Reading & Writing

Thursday, June 19th 2008 at 6:06pm


Talking about things that I have read is pretty much silly. That probably sounds like the dumbest thing I ever said since all we can really talk about that is interesting is things we’ve read or heard. If you saw it on TV, it’s probably not half as interesting... What I mean to say is, talking about the things I’ve read on the internet, when you could read them yourself from the original source is silly. I rest my argument about health on the following: Dr. Mark Hyman has thousands of testimonials to his case, as well as being a legitimate doctor who has written somewhere around seven successful books. As I’ve said a zillion times, his advice that I read online caused me to loose thirty pounds, to sleep more soundly, to have more energy, and got rid of a terrible painful chronic burping in combination with stomach aches.

While I stress high fructose corn syrup as the bad guy, the truth is, that there is a very intricate balance to our body which only can be understood through a lot of testing and examining. And Dr. Mark Hyman has done the testing and examining required to “prove” his points. In addition, he’s broken down his experiences in such a way that they’re easy to read on his online blog. He’s founded the Ultra Wellness Foundation and the practices used there work. Yes, for some people sugar is not a relevant issue in their life, but every single one of us has a different chemical make-up and that’s what functional-medicine is all about: finding the root cause for the individual and not just giving them a diagnoses. However, sugar, aspartame and hydrogenated oils do not hold nutritional value for any human being on the planet. Things like pasta and milk I believe can be “bad” or “good” depending on the chemical make-up, diet and lifestyle of the person consuming them, which is why I don’t simply say things like “quit dairy, gluten, grains, and all forms of sugar including cane sugar!” because that is only necessary for some people. Since I’m not qualified to judge which people those are, I repeat, read what Dr. Mark Hyman has to say for yourself.





Jeff,

Having a reading list on your blog is an awesome idea. My list would be MUCH shorter, but nevertheless, I'm considering making one. It's great that you've read so many books, and even better that it's such a good selection. Thanks for stopping by my blog. I hope to see you again. (I didn't check your list too throughly, I just read a few titles. But if you have not read any books by Joan Grant... Well, you should. Out of all the books I've read, none are more astonishing in their creation, and even more amazing in their deep wisdom that is simply lost on the modern world.)

My favorite authors are Joan Grant, Carol Berg and Erica Jong. I've actually not done much vampire reading. The older I get the more I shy away from anything bloody, but then again, Carol Berg writes some very intense combat scenes...

Good luck to your health. Aspartame has caused people brain damage in the past. No kidding. Some people it's not so dramatic in effect and gives "mild" pains. For me, artificial sugars give me serious leg cramps that keep me from sleeping. I once accidentally ate yogurt that had splenda in it every day for a week. One the second day the pain started on got worse every day. I didn't figure out until the yogurt ran out and when the pain stopped completely three days after it had run out. Needless to say, I'm against all sugars unless it naturally milled cane sugar (which should be in moderation) and honey (which should also be in moderation). And I only eat either of the two when I'm using it to make something very healthy tasty too. Like tea or organic granola.

I hope to hear from you again.




Angel writes me:


Hey Atara,


Sorry it took awhile for me to respond but I went to go visit my aunt for awhile. While I was at my aunt’s house, I was telling her all about you. I told her that I really wanted to be able to go visit you and to just meet you. I think you should know that I really love receiving emails from you; it always makes my day better in a hundred small ways. I also feel like you’re my long lost sister. Don’t worry you won’t ever lose me… I have to admit I feel the way you do when it comes to your friend Marie from California. I feel that when we meet, I won’t make a good impression on you then you’ll leave me alone and I’ll be sitting here wondering what I did wrong of if there was anything wrong with me. I hate that thought; I try not to think about it but it’s difficult to push aside… yeah I know what you mean when you say we’re on the same wave length. Every time I read your past entries, it just feels like I’m you when you were younger or something (Of course, I wasn’t as “wild” as you are.) It’s crazy but cool.

While I was at my aunt’s house, I was eating foods that I wouldn’t normally eat like tacos, chocolate cake, ice-cream, chips, gum and slushy drinks. And I swear every time I finished eating, I would get an incurable headache that lasted all throughout the day. Also every morning I would awake with the most painful stomachache ever. I would lie there in bed holding my stomach, on the verge of tears, trying to ignore the physical pain. I’m still eating the foods that I wouldn’t normally eat because I haven’t gone shopping yet and I don’t want to starve myself. So I guess I’m hurting myself by eating these ugly foods because I don’t want to starve. Does that make sense? Here’s a strange fact about me, whenever I get a headache, I’ll go obtain me some type of fruit (mostly apples) and the pain occasionally fades away…..

*sigh*
When I read your most recent entry about My boyfriend’s “two sides” I said to myself, “Wow, that’s how I feel.” I had an emotional breakdown yesterday evening. I was texting my ex and I told him something which got him mad and upset. He responded to me with an accusation of liking his friend and saying that he had to go or whatever and so I told him “Well, I guess this is it.” He immediately replied with “What do you mean this is it?” He continuously kept texting me but I never responded. I just sprawled onto my bed crying… I felt like I lost a friend or something. I laid there drowned in my own tears and at the same time this voice in my head kept saying, “Angel, don’t cry. Wipe your tears, this will all pass by.” I sat up on the bed and thought about it, trying to fight the feeling that I felt. I kept crying but then the voice inside my head said, “Get up and look yourself in the mirror and ask yourself why you’re crying.” So I did just that and it was very strange. I felt like I was two persons trapped inside one body. One side of me wanted to cry; that side of me was recklessly cursing, asking “why” and saying that I hated my ex. The other side of me was calm; that side of me was reassuring myself that this is nothing to cry over and it was also saying, “I don’t hate Darren but I wish I could.” …. I was also nearly screaming to God; saying “God, you’re my life. People say if God is in your life, you won’t feel lonely anymore and your problems will vanish. But I can’t bring myself to believe that right now. God, if you’re in my life then why do I feel so lonely all the time? Why do I feel so misunderstood and confused still? I’m not supposed to be this girl anymore!!!” I sounded all crazy but somehow I managed to take one last glance at myself in the mirror and promise myself not to cry. It was a very traumatic episode……

Ohh and about my ex: I asked him (before I got him mad) if I didn’t give him the second chance, if he would quit speaking with me. He said, he would still talk with me but he’d feel stupid. That made me feel great but after what happened (me saying “this is it”) I don’t think he’d be willing to speak with me and even if he did, it wouldn’t be the same. I know for a fact that he’d act differently and it would be uncomfortable. I’m beginning to believe like everyone else when they say that keeping contact with an ex is simply impossible. I don’t want to be like that though. I want to be his friend. I really do but ….. I don’t know. Most of the time I tell myself that I won’t go back to him because he hasn’t change and other times I tell myself “Just give it another shot. You’re young, it’s not like you’re going to marry the guy.” I guess this would also be another example of my “two sides.” It’s like my logical side is constantly feuding with my reckless side. I’m not reckless but my thoughts are. (If that makes any sense) I like the fact that you pointed out the whole “he may have self-control issues” because I’ve been trying to point that out that but I could never find the right way to explain it. I think that his thoughts have shifted a bit but his actions will remain the same. That’s what I also told him and he said, “Well, I know I changed. I know some things before that I didn’t know.” I asked him what he meant by that and he said that he felt unsure when we were together because he didn’t know if I really liked him and he felt like a mess-around. Honestly, that makes sense to me……..


