Eating Myself

At the moment I'm stupidly stuck in a slow intertia of indecision
and excessive alliteration

my apologies

I went out last night dressed in a lawn bowls outfit. Instantly my movmeents slowed and I wanted to be in bed before the witching hour.

maybe its just cold?
maybe I should't try to go to NYC in the winter but sweat it out in swampy sydney wiht the mozzies?

I've been bingeing on sugar and I skipped my shiatsu and i feel like shit.

sleeping 12 hours a day

slow, very slow

I don't want to do ANYTHING

there are objective (hah!) reasons for this current miasma...... and my stomach clenches remembering them.

I've been way to close to Abel lately. Being a sweet caring sisterley type. we even shared a bed the other night
(the one night when I could't sleep and had to force myself awake to guzzle slippery elm)

I think my body is trying to tell me something.

better to be a gimlet eyed sobbing hysterical freak than this damp clamped down numbness.

i don't trust her, I can't love her and I shouldn't pretend.

its over its over its over

she wants it both ways - to have me loving her here and to lve me in retunr and then to head over the high seas to slut and co.

"objectvely" this shouldn't be a problem should it?
opne relatinoships work all the time right?
what arguments have a got against this?

none - convincingly enough that can escape from my upper lips. No reasonable grounds for opposition.

Lower lips clamp shut in damning silence.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Vagina's are wonderful things. Dependeable, honest, trustworthy. Vagina's don't lie, and they won't revela your secrets to all and sundry but discretely flitter and flap and ooze into fabric. Quietly.

my libido is dead. My soul is dead. I can't do this

she can't find a place. she's leaving the country in 3 weeks. I said 'yeah, ok leave your stuff here we'll sort it out when you get back'.

I've been considering the martyrish thing for 2 days now.

leaving my big bright pink room. all my books and paintings and vulvaed muppets. Letting her have it, stay her and work for the coop - becuase hell, I don't want to...... I'm sickof it. I'd rahter teach, write, research, pick my toenails.

I'm scared of leaving the people I like here. Scared off casting myself adrift in some new lonely suburb. Scared of bieng a martyr and what damage that willl do deep down.

and I'm torn, twisted, birfurcated.

My top half, head, hands, tits, mouth lips, arms - desperatley wants to be a nice good girlfirend. to hold her, touch her nurture, hear her voice, kiss her, have her touch me. I cna talk the talk and do the cuddle snad be ever so sweet.

bottom half refuses. Is numb.

Stomach is weird and bloated. tormented. twisted in two.

this is all extremely bad.

I have to set some limits. stop cooking her dinner, callling her name in the courtyard. giving her cuddles, lending her books. Just stop it. Let myself feel sad sobbing remorse and move on from it.

i don't have to be a bitch to her, but this is hurting me too much.

i don't want to be anyones mother, or big sister or asexual auntie.

I want to just survive somehow and get on with my life and paint and dance and have sex.

It's weird, how alcohol functions in this equation. I've been drinking more than before. Not getting rat arsed - but being looser, not holding myself away from alcohol as before. and the effect it has is to make me slow and numb and dull and stupid. Not wild and crazy and unleashed and messy.

yuck