I read the news today… oh, boy.

I slept really well, thanks to my new prescription for Ambien.

I woke up to deal with an almost instant flood of overwhelmed, just-fucking-can’t, anxiety and apathy and “goddamn, the world is full of shit.”

Almost all of my Facebook friends who post regularly are dealing with miserable, painful crap, there’s more killing and tragedy in the current news cycle, and even the few positive posts I’ve seen have been shit on by sarcastic, rude, asshole commenters.

If I didn’t have things I’m supposed to do this afternoon, I think I might just go to sleep again…

It’s really disappointing on the extremely rare occasions when there’s a chick who’s hot, and she’s maybe even into me… but she’s also super into religion. Or she smokes cigarettes non-stop. Or she insists that other women shouldn’t be allowed to choose what they do with their own bodies (i.e. “shaving your body hair and wearing lipstick is capitulating to the patriarchy and if you actually CARED you would change everything about yourself to suit my tastes instead!”) Or she buys into that whole trendy-in-the-bay deal (though certainly not exclusive to here) of “saving the world” through self-deprivation (which, near as I have ever been able to figure out the dogmatic religiosity of veganism, that’s what it keeps coming out as.)

Like, I really don’t expect to have every single thing in common with anyone in the world. I really don’t. And if I don’t have exactly the same tastes in music or books or movies or food or recreation as someone, no big deal! But in the same way that I wouldn’t try to date a gal who thinks that war is wonderful and we should be violently invading more countries; in the same way that I wouldn’t try to date a gal who thinks that trans* women aren’t really women, and fights to exclude some women from women’s spaces; and I wouldn’t expect to be criticized heavily for those choices — I wouldn’t think that it would be considered so gauche of me to have a few minimal standards in other areas to ensure that I’m not trying to spend time with someone who is okay with causing harm to me or to themselves.

And yet daring to say some of those things out loud — especially the one about avoiding relationships with those who have the luxury of circumstances to afford promoting self-deprivation as a positive force for good in the world — gets me dirty looks at a minimum, and often quite a rant from others about “tolerance” and “acceptance” and being “nicer” to people.

A sleepless poem, dreaming of better dreams.

Mommy, please fuck me to sleep; I am tired
But my brain keeps on running around and my
Body is telling me how much it needs you
Inside me, or anyone else that you’ve found
Who can hold me and pet me and call me “sweet girl”
While she shoves herself roughly and deeply inside
So that I get all worn out and sleepy for you
Even better if you fill me up with your cum
Leave me dipping and happy and kiss me goodnight
And my dreams will be sweet, and my morning so bright,
And I’ll know that you love me… your daughter, your slut.

Yesterday. Evening. Walking around a large thrift store near me. Browsing more to kill time than anything else. As I was looking through the wall of dresses, pulling out various fabrics and patterns that caught my eye: wave of overwhelming emotion. So much mixed into one moment. Lust. Vulnerability. Smallness. Need. Lost and hurting.

Filled with need, and I saw myself in my mind running to grab the hem of a dress and bury myself in fabric and legs and comfort, which was impossible since I haven’t been that short in a very long time. And when I was that small, I hadn’t been given the gifts of knowledge of sex, but that need was also there. Of course like any huge emotional wallop, there was scent-memory in there too, or if not memory at least an association and a visualisation (which is completely the wrong word, but whatever.) I don’t have words for the scent, because it’s a fragment like most other things.

I have been so horny and so frustrated and so alone lately, for the most part. And it hurts being alone. I have needs, I have desires, I have appetites, and those can’t be sated by my hands.

Every minute of every hour of every day there is someone around and making noise. There is not one moment that I am allowed to have to myself, not one moment that I am allowed to have a break from other people’s noise, not one moment that I have any control over my own surroundings.

The central heating has been left on all night — which isn’t even “left on” because if it were a constant sound I could at least have some chance of tuning it out, but it goes on and then goes louder and then shuts off and then a few minutes later it goes on and then goes louder and then shuts off, lather rinse repeat all night. Especially stupid when the temperature tomorrow is supposed to be near 90 again, and even more idiotic when there are windows open downstairs to get some of the overnight cool air inside the house.

I woke up because of that noise, and only moments later I was listening to a human doing an impression of a cat with a hairball, which is something she does all the time. It’s as bad as it sounds. I don’t know what her fucking issue is, just that she frequently spends minutes at a time gagging and retching and coughing and sounding pretty much like she’s got a human-sized hairball. It’s absolutely sickening.

I want out. I want control — just a little bit of control over my own environment for a change. And of course, I’m powerless to make that happen, because I’m not the one with any control.

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