Gotta love insomnia. I'm reading Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye, and the scene with Pecola, Geraldine, Junior and the cat really bothered me. It made my heart hurt. Between that and Mike, I can't sleep. It occurs to me that the way Geraldine regarded Pecola isn't too different from the way Mike's mom regards me.
I keep thinking about how Mike asked me for a one-night stand when I broke it off with him before. I'm gonna call him tomorrow to talk. We'll end it and I'll offer him a night if that's what he wants. It won't be the same though. That twitterbated, giddy feeling is gone. It's as if, shame on me, that's what I get, I didn't deserve to feel that way. Best I take myself out of the sexual equation, put a lid on my sexuality. Finish school and get the fuck out of this stupid city.
I've got our night planned: first I'll offer to go down on him until he comes. If I remember 21-year-olds, he'll be ready and raring to go again in no time, and I want it to last. I'll wear a female condom to make it feel better for him. I'd like for us to sleep together afterward. It'd be nice. But once again I'm putting the cart before the horse. Have to see what he wants, first.
posted by Newpeep, N.D. (neurotic depressive) @ 3:52 AM
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