shiny and new
It was so boring to listen to people talk about the other people they were involved with. It bored me to death. I was turned off by it, by sex and by the notion of “being with” anyone else ever again. I was so depressed at times because I was realizing how alone people are, no matter who they’re with. It depressed me to be without someone sexy and intriguing to look out for me. And it depressed me to see friends with other friends, unhappy. I just focused on all the shit I had to do, the shit I wanted to do, being creative with my time, drinking myself into oblivion one day and then reading an entire book in a couple days. Whatever that was. I don’t know. I was alone and sad, but fine. Is that a feeling?
Whenever I have ever spoken about the new man in my life before, it was always so new and so amazing and so incredible...and there was always something that made it unique and fun and different. I look back on journal entries and I find this face of a fascinated woman in tune with getting exactly what she wanted. Each time, what I wanted was so much more/better than what came before it. And each connection so far has surpassed its predecessor...and each time I found myself changing to be more and more of what I thought I was supposed to be - in HIS eyes. I left who I was and lost the passion for things that really mean something to me, while in the whirlwind of a new love. But I haven’t been able to locate how I feel about this. I am violently happy, but I haven’t changed. I don’t think I am changing right now. I feel like I’m still on the same path (even though the winter is still affecting me) I was on before. Just a little sidetracked sometimes. I don’t know what it means, but I don’t have a single problem whatsoever with any of this. He floors me on a constant basis, just like I met a new friend and hit it off...but just like a friend, I call on him when I feel like it - when I have the time, when I feel like I miss him, when I want to hang out. Despite these overwhelming fits of developing love, the same freedom is there. And I think that’s what makes it this good. We are so into each other, but ...we’re... mature? Holy fucking shit, I’m mature.
I’ve never had a guy walk down icy Clark street in Chicago with me, in the January haze of hibernation, and move me to the inside of the sidewalk furthest from the street. Chivalry. It was dead. I’ve never been able to pull the true animal out of the man. Until.
I sometimes feel like a master. Is that wrong? Men are dogs. Even though, he is still man. A damn sexy one at that. The coolest thing about him is that he would so not take offense at that. I don’t know how to explain this. It’s not that it isn’t worth explaining; it’s just that when I try to explain, I just start speaking in erotic beautiful poetry.
I’m drunk on wine at this point. I crave things. Things I know I can have, but can hold myself back from. I’m not the needy little girl I used to be. And I don’t think I’ll ever be her again. I guess that makes me more happy than anything ever really has in my life.
Life is good.
SO much shit is going on and it doesn’t mean a damn thing.