Didn't take my meds yesterday; I'm a mess. Holy crap, so out of it. Dreams dreams and more dreams. Like Meow said once, dreams wherein I feel it's an extension of a dream I've had before, where I've known all the people for a while. Like this one, I returned a dress I'd borrowed (a floaty jade/aquamarine formal -- I'm so sure). What's funny is that I wore the dress to the lady's house, went to her restroom to change, but all I'd brought with me to change into was a doll outfit, which I actually tried to put on but it wouldn't go over my big toe. I'm cracking up now but the dream was totally serious. Heavens to Betsy.
I just wanna stay at home and play dollies, but the AC is out and I still haven't reported it because of my mess. Gotta get with it, though, because purty soon there won't be any cool breezes whatsoever. I cleaned the living room but it's already a big mess again. I did tackle huge hurdles which were my kitchen counter and my freezer. Still have to do the stove, floor and refrigerator. Gawd. I don't know why I turned out to be like this. It's kinda like that song, which I hate, incidentally, where the guy is whining, "I'm sorry for the way I am."
Control is a huge thing with me. I don't know if other people can comprehend what it's like to live under the vice grip of other people's whims. I haven't lived with my parents for twenty-fucking-years and it still affects me so deeply. I wish parents' influence wasn't such a big deal. It's not fair. If you're unfortunate enough to be born to parents who don't know shit, it'll take you the rest of your life to break free of those irons. Anyway, as I was telling Mike the other day, I remember being four or five and having my mother rag on me about my messy room. It continued until I left home. She told me I'm a lazy, shiftless, good-for-nothing; well, hell, that's what I am, then, so why bother? That must be why I can't bring myself to clean up after myself. That, or lack of self-worth or self-respect or something.
I mean, I renewed my lease here for another fourteen months so I need to make a commitment to make this place livable. Plus I need to make this place presentable enough to allow maintenance into my place to fix the A/C, and also to have Mike over so he can fuck me -- heheheheheh. If he's so inclined, that is. I'll respect his decision either way, despite my desires.
I don't understand virginity. What's the big deal? Mike falls into the category of "everything but." He's quite sexually experienced. So what's the difference if he sticks it into a vagina or not? Me, I was pleased to be rid of my virginity (although not necessarily the manner in which I lost it, but that's another story).
posted by Newpeep, N.D. (neurotic depressive) @ 10:23 AM
2 Comments:
My last apt was always a fucking sty. I mean, unbelievably so. It wasn't until I got meds straightened out that I realized I deserve and am capable of living in a clean, nice place.
My mother has always said my middle name was mess. Fortunately, my SO is just as messy... or maybe not so fortunate as then it takes us a lot longer to clean up. Leastways neither one of us complains about it even though technically neither of us likes it.
And technically speaking, I don't think Mike is much of a virgin. More like a Boy Scout who's earned almost all of his badges and just has one more thing to do before he becomes an Eagle... And truly, is there a point in not doing that one last thing?
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