| now is | once was | came from | heard tell |

8:41 p.m. - 2004-06-12

fear

Today I am hung over and non productive. I spent several hours curled up on my bed watching the light change on my ceiling. I should learn that a bottle of red wine followed by three beers is a silly, silly, silly idea that does not lead to essays being done! It did however lead to excellent sex, which is surprising. Alcohol + sex usually = bad, but apparently if I'm sober enough to climb up the bartender's scary steep staircase in wobbly heels, I'm sober enough to fuck. Even if I do wake up with a pounding pounding headache that tells me I was indeed not sober at all.

She looks so fucking good in her work uniform. I have mentioned this before, I know. I just can't get over it. Femme friend and I were sitting watching her at work, giggling and perving late Friday night. White t-shirt under black button-down shirt. Black pants and boots. Gelled cow-licked black hair, bright blue eyes. She knows she looks good, she shows it off. She joined us when her shift finished, and femme friend's transboyfriend showed up, so it wound up being an odd sort of double-date. The boys cracking jokes on one side of the table and the femmes rolling their eyes on the other. Eventually femme friend announced loudly that we'd all be better off if we just went home and fucked, so we did. Separately, more's the pity. Sexual tension between femme friend and I is growing sharply. We were flashing our knickers at each other in the bathroom, ostensibly comparing brands and fits. Hmm.

The bartender took me home and stripped me in stages, so I was lying in her arms in knickers, stockings and patent fetish heels, and drunk as I was the look on her face sticks in my memory. I am so scared of her, terrified she's going to pull the same stunt as last time. It is scary to finally have what I have wanted for so long and know that it could at any minute disappear. With a phone call, a confession and a polite reserve. Scary to know that she is back under my skin so quickly, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I cooked an excessively elaborate meal tonight, butter chicken from scratch and mini apple pies with hand-whipped cream (whipping cream is much harder than whipping people, and not nearly as much fun). I could pretend that it amounted to productivity of some sort but I would be lying. I have a 3000 word essay to write and a media project to finish and I have spent all day doing fuck all. I am trying to pretend that if I rest today, I will actually get stuff done tomorrow. Hah! Even I don't believe me. I still intend to spend all night on the sofa watching bad television though.

- |+

[Phone Home] - 2005-02-22

[She hurts, even from here, she hurts.] - 2005-02-11

[Two weeks and counting] - 2005-01-31

[Dirty] - 2005-01-20

[Here Now] - 2005-01-18