sitting typing into the night because i'm home and it's nice to be in my pink nest and I saw alight under Abel's door before and now I can't sleep want to escape into the net, not think not feel.
this is frightfully hellish!
so I'm surfing net/checking out other bloggers, feeling less lonely in my insomnia
just checked out Manky's oldish posting on straighties.......
and wondered what the fuck i'm doing with my life
I had a member of the oppoiste sex coo me into somnambulence a few hours ago and hopefully will call and coo me out of it in the morning....and after 2 nights in purgatory I'll go and nestle in his neat and tidy flat and be fed coffee, avocado and cliff views in the mornings and other things at other times, comfort, stimulation, conversation, sex.
It's all swimmingly blissful really
thank dog part of me says.
this is karma - the nice bit for putting up with so much shit at home.
shit from psycho fuckface neighbour, fucking abortion of biological family, and fucking daily postmortems with the wife.
so she's been back for a week
glad to see her, not glad to see her. Love chatting, we had breakfast on tuesday and I was a vague braindead wreck after.
Decided to have a bath, cut various bits of hair and dance around to vintage madonna
Wrote in my diary because I felt completely split in - pulled apart by two different realities.
the reality of loving her, nostalging the past, still dreaming of a future - ya know the pink picket fence of a nice girl, nice baby nice dog?
meanwhile praying earnestly inwardly that swollen breasts, vagueness, bloating and huge appetite are premenstrual, not preabortional.
loving her, so glad to have her around, imagine her, dream her... and being so hurt, cut, punched inside and so happy to be able to runaway to someone else.....
who incidently - I'm not sure how would fit into my queer career, let alone my circle of madder younger, wierder friends or this house, this suburb, while she's here,
So I'm straddling two incompatible realities - reminding of the ghastly patterns of performance, playing, double speak complete insane contradiction of my childhood.
am I just playing out my old girl games: being one role to one person and playing another with someone else.
not to self: don't take up bigamy if I can avoid it.
so anyway, last night in his bed, the ghost of her scent filled my nostrils and I shed silent little tears.
the night before Abel had been sobbing on my couch in my room in front of the bar radiator. fuji had turned up to give me a shiatsu and we were all chatting and Able and I were singing Kath Elliss's song.... "I'll be FINE" to each other.......
because singing and laughing are great outlets for hysterical sobs......
and I'm a stupid softy and don't want to cut her cold, or that part of me that loves her and is sitll linked to her. But every hug, eveyr word, eveyr soft look...just act like stupid little shoots of longing inside me.....
hmmm breakup as privet weed
and I have no time for drawing no inclination for painting.
the last attempt was a little coloured sketch of the rasberry/vanilla features of Abel. I dashe dit out while singing in the skethc club.
colour, abel, paint, feeling, singing, abel, pink, rouge, creamy white, chocolate.
mixed crazy marks with a brush - all done from this feeling of her inside me, holding me, guiding me.....
La vanille et Framboise
c'est le Mamelle du destin
It's very hard to let this go.
but I MUST. so have late dinner now, hide in room tomorrow morning before she leaves. swallow lump in throat when I see her out tomorrow at that opening - hide in room when she returns tomrrow night . repeat all of the above on friday, hold it in till I can jump on a very with a bag of books and migrate north to nice cofining escape. Where i'll be fed, nurtured, comforted, entertained, stimulated, healed, fucked... but won't go looking for any girls, and wont' find any and hey look! this is how people crawl back into closets don't they?
I think lady stain has just arrived
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