, could pack up my books, cds, clothes, art, cleaning supplies, and what little else is left, and get ready to Get On With My Life.
Because this waiting is miserable.
This waiting is scary.
This waiting is keeping me on pins and needles, afraid to spend money I *have* (right now) on food, in case I turn out to need a few months from now (if I still haven't sold this place, and it's November, and I really need to turn the heat on quick) to cover the hydro (or whatever). I want to get on with it.
I want to - Wish To - get on with my life. And that means getting this house sold. Right now!
And now for your sporadic dose of Random Poetry:
*~*~*~*~*
Five years
o gods, what years they were
filled with grad school
house hunting and
marriage
all of which ended (too soon)
unfinished
Wish I could lift them
(five whole years)
out of my life
set them, bookended, on a shelf (next to the wedding pictures)
like a scale model of someone else's life,
an adulthood that I didn't want
or wasn't ready for
like they never happened at all,
or happened
to someone else.
*~*~*~*~*
I came out
when I was sixteen.
Made no show of
showing my colours,
more interested in hanging with the shy
bookish, goth girls
(bi girls, every one of them)
than in some biology-based
Community
that I didn't feel I needed,
that I already had somewhere else.
I thought I was done.
That one announcement,
"Actually, I'm bisexual"
would do me for all time,
that any explanation of the necklace
rose quartz
amethyst, and
blue aventurine
would be beside the point,
Figured that if the
het girls don't have to come out
again and again,
why should I?
Why wear freedom rings,
dress like Ani,
march in a parade meant for people who want me to
pick a side
Didn't realize that I'd be looking for that
Community
Hunting up the Bi Women's Discussion Groups,
Aching (and frightened) to go to Dyke March
because - in my failing, hetersexual marriage - it would give me a chance
to be a little more myself
to have an identity (outside of the internet
writing girl/girl porn for the slash fans, and little else)
that allowed for the fact that
I like women
too.
*~*~*~*~*
CSIS -- Commercial Sex Information Service is a Canadian site with oodles of information (including links to a bunch of papers! Whee!)
And, while I'm a few months early:
December 17th is Red Umbrella Day
I feel like I did when I was married.
Sexually, I mean.
Wanting to cum, but dry as a freaking bone.
Why???
Maybe it's the weather.
Maybe it's my standard post-menstrual hormone crash.
Maybe it's cause there's a guy coming over to my house tonight. With other people, thank goodness.
That last, I must say, is worrying for me.
That I'm nervous about having a guy - a guy I've known for *years*, who I KNOW isn't going to try anything with me at all, ever - in my house, anywhere near my body.
Basically what I'm getting at here is that my discomfort around guys - not all guys, by any stretch of the imagination, and certainly not in all contexts, but often-enough in cases where the guys outnumber me (why do I have feelings of deja vu when I'm writing this?) - isn't just about "Oh Gods, What Will Paul Think".
This is... frustrating.
I mean, yes, duh, Amazon has Issues.
<*sigh*>
It's like I said to Ami_B a few weeks ago. Issues are like freaking cockroaches. If you see one, you just *know* there are fifty-thousand of them hiding in the walls.
And I've seen a lot more than one scuttling around *my* head, let me tell you.
<*shudder*>
On a similar note: I feel gross.
There's this icky, cloying, sickly-sweet taste in the back of my mouth (maybe that's from the amaretto cookies, I dunno), and my skin feel grimy.
The kind of icky feeling you get when you've not had enough sleep and/or it's really muggy but still too chilly to strip to your skin.
Eugh.
Also: I want cranberry juice. <*shrug*> Outta luck on that one, I guess. ;-)
You know what's really frustrating?
The fact that I don't know how long I'm going to have to do this for.
How long I'll have to keep my house looking Utterly Spotless, how long I'll have to count pennies if I go to the grocery store, how long I'll have to keep my lights on when I'm not at home, how long, how long, how long.
What's worse - or at least adding to an already sucky situation - is that I don't actually know *how* to do the kind of magic that would bring a buyer in.
I'm a fucking kitchen witch, for goodness sakes.
Everything I do is cooking and sewing, garden and table, threshold, hearth and home.
How the hell am I supposed to do magic that will sever those ties, particularly when those ties are what - in a way - lets me do the magic (in any way successfully) in the first place?
It's very, very frustrating.
This is what I wish for (on the rising moon, on the star-bursts of opeing echanacea flowers, on lightning flashes in 4am thunder storms, on a daily bloody basis):
I wish that someone (most ideally a sweet, girl!couple with a kid on the way - either from Equador or thanks to a donor - who like gardening and live lightly on the land) would come to View my house, would love it immediately, would make me an offer - by the end of this week (oh, wait, that's today!) - for $151K+, and would want to move in on the first of September.
I wish that I would have a month and a half to pack all the rest of my Stuff up, clear out the auction items and the freecycle items, and find that perfect appartment. The one on the second (or third) floor of The Elizabeth, with its all-inclusive utilities, in-building laundry, and in-appartment dishwasher for less than $850/month.
I wish I knew when (soon!!!) I would be moving out, so that I could arrange for the place I'll be moving to, could arrange for people to help me move, could pack up my books, cds, clothes, art, cleaning supplies, and what little else is left, and get ready to Get On With My Life.
Because this waiting is miserable.
This waiting is scary.
This waiting is keeping me on pins and needles, afraid to spend money I *have* (right now) on food, in case I turn out to need a few months from now (if I still haven't sold this place, and it's November, and I really need to turn the heat on quick) to cover the hydro (or whatever). I want to get on with it.
I want to - Wish To - get on with my life. And that means getting this house sold. Right now!
And now for your sporadic dose of Random Poetry:
*~*~*~*~*
Five years
o gods, what years they were
filled with grad school
house hunting and
marriage
all of which ended (too soon)
unfinished
Wish I could lift them
(five whole years)
out of my life
set them, bookended, on a shelf (next to the wedding pictures)
like a scale model of someone else's life,
an adulthood that I didn't want
or wasn't ready for
like they never happened at all,
or happened
to someone else.
*~*~*~*~*
I came out
when I was sixteen.
Made no show of
showing my colours,
more interested in hanging with the shy
bookish, goth girls
(bi girls, every one of them)
than in some biology-based
Community
that I didn't feel I needed,
that I already had somewhere else.
I thought I was done.
That one announcement,
"Actually, I'm bisexual"
would do me for all time,
that any explanation of the necklace
rose quartz
amethyst, and
blue aventurine
would be beside the point,
Figured that if the
het girls don't have to come out
again and again,
why should I?
Why wear freedom rings,
dress like Ani,
march in a parade meant for people who want me to
pick a side
Didn't realize that I'd be looking for that
Community
Hunting up the Bi Women's Discussion Groups,
Aching (and frightened) to go to Dyke March
because - in my failing, hetersexual marriage - it would give me a chance
to be a little more myself
to have an identity (outside of the internet
writing girl/girl porn for the slash fans, and little else)
that allowed for the fact that
I like women
too.
*~*~*~*~*
CSIS -- Commercial Sex Information Service is a Canadian site with oodles of information (including links to a bunch of papers! Whee!)
And, while I'm a few months early:
December 17th is Red Umbrella Day
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