Thursday, June 19th 2008 at 7:35pm


Angel,

Perhaps we are sisters. Just because we’re not sisters of the flesh doesn’t mean we’re not sisters in spirit, right?

People are all many-sided. I think that’s something we grow to accept more and more starting at puberty. I used to feel like I had about four different parts of myself constantly fighting. For most people I think this is rooted in conflicting wants. This sense of having multiple selves was the most dramatic for me in 2004 when I wrote a short series of “splitpersonality” entries expressing my different points of view as though they were different people.

I had the part of me that was rather slutty, and constantly horny. That part of me was very carefree and very open to drugs and experimentation and loved to party, flirt, have sex, and toy with men. I believe I called her Persilla. Then, there was Layla, the part of me that wanted to be loved, and didn’t want to stray from my morals and wanted to make real friends and to read and indulge in art and reading and self expression. Then there was the very depressed side of me, the cynical part that would claim the entire argument was madness and that sex and love were both temporary, and that life was temporary and that I’d never be satisfied and that life was just a ball of shit. Okay, so that’s only three, not four, but I found that often when I had an “important” decision to make I’d find that I could identify with two to four sides of the argument and wouldn’t know where to turn.

Questioning yourself is healthy in my opinion. Doubting yourself however, is not healthy. Recognizing our inner duality is wise, letting that duality actually tear us into two people or more is insanity, literally. I find that I feel less and less like I have two sides to a point. Generally I can question my own motives until I find my most inner belief that is deeper than my two external thoughts.

For example, you want to hate Darren, but you also want to love Darren, but you also want Darren out of your life, but you also don’t want to have to let him out of your life, am I right? These seem like contradictions, but deep down, you know better. These are not contradictions. You want to hate Darren because you love Darren. You don’t want to love Darren because he’s hurt you and you believe he will continue to hurt you in the future, and for this reason you want him out of your life. But because you love him, you still wish you could keep some sort of contact with him. And as much as it sucks to know and hear, it’s common. I’ve been there, along with many other thousands of people. What isn’t common is being able to make sound judgement on the situation, and I’m not saying I’m one to do so.

I read the “I like you because...” chain-mail letter. It’s cute I suppose. Sort of like buying a card for someone that one thousand other people have already bought and given to someone... I like writing my own personal messages. Not that I object to receiving cards that thousands of others have received, just that I mind sending them myself. I like you because you’re open to new ideas, because I see myself in you, because I believe you have a strong will, a powerful heart and that you’re beautiful on the inside (though I can’t speak for you outside since I never saw it, lol) and I also believe that you’re going to brighten a lot of lives with your spark throughout your lifetime. I like you because you’re willing to give and to get, and so many of us can only do one or the other. I find it’s hard to talk to anybody who can talk and listen just as well.

My Mom knows all that I know about you, and she says she’d love to have you over for a month this summer. A whole freaking month! I said that a month might scare you away, and that your parents would probably never allow it, and that it might be difficult financially for everyone. But I thought I’d let you know that you have her invite for an entire month. I personally think a week is more reasonable for a first visit, and I don’t want us to tread on each other’s toes on our first meeting.

My mother wants to provide you with air-fare and everything, but that’s pie in the sky because she can’t even afford to fix our car at the moment! So, speaking from what I know about our financial limitations, I can say that if you can find the money for air-fare, and enough pocket-change to feel comfortable while you’re here that we’ll pick you up from the air port, provide your meals, your bed, and your entertainment. All you need after that is your parent’s permission.

One last detail is that we plan on going to the SFX convention at the end of August. This is an amazing convention and it takes place in Toronto. Tickets are $50 each, and I think we could afford to take you along (in terms of bed & transportation) for another $50. I don’t know your parent’s financial situation, but if we met prior to then, like perhaps in July, then you might decide you want to return soon for another week or so, and if you could afford $100 extra, then you could come on the last week of August and come to SFX with us. (Us means My boyfriend, me and my mother, my Dad has no preference for going.)

I imagine that you staying here would mean you using my futon, which is perfectly comfortable, since I used to use it as my bed, until I switched the two futons. (One is always up in couch position and the other is always down in bed position. I could simply put the “couch” one down at night for you.) This would mean very little privacy for both of us for the week, which is another reason why I think a week is more reasonable for a first visit since it might be hard to be that personal with me the first time you meet me for such an extended period of time.

If My boyfriend decides to be your friend too (which may be a little difficult because he’s so quiet and distant to people he doesn’t know) then you may find that he’ll offer to pay your way to come with us to SFX and such. But I can’t make that offer in his name, which is another reason why I think you should come down for a week sometime in the near future. I hope we can become like sisters in the flesh sometime soon, and not just in the spirit.

Love,

Phoenix


Friday, June 20th 2008 at 10:15pm


How blessed this day is to not be too hot or too cold. How wonderful it is to have running hot water! How ordinary these two things are, and how completely ignored those things were yesterday. Today however they were overly appreciated, because otherwise I would have suffered much more the monthly torture we so blithely call “cramps” as if that could ever describe the feeling!

Back when I was on birth control I thought it was just awful to have something akin to a stomachache crossed with abdominal cramps and gas pains for several hours every other month. I didn’t know the meaning of “cramps” then, because then the term “cramps” was quite adequate a description of the womanly hardship.

Now I know what I would have gone through the past ten years if I had not been on birth control for eight of them. Cramps are not just in the abdominal region, but also within your thighs, and then your calves, and so deeply rooted in your bowels that you never stop feeling like you have to take a dump. I spent almost two hours on the toilet today with my entire floor-length thick-fuzzy bathroom wadded up on top of my thighs pressed to my stomach, hunched over constantly feeling on the verge of vomiting, with waves of goose-bumps that felt more like needle-pricks which very quickly escalates into a headache from all the contortions I’ve been putting my face in.

