Lately, I have been a sad puppy, if puppies could eat chocolate without dying- amirightladies?!
I have been hesitant to write on "momwantsmedead", because my mother and I have been on good terms lately, but I figure I could write here again because the last time we talked she seemed to be in a manic phase that had me on an axis of compassion and fear. I dealt with that as a child and that shaped me amongst other awful things. I probably wont talk to her for 7 months or so.
So far, a sad start to the humor blog- I know. It's amazing how little you know when you're younger- how unaware of the world you are or your own meager place in it. I look at forty year old women and wonder how infantile I must sound based on how twenty year olds can sound to me. I know a lot of older women are threatened by younger women, because a lot of men would rather be with younger women and where is a woman's right to exist if we aren't being happily filled by a man?! However, I believe they want younger women because they don't want to be with someone who intimidates them- they want to be adored also they are so tight. I will end up with a man who LOVES a challenge and will be celibate before that, so that by the time I find him, I'll be tighter than a virgin. I will challenge him in ways he doesn't expect, (irreverence alert!) like when I violently try to eat my ear before he cums. If a man can't hang with the fact that I spit when I say the word 'fart', well he's not the man for me. He might also be put off that I fart when I spit.
Part of being constantly creative is creating. There are times, like now, I am deep in the misery of unresolved insecurities and the burdens of an unkind past. I see the world though an out-dated prescription and I'm paralyzed by the vision. The jokes come very sporadically, the effort to write anything is tedious and the snooze bar is worn under my palm. However, I have lived long enough to know perspective, that this will pass and I will be my friend through it. I feel a mix of gratitude and hopelessness that I don't have someone to care for or who I can expect to care for me.
I am at a coffee shop, across from a long, lean man. His brow is furrowed in a philosophy book. It's about "God" and whether or not science buried it. I am not sure what God he is interested in, but I am starting to think that if science is under scrutiny, he only knows one God and I am not a child of that fella. Either way, this guy has the sniffles and maybe I could give it another go, taking care of someone other than myself with the insidious entitlement that they meet my emotional needs when they've recovered. Ah, a pull from the past, presently plaguing my joy. No, I will just look at his exposed legs and imagine them flexing into the cunt of a more accommodating young woman while I sit in the corner cross-eyed, attacking the side of my own face with my own, outspoken mouth.
