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

10:55 p.m. - 2004-07-12

babies

I'm not good at dealing with total disinterest. I think that's what I should have learnt from the past two years of my romantic history, if nothing else. Pain, torment, anger and fury are all much easier to deal with in my lovers than total disinterest. Imagine how horrible it is to realise that someone is bored by you. Best to bail before it gets to that point, I think. Best to go stalking the streets and finding someone a little more, well, a little more interested. Someone who gives a fuck. That would be nice.

She will never say to me that she doesn't want me around. Once again, she will leave it to me to say it. Does that make it my responsibility? Is it okay for me to just wander off, cultivate new interests, and simply forget to ever tell her?

I'm sick, cold-sick, stuffy headed and runny nosed and coughing. I hate it. Too sick to achieve anything but not quite sick enough to skip work without guilt. Last night she said to me, this woman who is so rapidly losing interest, "How many extra days are you going to work through the holidays?". Is it that normal? For people to never have a holiday? For a holiday from uni to be simply extra time to work? I'm working extra, don't get me wrong, but apparently it would be more normal for me to be working full time. She never, ever takes holidays. It is rare for her even to have weekends. Perhaps right there lies the gap between us.

I saw my niece today. She's nine months old. Fat and grub-like and terribly cute. She's very interactive. I sat on the floor in a shop surrounded by shoppers and made faces at her to keep her entertained. Fed her mush from a jar and quite happily wore what she spat back at me. She's wonderful and exhausting. I have no concept of how people do that full time. My sister seems to have halved in size every time I see her. She's thinner now than she was before she was pregnant. If she doesn't stop shrinking I might start to worry.

The sad truth has dawned on me that all the hurt the blue-eyed poet heaped on me, the first woman I fell in love with, has faded. At least a little. The fear she instilled in me of dating women as intensely intelligent and poetic as her has begun to leave. I realise all over again that I date women who don't challenge me mentally because I'm terrified of having someone work me over the way she did. So I start to push back a little from the bartender. Not that I think I couldn't fall in love with her- I could, very easily. But maybe I'm not going to chase her as desperately as I might have. Maybe now I want something stronger than simply corresponding gender desires. The chance of ever finding it seems horribly slender. I'm trying not to think about it.

What I am thinking about, kink-wise, is child-play. I'm thinking about the b*byboi, about Daddies and Mummies and Uncles, and about the little girl in me. I'm thinking how much fun it would be to be brought together with other 'children' and made to play for the pleasure of the 'parents'. I think that was the way I connected most powerfully with the boi, was when the little girl in me came giggling and bubbling out and we played like two children together. I want more of that. More simple, totally innocent wickedness.

- |+

[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