It wasn’t long before I decided that “drastic action” was necessary. And by which I mean that I swallowed three calcium tablets (with magnesium and zinc added) and ate a package of rice crisps while hiding under a large pile of blankets... At least from the waist down. From the waist up I’ve actually been rather hot all day, but not as hot as I would have been had it been like on of those days out of last week...

Drastic action was carried from pills and crisps to a very hot bath. This many sound quite ordinary to most anyone, but I actually can’t stand truly hot water on most occasions. I don’t generally like hot-tubs unless they are warm-tubs in disguise. My mother claims I bathe in luke-warm water, almost cool water. I find my mother’s dish-washing water to be hotter than I can stand. However, there are times when nothing but very hot water will due, and this was one of those times.

I spent four hours in the tub, almost three of which I spent reading the exciting mid-chapters of second far-memory book by Joan Grant in the Egyptian tale of Ra-ab. One of the two books is called the Eyes of Horus but I can’t remember if it’s the one I’m reading now, or the first one. Perhaps the other is called the Watchers of the Horizon. It’s truly a must-read, even more so than the Earth’s Children series by Jean Auel, and even more so Fear of Flying by Erica Jong. Yes, there is much wisdom in those books, but it is completely in the shadow of the underlying wisdom to be learned from Joan Grant’s past lives, and I’m sure I will read her books again and again in the future.

My hair is still wet from my adventure into the hot depths of the tub-water, and I’m feeling quite better now. The long soak resulted in very smooth and clean skin which I’m rather unaccustomed to. Months without a working bath-tub this summer, and a couple without hot water all-together compiled with my childhood notion that washing wasn’t really mandatory hasn’t done the best for my skin. Yet, time has shown me the light in the soap and hot water! Alas, I digress...

Look, an entire entry without anything to say about Crusifer. The quiet audience is the happy one, for the talkative one doesn’t pay attention and the loud one is disrespectful, if you get my drift.

How would I describe myself?

Monday, May 19th 2008 at 11:00pm

Crusifer will be home soon. Things have been going pretty smoothly again. I am pleased in general with him these past few days, though he’s been waking me up earlier than I like, which has been putting some added strain on me. I woke up with a sore and itchy throat and decided it was best I spend the day in bed. I only got up to paint for a little while and to eat some cereal. Other than that I read for the largest portion of the day, and slept for the second largest portion of the day. My throat feels fine now, and I’m wide awake of course. Unfortunately Crusifer has had a long day and he is exhausted. When he gets home he probably won’t want to do much of anything.

I’ll probably just read a bit more after he’s asleep tonight.

Tuesday, May 20th 2008 at 7:28pm

So I bought this five-disc audio program by Mort Fertel for $70. It promises to fix any marriage (or any relationship). The basic concept is that instead of working on your communication skills and problem solving skills, you should instead work on your love. I listened to disc one yesterday, and I was impressed by the variety of concepts brought up that I had not thought about before.

How come your partner has flaws that didn’t notice when you first met? How come everyone else noticed those faults, but not you? Mort says that this is because your love was fresh and it was perfect. You didn’t change, your partner didn’t change, but your love did. That is one of many points that he makes and explains. I could re-explain them in my own words here, but that would be a lot of typing, and if you really want to know, buy it for yourself. Or, if you’re cheap, keep reading my journal and I’m sure over the next few months I’ll quote him enough that you’ll get a good idea of everything he has to say.

I’m a little ways into listening to the second CD when he tells me to pause the CD and make a list of everything I know about myself. What is my financial situation? What do I look like? If I were in a movie, who would I be? What are good characteristics to describe myself? Am I warm and gracious or am I cold and aloof? Well, I could never turn down a fun exercise like writing about myself, could I?

I’m slender, though I didn’t used to be. I lost thirty pounds since I changed my diet. I care a lot about my health and about what I eat. Because of this I’m hard to have over for dinner because no one knows what to make for me. I’m hard to take out to dinner because I question the waitress about what is in everything and think twice as long as everyone else about what to order.

My body is nothing special, it only seems like it among the masses of people who are fat, unhealthy, old, or who have attitudes so bad you can’t get past what they say long enough to find them attractive. My hair is long, my lips are full, my eyes are blue, my body is proportionate and “normal” with one breast slightly larger than the other. My feet are small, my skin is very pale, my neck is fairly long. If I were a man I’d love my collar bones. Hell, if I was anyone other than me I’d love my collar bones.

My taste is rather confused. For the most part, I like “white culture” which consists of neat orderly houses, mowed lawns, educated families and friends, book clubs, and nice little family vacations organized by mom. I take a good heap of the culture I prefer from my mom, which would be considered “old fashioned” in which I prefer to set-up of the stay-at-home wife and mom who cooks, cleans, takes care of the children and attends to her hobbies and her children’s hobbies and even her husband’s hobbies. I consider raising children more worth while than having a job, and taking care of the house more important than making money. What to do with the money if your house is a wreck or if you have no time to spend it on hobbies you enjoy? My highest cultural value would probably be art, but I have to put “white culture” or perhaps better put as “suburb culture” before art because I like want to my art to be done while sober, and not done on the side of a building. I also have to put “stay-at-home-mom” ethic first because I want to be artistic with my family not at some job.

What do I mean by artistic culture? I mean that I like artistic furniture, and artistic Christmas full of fancy wrapping papers and creative styles of wrapping them. I like spending my spare time creating, creating, creating and creating! I find no pleasure in destroying things.

Contrary to my first three “cultures” I like certain aspects of “black culture.” It’s hard to put my finger on why sometimes, because it’s certainly not the “bad boy” syndrome. I like the flow. I don’t like the speech. I don’t like the rap. I don’t like the clothing. I don’t like the “walk.” And the appearance isn’t any better or worse than white guys really. Well, yes it is. White boys have no lips, have pink dicks, and too hairy, and in general don’t smell sexy. White boys don’t have a chance without spiked hair and a punk clothes. Black guys don’t have a chance unless they “act white” more or less.

I don’t like how uptight white guys are. Black guys are more laid back. I like that. They tend to look more confident. They tend to be more passionate in bed, and don’t say things that make you feel awkward. Black guys tend to smell a way that turns me on. (As an aside, I once walked into a Tops on the east side of Buffalo – where everyone is black – and I swear the smell made me wet. I had never experienced that before, and was astounded. Pheromones are a bitch.)

So if you count “goth” as part of my artistic culture, which I do, then those make up my four cultures that rather sum me up.

