I'm not an addict (maybe that's a lie)
That song just ran straight through my head and out the other side like it was chasing its cat. So weird.
But I am. An addict, that is. Sex, girls. I can't get over it. I'm sick as a dog right now, nose stopped up, mouth all chapped, that horrible brewing sensation in the back of my skull, and Topher's in a bad way too, all hungover from his finishing-the-thesis celebrations, but I haven't talked to him in a week (see: finishing-the-thesis) and I so miss being touched. When there wasn't anyone, when I'd walked away from that mind-numbing fantasmagora in LA, once I'd got my center back, I was fine, I didn't need anything anymore. I was chaste as a frozen beetle with Jason, and that's unlike both of us. But now I'm all in the center of it again, and it's not over, not remotely, but I can see it closing in front of us slowly like the mouth of a tunnel and all I can think of is Touch me now before I have to face what's waiting for me in the Bay.
By which I mean the old lovers, of course, the old mistakes, the old guilt. Not you. You I await with shake-me-in-my-skin anticipation.
I'm with you, though, Tess, about the caring too much about people, or at least so intently that they get all frightened and shaken. It's hard, though, knowing how good it can be between us, and how we've sort of transcended all the simple little friendships people we know have had. Hard to think you might not be able to have that, in a relationship. Or that you might have to pretend you didn't want it. That you should have to pretend at all, that's the killer for me. I hate withholding from someone I feel trust with, I hate not being able to look someone clean in the eyes, see the echo back, and say, "Oh. There you are." To have it be acknowledged. I don't mind being different but I hate this fear that shadows everything. That we're not seeing what we know we see. Hell, if I didn't have you, I'd be the most depressed individual west of Georgia.
Give it a try, dear heart. I'm holding fast to mine, but that's me, and we've never been exactly looking for the same thing. Not exactly. Same soul, different circumstance. We'll see how it works out, you know? Tara's got hold of hers.
Oh, geez. Tara? You sure you don't want to reconsider? I can't tell you what a bitch it is not being able to eat myself into an earth-shattering funk before your wedding because I have to be able to fit into that dress.
No self esteem issues for you, Tess. None whatsoever. Not allowed. I will make love to you until you beg for mercy and swear eighty-seven times in a row that you're sweet-gods-lovin'-gorgeous.
I have to go study for a French competency exam now, lest they decide my tuition 'twas for naught, and no graduation pour moi. Mais vous etes les belles dames de mes reves, et je vous aime.
L'amour.
But I am. An addict, that is. Sex, girls. I can't get over it. I'm sick as a dog right now, nose stopped up, mouth all chapped, that horrible brewing sensation in the back of my skull, and Topher's in a bad way too, all hungover from his finishing-the-thesis celebrations, but I haven't talked to him in a week (see: finishing-the-thesis) and I so miss being touched. When there wasn't anyone, when I'd walked away from that mind-numbing fantasmagora in LA, once I'd got my center back, I was fine, I didn't need anything anymore. I was chaste as a frozen beetle with Jason, and that's unlike both of us. But now I'm all in the center of it again, and it's not over, not remotely, but I can see it closing in front of us slowly like the mouth of a tunnel and all I can think of is Touch me now before I have to face what's waiting for me in the Bay.
By which I mean the old lovers, of course, the old mistakes, the old guilt. Not you. You I await with shake-me-in-my-skin anticipation.
I'm with you, though, Tess, about the caring too much about people, or at least so intently that they get all frightened and shaken. It's hard, though, knowing how good it can be between us, and how we've sort of transcended all the simple little friendships people we know have had. Hard to think you might not be able to have that, in a relationship. Or that you might have to pretend you didn't want it. That you should have to pretend at all, that's the killer for me. I hate withholding from someone I feel trust with, I hate not being able to look someone clean in the eyes, see the echo back, and say, "Oh. There you are." To have it be acknowledged. I don't mind being different but I hate this fear that shadows everything. That we're not seeing what we know we see. Hell, if I didn't have you, I'd be the most depressed individual west of Georgia.
Give it a try, dear heart. I'm holding fast to mine, but that's me, and we've never been exactly looking for the same thing. Not exactly. Same soul, different circumstance. We'll see how it works out, you know? Tara's got hold of hers.
Oh, geez. Tara? You sure you don't want to reconsider? I can't tell you what a bitch it is not being able to eat myself into an earth-shattering funk before your wedding because I have to be able to fit into that dress.
No self esteem issues for you, Tess. None whatsoever. Not allowed. I will make love to you until you beg for mercy and swear eighty-seven times in a row that you're sweet-gods-lovin'-gorgeous.
I have to go study for a French competency exam now, lest they decide my tuition 'twas for naught, and no graduation pour moi. Mais vous etes les belles dames de mes reves, et je vous aime.
L'amour.
posted by Tei | 8:17 PM
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