(no subject)
Another day, another imperative item lost. Like Toodles and his marbles, I am notorious for losing things. It's always a wonder to me why it is that whenever something unfortunate happens in my life, my parents are more upset about it than I am, even when it affects them in no way whatsoever. I know I am absent-minded and clumsy, I have been my whole life. I don't know why it doesn't seem to have registered with my parents yet. Now, I don't trivialize the worth of material possessions that serve a purpose. Even though I didn't really need a smart phone, I did feel bad for misplacing a $600 one. I don't know if I've become desensitized to the sting of losses or pains, or I am just more and more disillusioned by the things that other people care about. I was talking to an acquaintance a few months ago about being an adrenaline junkie. I told her that I had never had an adrenaline rush. I don't think I have. The one roller coaster I ever had the guts to ride ended up with my guts all over the seat after the ride stopped. But I held on for dear life the whole time. White knuckled, just waiting for that feeling to be over. I don't identify with the people who have their hands in the air, screaming with exhilaration. I assume that my cardiovascular system has the ability to get an adrenaline rush...perhaps reserved for its biological purposes during trauma or a fight or flight situation. I'm not sure. I was talking to another friend about auto-erotic asphyxiation. I can conceive of the idea that a person can elevate a high by temporarily cutting off oxygen to the brain...but it seems to me like skipping ahead to the last chapter of a book and being unable to enjoy the rest after that. I don't think asphyxiation is the ultimate sexual experience, but I can conceive that once a person has an orgasm that way they will want to keep "chasing the dragon" so to speak. I remember seeing a documentary on television recording Jay from Jay and Silent Bob shooting up heroin. He said, "it feels like chocolate cake and falling in love for the first time, all at once." WTF - Well that's fantastic, but why spoil the rest of what life has to offer by introducing something incomparable to any natural sensation. I fear addiction, I fear feeling nothing at all. I even abstain from sex more than other people for fear of it becoming so commonplace that it isn't sensational anymore. The last few times in recent memory that I had sex were phenomenal, which is what I am used to. If I am comfortable enough with someone to be intimate with them, I can come very easily and again and again. I don't use lube because I don't need lube--my body reacts as nature intended. I don't want to fuck myself out. I know people who have done that. The last person I considered dating admitted that he is a sex addict. For obvious reasons, that makes us about as compatible as oil and water. I don't want to spoil my own fun by becoming complacent, you know...I want my throat to guzzle down to the butterfly cage in my stomach. I want to pulse with longing desire and have no one know about it except the lucky one close enough to see the dilation in my pupils. To hear the racing palpitations and my pulse. I suppose it's not all me, though. It isn't often that someone desires me enough to kiss through my endless babbling brook of thoughts spilling out all the time. The only things that seem to shut me up long enough to wriggle out of my head and slip into my body are a quicker wit than mine to trump a conversation, catching me by the element of surprise or in a fit of laughter. So. That requires being around an attractive man who is intelligent, funny and sly. I don't come across these types often. When they do appear, I can definitely become enchanted and forget all reservations or suspicions I may have had about the person. When the light of their aura is gone, I usually find myself having been used. A single-serving of intimacy, a lay. Not a woman to be wooed or pursued. Now, to be fair...I don't spend my time trying to become a "prize" for a man, or a face to be seen and not heard outside of the bedroom. I am not demure, I am bold and opinionated and free. I guess changing surroundings is just one of the prices I pay for being a butterfly on the run. Where will I perch, or will I ever. I quite like the idea of being fleeing and flitting and meeting as many peculiar people I can on this queer ball of matter we call earth. If I am forever deemed a gypsy or a spinster, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I am happy belonging to myself and following my dreams and desires without looking around or back. I do imagine another strange spirit latching on to mine for a tandem ride around this thing. I may need to slow down or circle around some more to allow the opportunity, though.