If I was a character in a movie... The first character I thought of was Misa from Death Note. She’s devoted, goth-looking but rather normal-acting, she’s sexy, she’s fun to hang out with, she’s determined, she’s a commitment junkie and so forth. If you consider the way anime exaggerate certain aspects of the body and of human behavior and other such things, then you could see her as an anime version of myself which exaggerates my love-sick, sexual and punk-looking features. They give her a rather flimsy character besides these attributes, but that’s also classic for an anime chick.

If I would sum myself up to someone else from an outsiders point of view, I might say that I was an organic-eating, punk-looking, nigga-dating/loving/fucking, intelligent-speaking, adaptable artistic writer. Or rather, if I was an outsider, I’d say I was a hermit who needed to get a life. I’d say the rest of those things if I knew me, which I rather tend to think that I do.

I care about knowing myself. That’s very important to me. When I was thirteen I realized over and over again that I didn’t like or understand my own actions. I didn’t want to hurt Jeremy, but I kept flirting with other guys anyway. I liked to be hit during sex, to my face. I wanted to party, but I didn’t want to be around people who partied. It took a lot of sorting out, and years of studying myself to even say with some surety in my voice what I really want out of life. And being that I’m still only nineteen, I’m sure it will change a lot. But at least now I know who I am at this moment so I can watch and study the changes in myself.

Sadomasochism was very enthralling for me because I didn’t like myself. I wanted punishment. It made me feel like I was paying for everything I did wrong. I liked feeling relieved of my guilt. I liked not having control. As a control-freak, letting go of control can be very intoxicating. I don’t feel guilty about my actions anymore. I don’t think I’m a freak of nature anymore. Therefore, that sort of thing hasn’t really appealed to me the way it did for at least a year. Not that my fantasies have changed, but they don’t work like they used to. Nothing sexual is like it was two years ago. Not a damn thing.

I kiss differently, and I actually enjoy kissing like never used to. Sex is an affection outlet for me, and it never used to be. I can control my orgasms to an almost satisfying degree during sex. Positions I used to love now hurt, and positions I didn’t use to prefer now seem better. Having sex on my period for some inexplicable reason now hurts. (Speak of the devil who showed her bloody face only about an hour ago.)

I love writing. Writing is very important to me, especially when I’m upset.

Art is something I enjoy a great deal, but it’s not as important to me as my writing. Art always, always, always requires inspiration for me. I need a muse. I need to want to draw badly to be able to draw something I really like. Whereas writing is smooth, and carefree. Sure, when I feel inspired my writing is more beautiful, and more interesting, but when it’s not I still find it to be a exercise I enjoy and benefit from.

Two pages filled already? Half-an-hour of writing; not bad. I could probably fill another ten. I’m bi-sexual. I’m into playing board games and computer games. I enjoy dancing. I like music I can dance to and not much else. I think I’ve covered the important stuff anyway.

Cleaning My Closet... My Attic, My Relationship

Saturday, April 19th 2008 at 6:00pm


Strange that as soon as I don’t have a video game I’m addicted to anymore I turn right back to my writing. Then again, I was writing very long winded suggestions in the Saga Forums.


I have cramps, though not as bad as last month. I suspect they could have been, but I did take those pills this morning, and I got some exercise today, and the heat might actually help a bit since applying heat to the stomach (as all women know) soothes cramps a great deal. I’m really too hot to apply any more heat than I already am feeling throughout my body, but they aren’t so bad.

I drove (with my mom in the passenger seat) out to Wegmans to pick up some more organic grass-fed goat-milk yogurt (sweetened with a bit of “organic cane sugar”) as well as some things I’m going to give Tina tomorrow. On the way I stopped at My boyfriend’s work place and gave him some hugs and kisses. Outside Jeremy was there playing hacky sack with Chuck and two other guys I didn’t know. (The card shop is actually attached to the tattoo shop.) I gave Jeremy a quick hug and told him he should visit me sometime this week. I didn’t hear a response to that. Since I wasn’t exactly parked legally I didn’t have time to lag.

I just now returned. The attic is at least ten degrees hotter than the rest of the house even with two window fans on exhaust, foil on the windows, the attic door closed, and another fan blowing towards a window fan. The heat from two desktop computers and two laptop computer probably doesn’t help. I hope the heat doesn’t do anything to the new alien ware laptops. Did I ever mention My boyfriend bought me a laptop? I think that’s the biggest sign of commitment a man has ever showed me before.

Odder than writing so much again, and odder than My boyfriend buying me a laptop, and perhaps odder than Tina having a baby (well, no, not that odd) is that today I saw Jeremy for the first time in months (even if for the briefest of moments) and I spoke to Tre on the phone for the first time in... a year? Yeah, must be about a year. It was shortly after my road trip that I spoke to him last, and the road trip ended in early April of 2006 so that would be about right. I explained to him about not wanting him to come here, and not wanted to meet him in a hotel, even if he is married, I don’t think My boyfriend would go for that, and personally I wouldn’t either.

I told him that I wanted to go to Delaware park. He said he didn’t want to be in public, and I suspect it’s because he doesn’t want old drug customers to see him, but I explained to him about Delaware park’s location, and how it has more private and more public areas to it, and that it’s very large. He sounds just like I remember him, and doesn’t seem to have changed at all really. In a way I’m glad he hasn’t changed, it just goes to prove how right I was not to stay with him (even not counting the fact that I’d rather have My boyfriend over any man I’ve dated, or even met) but in another aspect it’s kinda sad. But what can one really say from a short phone conversation anyway? I’m glad he’s married though, that means he won’t even try anything, and I know I certainly won’t.

It seems like an innocent thing to see him, so why do I feel so nervous about it? They say go with your gut, but my gut has cramps right now, so I can’t really trust it’s inclinations. Well, surely over the next week I’ll have more time to think, to de-cramp and to write some more.

Right now I think I will lay down and read. This is proving to not be enough distraction from my cramps.


10:30pm


Jeremy and Chuck stopped by today. We talked and goofed around for an hour or so, and then they left on their way about an hour ago now. I just wrapped Tina’s presents for tomorrow. I can’t wait until My boyfriend get’s home tonight.


Sunday, April 20th 2008 at 8:13pm


Happy 4:20! I think this is the second April 20th I’m not smoking for. Yeah, go me! My boyfriend celebrated over a blunt with some random people while I went to Tina’s baby shower earlier today. I gave her infant diapers, rice crisps, organic fruit bars, and baby wipes. My mom got her two baby outfits, hair spray and a baby bath with toys. It wasn’t an exciting affair, but it was enjoyable enough. There was fruit to eat and not just junk food, though the only beverages were Soda which I of course did not drink.

