Pulling a Dried Scab

Jeremi is seemingly asleep on the couch in my living room as I sit here in the dark, peering somewhat painfully at the stark screen of this plastic prison for my thoughts, feelings, habits, and communications.
I really don't know what to think about me lately.
I've been sexually active in ways which I would call irresponsible.

First, I did not allow for a clean break between Chris and myself.
Unwise.
The fact that I allowed myself to sleep with him even after we had fought and separated tells me that while I may be over he and I in the permanent relationship sense, I am still very attached to the idea of someone knowing me...just knowing.

Second, James was a person who was little more than a quick physical attraction which I attempted to culture into something more for the sake of it "making sense" not to mention my goddamned need to fix other people's problems and make them happy at my expense.
I can't even find my own happiness.
What business is it of mine to try and force my ideas of happiness upon them?

Third, Tony.
I fell hard.
I couldn't really venture a realistic guess as to why but for right now I still have the unerring feeling that it was a true and untainted attraction and hope for something more.
As with James, nothing more than kissing occurred.
And yet emotionally I was so sexually invested.
Yes, I do see the two as inextricably intertwined within myself.
I can understand how others would pull the meaning of one from the other and hold them at arms length from one another, much like the crucifix.
And again, like the crucifix, there is a deadness, a cold.

I'm far too sanguine to fall into such a diffidence.

Fourth comes with the title of Jesse.
He is someone I don't even know and I have had something of a latent attraction to ever since meeting him the night we all went to see 300. Nothing to the point that I couldn't help thinking about him, merely a light pleasure at his recollection.
The joking, flirting, banter, etc. was always an option.
A Safety.
A Cruel, Selfish Knowledge.
If I needed anything, there was an availability right there.

I refuse to even attempt a lie to myself in stating that I'm interested in dating him.
I guess he was right.
He doesn't do second dates.
Undateable.

Then a brief reconvening with Chris.
I felt so passionate but once again, it was due to the fact that I was in the midst of being known.
Perhaps now the biblical reference makes more sense. Hits more keenly.
Adam and Eve were in fact the only two of their species and they knew one another.
They were all that there was to know of anything other than their tasks.

And finally, I just fucked Jeremi.

I cannot write any other description because that's really all it was.
We both understood that.
We find some odd, latent attraction in each other.
We were at the "right place at the right time" and then it occurred.

It wasn't because we loved each other.
It wasn't because we were overwhelmed with passion.
It was just because it felt inevitable.
Like there would be no avoiding it so why not just get it out of the way now...no question makr because it was no question.

I feel like I should feel.
I see all of these things as typically invoking of some sort of emotion: regret, excitement, sadness, thrill, a dirty guilt

Not so.

I just go on feeling the same mediocre I have been feeling.
Where did my reactivity go?
How did I reduce to this?

It's a seeming battle to stay random and diverse and yet I want it so badly so I fight harder and harder.
When will I give out?

How long will it take me?

I don't want to be like this, this wanton thing.

I feel like my sexuality has become nothing more than an exercise.
It's so devoid of reality.
The romance once saturating my physical thirst for another's body is now robbed of me by a culprit with a face much like my own...except there is no fire in his eyes. No curl in his hair. Not even a sneer of victory.
Only a blankness.
A deadness.
A Cold.

When Thinking of Change

I talked to Chris today.
Finally.
It took me nearly a week to convince him that it was worth his effort to spend a single conversation with me.
The conversation took place at the Starbucks next to the old house.
I met him there and felt a stirring sense of panic in the pit of my stomach as I took more and more strides down the heated concrete.
I began to gnaw determinedly on the dry skin at the tips of my already hideously misshapen fingernails and it was then that I realized how fully nervous I was.

The truth of the matter is that I never know quite what I'm going to utter verbally when I make a point of having a planned conversation. I simply hold to the repeatedly proven fact that I will be profound and my thoughts will come out in a new way which will in turn improve my perspective causing me to learn new things about myself. About my ability to be happy. About my life.

These things could be said to be the sole drives for what it is that fuels my daily reason to get up and tackle yet another morning routine before yet another afternoon routine into yet another evening routine.
Can a person be afraid of doing the same arbitrary thing twice?

I guess I have no idea about people in general, only myself.
Even then I don't always trust what I have to draw from.

I have realized that a large part of what causes me this overall sense of insatiable craving for something more from life stems from my inability to find contentment in anything over which I do not hold any power or command any level of respect.

It's as if there's a certain amount of harnessed surety I need in order to embrace the fullness of everyday.
I need to know everyday will be everyday.

Chris is a constant reminder of my lack of ability in this area.
I cannot always know.
I cannot always hold it in my lanky, warm fingers.

I cannot always know him.
I cannot always hold him in my lanky, warm arms.

And yet now I seem to have found an increased confusion.
I can't see what's right...only what my lying emotions tell me "feels" right.

I don't want to make Chris another quote-unquote.

I don't want to love him and I don't want to want him and yet I cannot help the fact that I do.
Oh, so sincerely.

I don't feel safe with anyone.
I want to feel safe.
I want to make someone feel safe.

The Luck Of Me

I'm lucky.
I can accept that.
I cannot assure it and I'm getting scared that it's going to run out.
Should I have to be afraid of good fortune?

I love it and I hate it.
It makes me comfortable while making others frustrated and sometimes jealous.
I just want to live.

I got signed with the International Modeling Agency a few days ago.
It's official, I am a model...well, on paper anyway.
I just want it to come to some huge point of fruition.

I want to make a lot of money right away and pay off my credit care bills and get everything back to zero.
I want to go from zero.
Actually, I want to go from far above zero.
I want to go from raving success.

I'm betraying the selfish side of me which is always so carefully hidden or glossed over.
I just want to make a royal SHITload of money and not have to worry about finances for awhile.