In Springtime, The Only Pretty Ring Time

I've just come back from a nice long weekend at my folks. They live in a rather rural area, with a pond in the back, surrounded by trees, deer, squirrels, woodsy walking paths. It was a quadruple deal sorta weekend--I got dental work done (Renewal of the Mouth, Rebirth, that's spring-like, sorta), Dad's birthday, Annual Spring Party, and Mother's Day. My sister came home for a surprise visit from out west, and so that was rather joyous. Many guests at the party complimented me on my weight loss. And for the first time ever, really, I can't remember when this has ever been the case--I was thinner than my younger sister. Which was wild. Because I looked at her, and thought she looked great. And then my brother whispered later, You're smaller than her now, you know. And I realized that I was. And that was rather awesome. In a very narcissistic and vain sort of way.

Now I'm back in the city, and awaiting the return of my boyfriend tomorrow who has been away for two weeks. I've missed him a ton. We barely got a chance to speak the last two weeks. I'm so craving his touch. And all his kisses. And his stories. I'm achey for it. Kind of melancholy.

I wrote nearly 20 pages last week of a new project I'm working on. Which is also rather exciting. I'm not sure how good it is, I'm not sure what will become of it, I'm not quite sure what it is, really. But I'm glad to have a new project under my wing. My best work I figure out as I make it. When Janie sits down to write a specific thing, with a plot structure--it's a disaster.

I suppose I work best, in writing and in life, in a non-linear fashion.

So yeah, you take all that stuff--and I'm feeling rather on edge. I would like a real big live job. I would like to start making money again. I would like to lose a lot of weight this summer. I would like to get fucked really hard. I would like to perhaps find another apartment in the fall. I would like a lot of things.

I'm not unhappy. I'm not depressed. I'm not exactly invigorated in every part of my life right now but I think that's only because I have a lot on my mind. There's a lot of potential energy wiggling in a tight little place in my soul right now. Nothing very kinetic. Just a lot of could-be action.

I'm also very eager to have anal sex this week. Hah. That came out of nowhere, right? I suppose not completely out of nowhere, given that this is a sex blog. But it's true. Two weeks without any sexy time makes a girl eager.

Posts like these generally feel strange to write. Because it's like, I don't tell you guys what's going on as much as I used to. I mean, I also think I don't check in as much as I should with myself either these days. There is something about not working which makes me feel, I don't know, less thoughtful. Because I'm ALWAYS with myself. The pensive nature comes less frequently because there is sort of a constant, rather mediocre self-reflection going on, even if it's not that terribly useful. If that makes any sense.

I think I've written about change in this way before--that change happens constantly, that it's very rarely a big "Bang, look, you've changed! Something just happened inside of you and you're a different person! What are you going to do with this new self of yours?" That doesn't really happen all that often.

**NOTE: At this point, I lost half of my blog post. It was big and long and awesome and pensive, and then it went bye-bye into the Internets. I am currently rather upset with its disappearance, but I'm going to press on. And try to recreate things...

REAL POST CONTINUED...

My boyfriend said something really interesting to me a few months back. Passions are cultivated. Very few of us are born with that "calling," or that thing that compels us to do something that we've felt we always needed to do. He said that passions come from interests. From realizing, "I am interested in that thing. I shall study it more and it shall become even more important to me as I discover what it is." I have always enjoyed writing. But more and more these days, and this could be because of fear, I have found that my writing seems to be more of a fierce hobby than something I want to make my career out of. But honestly--I don't know what I want my career to be. Trying to figure this out scares me. I apply for many jobs, none of them pan out (mostly due to the economy, not due to my lack of experience) and so, I retreat. I retreat into a sort of stillness. That prevents me from feeling uncomfortable. But there comes a time when the stillness DOES feel uncomfortable. My metaphysical legs start to fall asleep and although I know it's going to feel weird to stand up--it's going to feel like I don't have legs at all, it's going to sting, and zing, and tingle--but I know that it's necessary. Because I'll get my legs back eventually if I just start moving them.

My career needs to get its legs back. If it ever had legs to begin with. Maybe it didn't. Maybe I need to make them. Out of what, not sure.

I know I don't have to feel alone in all of this. I know my situation is not unique. This is the thing about "situations"--especially about the bloggable situations. Whether it's about love, or lack of love, or jobs, or friends, or lack of jobs and friends, or family, or lack of family--they're all common experiences. And so I take comfort in that.

This post is becoming something new, by the way. The first draft--I'm not sure what it was.

I know I'm terribly capable of a lot. That I'm blessed with brains and humor and creativity and good health. I could do anything. Doesn't that sort of suck? Ha. Not really. But knowing that I could do anything makes the problem of my destiny rather formidable. I have definitely said that before.

I have not listened to my body in a few days. Not really. I ate a lot this weekend (a few parties will do that to a girl), and I didn't have a lot of privacy to get my business done. My SEXUAL bizness that is. In fact, I haven't masturbated since Wednesday. Haven't gotten off since then. As I've said, my man returns tomorrow. But the answer to my current fog of thoughts seems to be: Get off. Have an orgasm.

It's not a cop-out, I don't think. I'm one of the brainier, headier people I know. I think my head works harder than my heart, harder than my cunt. Though my heart and cunt are quickly catching up. Thankfully.

I'm gonna let my pussy talk for a bit. See what she comes up with. See if even the clarity of coming makes anything else I'm trying to figure out become, um, clearer.

I want to be productive. I'm just not always sure what I want to produce. I'm a machine. I'm a machine in the back of the warehouse that used to do something awesome. What do I do? What is my function?

Right now--in this tiny little moment--orgasm.