Other than that My boyfriend and I have spent the day playing Final Fantasy XI. His white mage is only one level higher than my red mage so we’ve been able to party together, though we were not getting far because of the poor exp from killing the weakest creatures in Kazam. We left our party to go cook apple, sausage and yams together, but as it turns out my Mom already put a container in shortly before we came down. Since we couldn’t just log back into the party I figured I’d work on my game design.

I had severe cramps yesterday, glad they are pretty much gone today. I actually vomited yesterday which is a period-symptom first for me. Though I ate a lot of yogurt (completely organic of course from a grass-fed cow) yesterday which is undoubtedly related.


Wednesday, April 23rd 2008 at 4:37pm


I’m exceedingly worried about my relationship with My boyfriend. I want to say that there is nothing “wrong” with it, that there is nothing to “fix” because nothing is “broken” but clearly there is. I feel the patterns creeping in from the past. I feel my emotions in constant deja vu. I told him last night that I felt that we weren’t going to make it through the summer at this rate. He lied to me. That’s really depresses me. I’m not even angry about it. I’m just exceedingly sad.

In this very strange way I sometimes think that I want it to be over, but then I realize it’s just because I’m afraid that it’s work. I’m always scared of something being work. (Aren’t we all?) Every time I get that inkling in my gut like I just want us to go our separate ways I think realize how much more empty it would feel to be alone, and that’s when the deja vu hits me. I recall having those thoughts about Tre, and then I recall how happy I was to be separated from him. That’s when the analytical and logical self kicks in and starts saying things like “But My boyfriend is a more mature, practical, loving and wonderful person. And Tre was selfish, manipulating, immature and dangerous.” And I listen to logical and analytical self, and I push the feels aside. But the little voice asks, “Then why do I feel this way?”

Is this the same feeling I felt as a precursor to leaving Tre? It’s hard to remember. I’m talking about exactly two years ago, and a completely different mind set than the one I have today. So logical and analytical self doubts that I could feel the same way. I prefer comparing this relationship to my first love... Except that I’m playing Jeremy’s role, and My boyfriend is playing mine. Of course none of that is right, because I’m me, and My boyfriend is him, and now is not then. But logical and analytical self can never stop comparing and contemplating and computing, can she?

I find myself jealous about everything now. I find myself going from apathy to annoyed more and more often, and less and less do I suddenly become happy, and it’s so short-lived. I ask myself if I can break the two year barrier. Perhaps that’s why I insist our wedding date be in April of 2009, because after all, if we’ve made it to two years and four and a half months then surely we can make it for the rest of our lives, right? Perhaps just because it’s uncharted territory it seems like if I can make it there I can do anything.

I find myself having thoughts like “if I just can make it through the summer” a lot. What happens in summer that I’m so afraid of? Bugs? Heat? No, I’m afraid of being social, especially of My boyfriend being social. The more dissatisfied I become the more he will pull away, and the more he pulls away the more he’ll notice all the attention from girls he’s getting. The hotter is gets the shorted our fuses will become. Relationships start up in summer and then fall out the next summer. Why? Because the first summer you’re on the hunt, and then you find them, and then you’re blissful in love, enjoying parks, and walks, and talks and sex. The next summer you’re bored with each other and looking at everyone else wearing the summer clothes at parks, in stores, on walks and you talk to them, and perhaps if you’re the cheating type you have sex with them.

That’s why summer scares me. Summer to me spells hanging out, drugs, sex, staying out late, and laying around because the heat is killing you. Summer is sticky with sun block and sweat. Summer is painful with the sun in your eyes and the stones in your heart. Summer is crushing with all the rush to do things, and all the broken hearts. Summer is crazy with people falling for new people, people lusting after new people, with concerts, parties and weed circles growing, growing, growing and staying out later and later and later.

I had hoped to “tame” My boyfriend with “husband boot camp” before summer. It seems like just last week it was snowing, and now it’s already summer. (I must have missed Spring entirely. If this is spring, then I dread summer even more...) It’s hot, and the flowers are blooming, and I’m seeing more bugs crawling around the room daily. And I feel like the cold is slipping through my fingers with My boyfriend in toe.

Why do I feel this way? He’s upset about what I said last night. He wants to be with me. He’s not considering leaving me. He wants to marry me. He wants to support me. He wants to let me live the type of life I want to live. We both enjoy art, anime, sex, and video games. So why do I feel like something is wrong? I feel like this is the calm before the storm. I feel like I’m anticipating the ground opening up beneath my feet.

The odd part is that I felt the same way four days ago but I couldn’t stop crying and crying and crying about it. Now I feel so ambivalent and near apathetic that I’m more worried. I don’t feel worried, I’m just thinking like a worried person. If that makes any sense. I feel... Timid. I feel very timid and small and insignificant and unimportant.

I think I’m feeling failure. I have not made him completely give up drinking. I have not proved to be more fun than his friends. I have not made him understand that I don’t lie to him or ever make fun of him. I have not made him trust me. I have not made him compromise with me and stick to it. I have not found a system that works. I’m still a shitty girlfriend. Somehow, despite all that logic and analysis implies, I just suck. I feel the suckage.

Oddly I don’t feel ugly, I just feel stupid. I feel like I’m missing the key to my life. I’m standing in a room the size of a closet, and there is a trap door beneath me, but I’m not strong enough to pull myself up off of it with my arms on the walls so that I can open it. And I just know that under the floor I will find the answer... When I’m strong enough to lift my own weight with no firm holds. When I can just push against the walls and seems to levitate... But that will never happen.

Instead I’ll need a pick axe and a ladder. The pick axe to open the floor, and a ladder to climb back out when I have the answer. I’ll probably just find that the entire world is under my floor and that I’d just been in a small closet my whole life... For some reason I feel like that statement should have been funny, but I’m still staring blankly at the screen.

I can’t say I’m depressed. Just nervous. Jittery. Scared of something unseen. If I go on feeling this way I’m likely to start seeing things again. I want a psychiatrist, but somehow I don’t think I could find one that could really help. They probably prescribe me a walk everyday, to make friends, and to take yoga. I can prescribe myself to do that if I wanted. So why don’t I?


Thursday, April 24th 2008 at 12:13pm


Last night something happened that makes me have to question... Things. It’s so odd that I don’t even know how to justify it. My boyfriend got home from work at 11:05pm yesterday, which proves that it only takes five minutes for him to bike home from work. (Which I knew.) And that his nonsense about taking another fifteen minutes to bike home is to stall and smoke a blunt with his co-workers. (Tuesday he didn’t get home until 12:20am, which was a direct violation of the compromise we made three days previously, which was so generous that I couldn’t believe he had already violated it. I’m offering both Fridays and Saturdays with his friends on two conditions, no drinking and staying with me the rest of his time off of work. I’m flabbergasted that he violated it so soon. Not just by not coming home after work, but by drinking and then trying to lie about it!)

