Canned Fury

Dear Diary it's been awhile...

I almost gave up on this space.  I've had a happy life for awhile, or at least one in which I've been satisfactorily (is that a word) distracted.  I forgot about you.  But I come back now--do you feel at all used?  Like a tool?  Sorry.  I'm wracked with guilt again.

My cycles; guilt, anger turned inward, then self hatred, then repair, then guilt...
New cycle:  guilt, anger turned outward, externalized hatred, then repair, then guilt...

what would I do without the anger?  Why can't I just live in peace?  I've been without a boyfriend now for awhile.  I broke up with him.  He kept asking where I went when we fucked; I couldn't tell him, and then it disturbed me that I couldn't tell him, and then I began to doubt how close we really were.

In the end, I went elsewhere.  For real.  I got drunk at the bar, and put my hand on a guy friend's thigh while looking straight into his eyes.  I'd never done such a thing before, maybe it was the liquor, or maybe it was that anger I just referred to.  I moved my hand up, and I could feel him go hard, both in his pants and in his eyes.  He became an entirely different concept in that moment--it was an animal thing.

I'd never felt so powerful, and that made the anger dissipate, and made me say 'screw my guilt.'  And then, dear diary, I screwed HIM.  "Let's get out of here," he said, and I nodded. 

I remember I'd forgotten to wear nice underwear.  Don't chicks usually wear something black and lacy for this sort of thing?  I was wearing cotton briefs and a tshirt bra.  Not matching, even.  I guess I wasn't that drunk if my underwear concerned me.  But it was a flash of heat, those initial groping, horny moments, and it burned the thoughts of my underwear right out of me.

Unfortunately, my friend wasn't so good a screw.  It was hot until we started actually screwing.  The guy had no rhythm--it shouldn't have surprised me, he's not a good dancer.  When he came inside me, i felt a relief that it was over.  I'd never tell him that, but the temptation to have sex with him again is no longer here.  But he did what I needed him to do--he stick his dick in me, and undid the relationship I didn't have the guts to undo myself. 

The boyfriend and I were over. 

Where did I go when I was fucking him? 

Secret Diary

One thing you'll learn about me is that I'm really messed up. But I know I'm messed up, and I can only guess that that makes me a little better off than people who don't even know how fucked up they are.

when you don't even know what you don't know, isn't that a whole other level of lost?

So I'm only sort of lost. Like I'm in the neighborhood, just circling a bit. What do I tell you? Do I use you as a secret diary? Except that it's not secret, there's a whole legion of you reading! But if you don't know who I am, does that make for any privacy? There's anonymity in that, I think.

Or maybe these are secrets that I just don't want to keep.

Secret #1
My boyfriend the other week, asked me "where I go" when he fucks me. I of course answered, "Whatever do you mean?"
He said that it seemed like I totally go somewhere else, mentally. I told him I didn't.
But that's a total lie. I really do think about other things. I can't just think about him, though I totally love him.

is that fucked up?
yah.
But I told you I was.

Hello World

Hello World! That's the first program most programmers write in "C" language -- not that I'm a C programmer mind you, or even a techie. But I thought those words would be a fitting start to my new weblog.