da da da duuuh.
here's my new insights on how i can still be me, only better!
-think before i open my mouth
-when i do open it, keep what comes out simple and honest
-count my blessings
-let it go. just let it go. it doesn't have to be navigated.
whew! even contemplating following this is a load off of life.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
An Exercise in Honesty
Well, I'm back. It's been a long time since I've felt comfortable posting anything on here but emotionally ambiguous exercises in creative showmanship.
it's time to just start writing again. Spilling my guts. Keeping it real. Getting back to me, a concept which i write with hot flashes of fear and loathing about just what that has become. There's the real me. The spunky, sunshiny, in-your-face with ideas and always ready for an intellectual debate, single me. Then there's the I'm-trying-real-hard-here, sweet, submissive relationship me. The whoa-I-didn't-know-that-side-came-out-when-I'm-in-love-pretend-you-didn't-see-that me. Then there's the I'm-bad-cause-you-say-so-and-I'll-try-harder-I'm-sorry-me. Then there's the I'd-just-shut-up-and-be-what-you-want-if-I-could-just-keep-up-with-what-that-is me.
That's a lot of strung-together me's. The first is mostly happy, but lonely. The next is a place I'd like to be more often, and after that's a creature I'm glad to have the chance to nip and tuck. The rest are mostly sad but held at night. Either way, looks like I get about 50-50 across the emotional spectrum, which is at least a comforting thought to buoy my sinking self esteem with.
I'm trying real hard these days to combine the asserted and accused above me's into a hybrid forcefield of pleasure-making for the one who so demands it. My boyfriend.
My world. Rapidly becoming my universe. My everything.
The one for whom no amount of effort is ever quite good enough.
it's time to just start writing again. Spilling my guts. Keeping it real. Getting back to me, a concept which i write with hot flashes of fear and loathing about just what that has become. There's the real me. The spunky, sunshiny, in-your-face with ideas and always ready for an intellectual debate, single me. Then there's the I'm-trying-real-hard-here, sweet, submissive relationship me. The whoa-I-didn't-know-that-side-came-out-when-I'm-in-love-pretend-you-didn't-see-that me. Then there's the I'm-bad-cause-you-say-so-and-I'll-try-harder-I'm-sorry-me. Then there's the I'd-just-shut-up-and-be-what-you-want-if-I-could-just-keep-up-with-what-that-is me.
That's a lot of strung-together me's. The first is mostly happy, but lonely. The next is a place I'd like to be more often, and after that's a creature I'm glad to have the chance to nip and tuck. The rest are mostly sad but held at night. Either way, looks like I get about 50-50 across the emotional spectrum, which is at least a comforting thought to buoy my sinking self esteem with.
I'm trying real hard these days to combine the asserted and accused above me's into a hybrid forcefield of pleasure-making for the one who so demands it. My boyfriend.
My world. Rapidly becoming my universe. My everything.
The one for whom no amount of effort is ever quite good enough.
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