Anyway, after he got home he felt like drawing. I told him I wanted to cuddle for a few minutes first. He undressed and crawled onto the bed with me. He’s been like a lump lately, so cuddling consists on him laying near me and me touching him. This is dissatisfying to say the least. Worrying is another term that describes it. But the way his distance makes me feel is impossible to ignore. It’s causing a nervousness in my very center. It’s like my spirit is shaking, because my body refuses to.

After several minutes of trying to get him to show me some love I gave up and we went on to drawing. Drawing... (as he calls me – and we have the best phone conversation we’ve had in days – one that leaves me cheerful instead of sad.) When him and I are both drawing next to each other I get this immense sense of pride and belonging. I feel so completed, so honored, so lucky. It’s not that he’s being cold to me, just aloof. I was able to suck in a lot of that affection that I crave, (need, want, lust for and need at all costs) just by drawing beside him. Especially because he acknowledged my current artwork for it’s amazing qualities. I’m truly amazed at myself.

I’ve learned to put depth into the eyes of my characters, how to put expressions on their faces, how to use positions to evoke a feeling, how to complement their bodies with appropriate clothing, how to shade metal to make it look metallic, how to shade fur to make it look fuzzy and touchable, how to shade cloth to make it have weight, how to make up muscles and bone structures on mythical creatures, how to shade in perspective so you can tell what is closest to you, how to fill an entire sheet of paper, how to put in highlights where the belong, how to draw a woman’s profile... And it’s all because of him. I probably would have gave up art altogether if I had not met him.

When he tires of drawing he pulls out his journal (which reminds me that I need to see what he wrote) and he writes for around ten minutes, scratching away... He obviously knew exactly what he needed to get off his chest when he got his journal because he barely paused at all the entire time he was writing. Then he pulled out his book and read for a bit. I felt close, even though he was distinctly distant... Not sure how that works, but I could feel his love through his mask of melancholy.

Then we agreed on playing Final Fantasy XI together, and since he knew he was a long run from where I was (and we wanted to party together) I told him I’d cook for us while he ran to where I was. I don’t like cooking alone without his company, but last night that didn’t really seem to bother me. I cooked myself one sunny-side up egg with a slice of toast while cooking him three eggs with chopped peppers, bacon bits, two slices of cheese and a myriad of seasonings.

When I returned he was sitting at my computer. And oddly a folder named “Tre” was up, and I was confused at first because I couldn’t figure out what folder it was. He said to me “I was just looking at it because it was up” which then really confused me. How does a folder called “Tre” with four files in it (his journal entries copied from his diaryland journal written in 2005, and saved to my computer in January of 2007) just get opened? I was bewildered and told him I didn’t open it.

He didn’t argue with me and call me a liar, but I know he must have been thinking it. I can’t imagine that either of us (as computer illiterate as we are) would accidently open such a folder. Odder still it was open from the “my computer” application, not “windows explorer” which is what I use. So the only logical conclusion is that he was snooping my files and lied about opening it. But why would he do that? I’m more apt to think that I somehow accidently opened it while using Word Perfect... I mean, if he was snooping my files I really wouldn’t care, I have nothing to hide.

But if it really was up when he sat down here, and he didn’t open it, then he’s going to wonder why I would lie about opening it. I feel like somehow some silly mis-click is going to backpedal all my work at proving that I would never lie to him.

Did I mention we made love before that? We made excellent love last night. My period came on Saturday or Sunday, I forget which, and not that I mind the blood at all, but some odd reason sex on my period is painful and scratchy. I wonder if the blood drying against the friction causing the pain? But that can’t be it because it still feels that way a day after the blood is gone...

Anyway, it was right at the cusp of a new menstrual month, the bleeding gone light, and I was going to wait until tomorrow, but oddly I was overcome all yesterday. I masturbated twice in one day which I never do. I mean, perhaps once in six months. And odder still, I was still aroused when he got home. I suspect it was a combination of a few things. For one thing, I forget that I have not lost my sex drive entirely, it’s just that it seems nonexistent next to My boyfriend’s ongoing desire that only takes a break for about half an hour after sex. Half an hour later he has a boner again, and really would prefer us to make love again.

In light of that, I realize that whenever we don’t have sex for four days, I’m ready to go, which means next to his preferable three times a day, mine is once every four days. And compromising down to once a day is our usual, but it leaves him less than satisfied, and it leaves me more leery towards sex because I don’t enjoy it as much... It’s hard to want sex when you feel like you just had it, like you’re already full from the last time.

Last night though, I was on fire in a way I have not been in a long time. I was kinky in a way I haven’t been in a long time. Was I craving him all the more because of his recent rejection of me? Can I call it rejection to refuse to caress me?

This brings me back to my mental illness. That’s how I think of it now. It’s a mental illness the way I crave to be touched. My entire childhood I rejected hugs, I rejected touching, and then around thirteen I became a touch-aholic. What happened? I was so depressed, so hateful towards myself until I feel in love with Jeremy, until I had someone to touch me, but it was never enough... They always get sick of me, every one of them. And they always say the same thing “I like to be touched now and then, but you always want to be up under me. Maybe I don’t want to be up under you all the time!” Jeremy said it, Tre said it, and recently even beloved My boyfriend said it. And now it’s really pissing me off. My boyfriend, Mr. Different, Mr. Right, Mr. Perfect-for-Me, is falling out in one of the things I fell in love with him for in the first place.

Finally! Finally I had found a man who never grew tired of me touching him, who never grew tired of touching me! I was saved, my illness was being treated, and I became so blissful and so happy. Little did I know it was just that normal “I just met you, so I’m crazy about you, so I need, need, need to touch you right now, and now, and now, but in a few months I’ll stop” that happens to seemingly everyone in the beginning of a relationship.

To hear those words out of his mouth was like a slap to the face. I raged at myself “You stupid idiot! How could you believe that he really was like you! Atara, you’re a really stupid bitch aren’t you? You fell in love with another man who will never feel like you do, who will never understand, never care...” I think the pit of my nervousness is how he doesn’t want to touch me. I feel sick.


