It's PMS time again, and everything is upside down, I've tied my hair back so tightly because I'm terrified that what is left of my composure will drip like old honey from the ends of my curls and into the great voicelessness.
cf remains to be one of the few remaining men who can make me cry. And the way his voice cracked on the phone just now as we both played temporary hookey from overburned schedules...
At least you make it beautiful, cf. That's all I can even think to say... But I'm glad you tried it in the first place.
And now, try to fix it or try to get over it, but I think the moratorium on whining runs out within the hour, beeyatch. ;)
Last night was the first night that I crawled underneath not-so-strange-anymore flannel covers and into an awaiting man's arms, and simply went to sleep without pretense or motion towards sexual escapades. We talked awhile, and and he held my hand as my fingers shook with nicotine withdrawal and he stroked my cheek and pointed out that he didn't understand what I was feeling at all, but that he admired me for it nonetheless.
ANd I wanted to scream "WHY DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!?" (but I got over expecting them to back when I needed it most in high school) and I wanted to let tears come streaming down my face and pound my fists against his chest and I wanted to BREAK BREAK BREAK EVERYTHING and we're still not sure if it's part PMS and part nic-fit and part the fact that Daniel is too stupid a man to be allowed to live and yet somehow he feels the need to become "intimately involved" in my projects and...
Oh, I don't know. My brain aches and I miss the grey chill of the basement here, and I miss the comfortable first haul, so graceful in my mind the drawing in of glorious nicotine... When I handed my last pack of smokes away it was in response to a challenge, now I am asking myself why I would ever want to...
And I have no time left for him this week, tonight until Sunday, all taken, all squirrelled away and promised away, and still so many more things that I want to have time to do...
...but right now I'm tired of pressing them against the thin walls of my cerebrum, the pressure is manifesting itself in the way I snap at people, and I'm not liking it.
And I almost yelled at David yesterday, in his bed, in his house, after he'd been kind enough to babysit me the entire evening, I'd almost screamed at him as if I had any sort of right to.
And I know that I'm not ready to be close to anyone yet, not if I am still on the verge of the irrational when things become too intimate, when the pressure builds too high.
I will not be a stupid girl. I will not scream unless I am screaming to be heard over the rushing of some great injustice. I will not react nor overreact, and I will not torture a kind man simply because I am an animal and I am wounded.
I'm not ready to be allowed near people yet, but I am getting closer. Now if only we could stop everyone else.