October 27, 2010 - 8:57
Making teen-sexsuicide jokes with the plugged-in blow dryer: "You can put the tip in...but that's it."
Escapist Selkie fantasies, and shrieks from low in me that come out thin.
So was the bar.
Dusk-dreams of leaping onto stools and screaming at just everyone, even the ones I would normally get on with. The lotto machine chattering at me with it's mindless language of suction cup pops and robot girl tittering. Eventually kicking it hard enough to get me 86ed if I weren't already on my way out.
As I write the couple above engages in earnest intercourse. No voyeuristic pleasure to be had, but a pang and a twinge of the beauty that was here just yesterday. A boy's flushed cheek against a floral pillowcase, but there is nothing now.
I think I could safely say that I am falling into full on des-pression mode, as in Winter '07 passed. I do sense, and fear, that it will be harder in her absence; and though I see the pattern, difficult to avoid.
I just am a bit weaker now, it is as a stubborn injury,
and everything is harder when you're hurt.