Thursday, April 24th 2008 at 2:12pm


Nothing like some hard work and music to make you feel better. The office is coming along quite well if I don’t say so myself. As some of you may not know, when I was fourteen we had a house fire (due to an inhabitant of the attic who was an attractive lady of thirty who thought she was another fourteen-year-old, perhaps my twin sister in her eyes, but in mine... Well, let’s skip what I thought of her) that burned off half the attic. The part that burned wasn’t much of a loss to my family, just to the rambunctious inhabitant of the attic. She lost everything she owned, as well as all the things she “borrowed” from me and my family. The 8-balls, my favorite scarf, several pairs of my jeans, and so on. The real damage was from the smoke and water. What the fire didn’t do to the rest of the house, the water (from the firemen’s truck) did. The smoke got the rest of the attic in a thick coating of black soot, and the floors and walls on the second floor were completely ruined from water damage. The living room towards the front of the house, and my parents bed room, also at the front of the house were the only things virtually undamaged.

The dining room floor and walls, the father’s office’s floor and walls, and the hallway’s floor on the second story of the house all needed to be torn out, and rebuilt. And my crafty parents did this themselves instead of hiring a contractor to do it with the money allowed from the bank. Most of this money, unfortunately was spent on paying various cousins and friends ten dollars an hour to sit around and smoke cigarettes, eat our food and do a half-ass job of everything they were supposed to do. (Come to think of it, they did redo the walls in my parent’s bedroom, I remember Roy – my half brother – coming down to Buffalo to do it.)

The first floor of the house, the dining room that is, was the first thing to be done, which became my cousins bedroom while he worked. My cousin Trevor used to be a serious druggie at the time, but he seems to be doing better, no he’s engaged to some woman with a young girl in Texas, and currently my brother Roy is staying with him, now that he’s separated from his third wife, luckily he has no kids with this one. (Incidently he had to leave because of her kids disrespecting him, and her not stopping them.) Then the second floor was done, and the location of the laundry was switched with the location of the bathroom, and the laundry (the previous bathroom) is no longer really a room, but rather an open area conjoined to the upstairs hallway and front stairwell.

At about that point we moved back in from the temporary apartment we lived in for nine months. My parents moved back in a week before I did, and during that week I met Tre, and we enjoying living in “our” own apartment for a week. I felt like an adult then, I remember. When I moved back in I didn’t move back into my own room, and I’m not sure why. I don’t really remember the details of it, looking back on it, it doesn’t seem to make any sense at all.

I moved into a room adjacent to the dining room on the first floor, and made aspirations of moving into the attic, which was one thing that was not done at all. I aspired to more space, and more separation from my parents. My old bedroom was adjacent to my parent’s bedroom, the next door down the hall from them. Perhaps it was the lack of a door on my old bedroom? I doubt it though, probably was still under construction, but I really don’t remember.

It took another six months to move into the attic, and at that time I merely was able to throw a knee wall up (with some help from my mom) and lay some floor tiles (with some help from my dad) and throw some drywall up (with barely any help at all) and plaster (with a lot of help from my mom) and paint (with hardly any help at all) and to finally move my things up there (by myself of course) and pretend that I had more room. Of course I didn’t, and at the end of the floor tiles was boxes of who knows what, tools, materials, and all sorts of junk.

Slowly I’ve crept half way through the attic, the part with the higher ceiling. I have a makeshift bathroom that only gets hot water (which means it’s icy cold until the hot water arrives and then it’s steaming hot) because my Mom hasn’t had the time or energy to string another pipe for cold water to come up here as well. There is a tub sitting next to my toilet, but it’s not functional in the least, and it’s full of my cleaning supplies and other tools. Over the couple years I’ve lived up here two sets of shelves have been put up, and everywhere but the bathroom has floor tiles, and I’ve attained a large amount of plastic sorting drawers, two tall ones for my clothes, several half the height filled with gift-wrapping supplies, cleaning supplies, my stone collection, more clothes, sewing supplies, scrap-booking supplies, markers, tape, pencils, pens, scrap paper, sketches, printer paper and so on and so on and so on.

My room is organized, it’s livable, it even has a tiny office. The office consists of my desk (bought at a second-had store for forty to one-hundred dollars, I don’t remember how much, but it was a steal) which is designed for the times before computers, so it’s small and simple, and My boyfriend’s desk, which isn’t a desk at all but rather it’s made up of two of my mom’s old identical coffee tables sitting next to each other. You can’t get your legs under it, which is the real problem with it. This allows My boyfriend and I to be close while we’re at our computers, but it’s a rather pathetic and annoying set up.

But there is still one part of the house that has never been redone. We call it “the back” which is short for “the back of the attic” which doesn’t really mean anything, because it’s actually at “the front” of the house. It’s above my parent’s bedroom which is above our livingroom. It’s only “the back” of the attic because the stairs to the attic are located in the back of the house, making it feel the actual back of the attic is the front, especially since it’s where I live.

The back of the attic (I’m not going to start calling it the front just because it is the front, so from now on, just know that I mean the front of the attic in reality) was in total shambles when work began on it over a year ago. It was piled high with garbage, boxes of books, assorted tools and all sorts of other junk all piled high on top of each other. The worst part? All of it filthy with black soot from the fire. Even the inside of the boxes is covered with soot. It smells, and it’s dirty, and your hands turn black within five minutes of work, and your nose clogs up with black soot from ruffling things, and you blow your nose to find that the tissue is turning black, and you cough up black spit. It’s disgusting, and no one wants to do it.

Tre never really helped with any of the household work. He avoided it like the plague, and I don’t blame him for not wanting to do it, but I do blame him for leaving me to do it. Let the white girl who grew up in this filth deal with this filth forever why don’t ya? No, no, Mr. Strong Ninja Jamaican Man can’t put his manicured hands on that sooty old crap that belonged to my parents, not even if it would benefit him in the long run. (I’m actually snickering as I write this. The same guy that’s going to college to architecture and construction now...)

My boyfriend can actually see much more space we’d have. Our living area would actually double. True, the walls are slanted, but so what? That just means we walk down the center of the room and store things at the triangle-shaped edges of the room... The real prize is the area right above my parents’ bedroom. At the very “back” of the attic there is a flat wall, and the floor is much lower, creating more head room. That is where our new office will be. The entire path through the back of the attic at the moment has boxes or storage on both sides, but it used to be much, much, much worse. I can finally say that the soot is only left in about three boxes, and on one wall. That’s all that’s left of it!

My boyfriend carted out about fifteen, perhaps twenty soot-covered boxes last week, and about six months ago (maybe earlier, I don’t remember) another twenty to thirty were taken out. Now on one side of my future office it’s clean all the way to the very corner where the slanted wall meats the floor. I’ve painted the old shelves black after scrubbing them clean this week, and now I’ve moved my CD player back there. Yes, it’s moving along nicely if I don’t say so myself. Mark my words, I will have my dream office built before October.

