This tooth of truth

Sunday, May 30, 2004

It's funny how my sex life has changed over the past year. It's astonishing how little I have had sex for how much I think about it. I'm not even really masturbating any more. But I think the more I have sex the more I masturbate. So maybe I sould just put my shit aside and start getting fucked more. And fucking more. Stress has never really messed up my sex life like this. Is this lesbian bed death? O is that a myth?

I love talking dirty. And nothing gets me off harder than being talked dirty to. And not vanilla dirty. I don't particularly enjoy vanilla sex (ok, maybe that's a mis-statement, because there hasn't been much sex that I didn't enjoy), and I don't want to hear vanilla speak. I want to hear what you want me to do. Or what feels good. Or what you're going to do. There's something so erotic about hearing the words for the actions that are taking place. It makes me frenzied.

What are you supposed to do with a thirst that should never be quenched? What was it that Oscar Wilde said? Something like the only way to satisfy a curiosity is to give in to it? I should have never seen that quote.

Missy and I just met John at the Eagle. God, that club is something else. There can never be too many butt-less chaps in the world, eh? I had to leave. Even though I was surrounded by happy party-goers, it seriously depressed me. The place was so dark you could honestly only see the tv's on the wall. And they were only playing clips from musicals and everybody was singing along. It was a little creepy. And deeply disturbing. Although, I was excited to see Dolly Parton singing I Will Always Love You to Burt Reynolds. So I left Missy there. She's totally comfortable in there. I felt like a freak because it was painfully evident that the only cock I own is made of silicon and it only sees the light of day from the confines of my lovers waist. Oh - and I was carrying my purse. I dunno, there was just something not right about me in that place. I love Dolly Parton.

Sunday, May 23, 2004

I don't know what it is that makes you think Taco Bell is good food after you've been drinking. And I know I'm not the only one. That's reason in itself to not drink.

Saturday, May 22, 2004

I think a lot of what it is with me right now is fear. I am paralyzed by the thought of my dad dying. I can't describe everything that is swimming around right now. Simple dumb things set me off. I just updated my virus definitions, and as I watched the progress bar, I was reminded of my dad's piece of crap computer that won't even make it through a definition download without crashing and how he always said that when he got the inheritance he was buying a new car and a new computer. Then he got sick. He still bought the new car. He really had no choice. But last time I was over there helping him out on the computer, he said "this is the last one I'll ever have." What the hell do you do with that?

I never thought my family would be dealing with terminal illness. We've dealt with chronic illness for over 10 years now. But that's somewhat controlled. And it's not terminal. Cancer is terminal. And I get no comfort from thinking that the final finale is not today or tomorrow. That we know nothing about how long it will be. The passage of time is excruciating right now. I used to believe that time heals all wounds. But right now it's ripping the wounds open and spitting venom into them. How dramatic of me (surprise) to say, but it's true.

I wish I knew that there was something that would give me comfort or respite. But when I say that it sounds so selfish. What I really want is my dad to have respite. What I really want is for the cancer to be killed without it taking my dad. It makes me feel desperate. Damn.

Some days are easier than others. Today is not one. It's hard to not think about the possibility of death all the time. Even though Dad is still alive, I have this looming sense of regret and grief - like he's already gone. I'm mourning the loss of him before I've gone through it. Mary says it's because my sub-conscious is preparing me for the time when I will have to be the solid-headed one of the family and keep everyone together and going. Which is not a far stretch from reality. Peace keeper. The calm in the storm. But it's unfortunate that I'm wasting valuable time with my dad when he is here because I'm wrapped up in thinking about the what-ifs and what it will be like. I catch myself thinking that way and it doesn't even sound like me thinking or talking. It can't be. It doesn't seem real. It shouldn't be.

What I really want is for him to be there when I graduate. I want him to see his youngest finally receive her BS - and from a Catholic college to boot. I don't think he ever really thought I would do it. I want him to be here when I do. It's really only 9 months away. I feel like that is a lot to ask. That makes me really sad.

Wednesday, May 19, 2004

Back to it

Ask me no questions.