Jealousy & Dreams

Monday, February 18th 2008 at 11:49pm

I never knew this would happen. I probably should have expected it. But even if I had, I never could have imagined it would happen so fast, and that it would be so bitter.

My interest in an open relationship has shrunk, receded, and reduced, and then suddenly, close to the point of saying that I wanted none of it, I find myself as jealous and perhaps even as prude as the next person. I feel stupid for feeling this way, but it can no longer be contained or ignored.

Was it only a week ago, or two weeks ago that I proclaimed My boyfriend should bring this chick home so we could mess with her? Come to think of it, that was around my birthday, so it was two weeks. In only two weeks time my mind has changed entirely around. Despicable... Hypocritical of me... But I have not the ability to reign in this feeling with logic.

Perhaps I was not so attached as I am now? Perhaps I was more sure from naiveness in the past? Perhaps I was just more interested in being kinky and now I’m growing older? But why so fast? It scares me. I’m not used to being so lost by my own emotions anymore. I’ve studied them. I gauge my reactions accurately with everything... Everything but this.

Jealousy. I want to (irrationally) tell him to never talk to her again. I want him to (cruelly) tell her that she’s ugly, and stupid and not good enough for him. I want to (immaturely) spam her with hate messages. It’s retarded, is it not? So why in all damnation do I feel this way?

Tuesday, February 19th 2008 at 1:29pm

I had a dream last night that I was having a dream where my clit was a penis, and I was bending it down into my slit. I was enjoying this for a while, but then I grew tired of it and called My boyfriend over to have sex with me instead. He refused, and I grew annoyed. Then I woke up, or at least I thought I woke up. I no longer had a penis for a clit, but I was still terribly horny, and was actually upset that I had no immediate way to pleasure myself. So I called My boyfriend over again. He left his porn on, which made it all the more enjoyable, because I could hear the woman screaming in the background. As he entered me I noticed that I was on my period.

In the dream the sheets were white. Fluffy (my childhood ‘pillow’ that is a stuffed dog of purple and white) was on my bed in the dream, and I fretted when My boyfriend grabbed it with his bloody hands. But then I relaxed because it would be a memory of the wonderful pleasure I was feeling. I looked about the bed and found more evidence of our love making everywhere. A bloody patch down the sheet, several hand prints, and marks on the pillows as well.

Suddenly My boyfriend leaves the bed and returns with a small TV displaying porn and plugs it into our much larger TV in front of the bed, and sits it next to the regular TV on the shame shelf. It’s displaying a woman with large breasts, wearing a skin tight purple dress. I watch avidly as he begins to have sex with me again... Then, half waking up for real this time I wonder why I’m not having sex with My boyfriend and call him over for some real morning sex.

Turns out my period did start in the night. No surprise since I haven’t take my pill two days now. Pulling out is probably not the wisest choice of action, but I can find no other sacrifice I’m willing to make. (Refer to previous entry about birth control...)

After My boyfriend left for work I read the last chapter of Breath and Bone. I was extremely sad that the series was over. I am still sad that the series is over. I wish another one was coming out. There were a couple of things left written, but not enough for me to suspect another book. Most certainly the best two books I ever read before. So genius. It reminds me of something I once thought of with my Barbie dolls as a child, but in way more depth, and much more logical... The imagery was so vivid and beautiful that I feel as though I watched a very good, very long, movie. I can actually picture each one of the characters in clarity, and entire scenes from the book roll through my head...

Outside, right now, the wind is howling here in Buffalo. My boyfriend walked to work through that snow this morning. I wish it was rain instead of snow. I like rain.

I got My boyfriend to agree (again) to us getting married in April of 2009. I hope it rains. That would be so cool, and so fitting. Rain is cleansing, and moving. It’s full of life, and it brings life. Rain is action, movement... It fills all the senses. You can taste it, you can smell it, you can touch it’s cold fluid droplets, you can hear it splattering and falling in a rush, you can see it streak the scenery with small white lines, almost invisible, but completely unignorable.

I feel good this morning. Perhaps because I took two days off from the Social Club in a row. Sunday I spent with My boyfriend, and Monday I spent cleaning, writing, reading, and napping. (And on the phone with tech support, but then, what day off is really a day off?)

I wish I could feel like this more often.

Pah, simply to ruin my mood, it has occurred to me I should go take some more of those calcium-magnesium-zinc tablets I bought a while back. Last time I was on my period I was at the mall and I bought them to help ease my cramps. It worked. I should take more before my cramps catch hold of me today. Aha! I shall be preemptive of thee pain! *assorted cackling and other malicious laughs*

Tuesday, February 19th 2008 at 1:47pm

Nicole,

I already got the lowest hormone pill there is. There isn’t one with any less in it. And the sugar in it is probably what’s making me sleepy, and that is also probably why my appetite has increases since sugar does both of those things. It’s also the likely culprit for why the smell makes me sick, because the smell of sugar makes me feel sick too. I always stay clear of the candy isle.

The shot however is an absolute no. I will never even try the shot once because even a one time usage stays in the body for a nine months to a year. My friend Tina lost her period entirely from it. (I know you’re supposed to get it in three months, but she didn’t, so they said to wait until she did. After a year of not having her period at all, they gave her pills to restart her cycle!) It’s also the highest dosage of hormones you can put into the body (I have looked these things up by the way, but supposedly all these side effects are unlikely, but of course, unlikely stuff always effects me) and there is no way to simply take the hormones out if you don’t like them. One of the most common side effects of the shot is weight gain, which effected Tina and a friend of hers who tried it at the same time as her. They both switched off the shot because of it’s numerable side effects.

And on top of all of that, I cry when my blood is drawn. My tetanus shot (which was supposed to only hurt a little for one day) hurt for four days, and it swelled up, and every time I moved my arm is sent bolts of fire through my body. So I’m just a little bit scared of shots.

Marie,

It’s not that I hate lubes or anything like that, it’s just that both My boyfriend and I are very into smells and tastes, and looking, and all of that. The full experience, not just the feeling of the in and out. By the time you’ve added a condom, t’s no fun to look at it, and by the time you’ve added lube it ruins the taste and smell too.

And as you can probably guess, flavored lube is totally out of the question. (Sugar, yeast – need I say more?)

Hallie,

I think it’s a good idea to wear condoms at least though part of the month. Thinking about it as a sometimes is a lot easier than thinking about condoms as a always. I think I will try looking into my ovulation for that purpose.

Thanks guys. I always have a new way to look at things after reading my comments, and I almost always then have more to write about as well.

Happy snowflakes!