I Want it to be Like a Soft Whip

One of my teenage diary entries mentioned that I had gotten reacquainted with drawing and writing after having taken a few years off.

I remember this happening.

I remember drawing and writing a lot up until puberty struck and then there was barely any extra-curricular creating until I was sixteen.  And I took another break between the ages of nineteen and twenty . . . three?  Maybe?  We’ll say twenty three.

I suppose it’s normal to take the occasional break for whatever reason, and I suppose the body morphing from child into awkward adult and from awkward adult into real life adult is a good enough reason for creative breaks.  I haven’t taken any significant breaks since then, but I also haven’t morphed into anything new, either.  Yet.  I’m still hoping for a fluffy pink tail; I’d keep it ever so pristine, I promise I would!

What I have noticed is that over the past year I’ve become reacquainted with other activities from my youth.  Namely baking and exercise.  Both of these are very wholesome endeavours and I must admit that I’m not at all upset about their respective new-found presences.

They kind of go hand in hand, too.  It’s not like I want my fluffy pink tail to be fat or anything.

Things That Sting

There’s a bee in my goddamn window well.

I hate bees.  Wasps, too, which is what it might actually be.  It’s neither fluffy nor cute, and it looks like it wants to sting me numerous times without dying, so it’s probably a wasp.

I’ve only been stung once by a wasp/bee/hornet/flying asshole, and I kind of had it coming.  I was five, and playing on a beach with a styrofoam surfboard.  The wasp was somehow wedged between the surfboard and the dock, and I somehow managed to ram my knee into the wasp’s ass, thus stinging myself.

There was no one around to cry to, so I just went into the water, hoping that it would soothe my stung knee.

It didn’t.

Non-Smoking Log: Day 9

This week, I discovered that I’m actually capable of getting drunk and still not smoking.

In fact, last night I got drunk on a patio, surrounded by smokers, and still did not want a damn cigarette.

I might be able to kick this habit.

This is Leather

Today is one of those days where it seems like there’s nothing more to life than constant struggle.

I fight and fight and fight!  And it hurts so much!!

Everything is hard.  Every fucking accomplishment, every attempt at bettering myself, every fucking step I take feels like I’m walking barefoot on broken glass. 

Why can’t some things just come easier?  Not even necessarily “easy”, just with less hardship?  I mean really, why can’t I get-out-of-jail-free just once in awhile?

I just want to stop trying.  Smoke my ass off.  Eat myself into morbid obesity.  Drink until my liver disintegrates.  Jump into a bullshit relationship with some bland twit simply because I can’t handle being alone.  Shut myself off forever.

But I can’t do any of this.  Even if I tried, it just wouldn’t work out.  I have some sort of guardian angel who trips me up whenever I try to coast.  No free rides for me, just uphill, both ways, through the snowstorm-tornado-volcano of the century, with cardboard shoes. 

Or something like that.

I’m so fucking tired.

Perspective, Like a Balloon

I’ve been thinking about perspective lately.

Specifically the contraction and/or expansion of one’s perspective as a means of surpassing a difficult moment in time.

Let me see if I can elaborate.

Okay, as far as expansion goes, picture yourself waiting in a line.  You’ve been waiting a really long time, and the line is going nowhere (like when you’re at Walmart).  You’re stuck behind some jerk who is arguing about the price of socks, and you’re wondering when the hell this is going to end.  If you expand your perspective, to the point of recognising that this is but a tiny blip in your day, you can get outside of the present situation and make it less of an issue.  Being fully aware that “This, too, shall pass” makes it pass easier and with less pain.

When I was sixteen, I got dumped by my boyfriend.  We then spent the day together, going to a coffee shop, and then to the movies to see Mrs. Doubtfire.  While we were in the coffee shop, I was staring at our table, trying not to cry (crying over men, what a silly notion!), when I realized that all I could see was this table in front of me.  It took up all of my peripheral vision.  I then realized that there was so much more in the room than this table, and thus, so much more in my world than this heartbreak.  I concluded that this pain was minor in the greater scheme of things, and was able to gain a better perspective and stop crying.  Until we got to the movie theatre.  Then I started crying again.  My memories of Mrs. Doubtfire are likely far different than yours.

Contracting, on the other hand, works differently.  Have you ever, when experiencing a headache, tried to focus only on the actual pain?  Putting all of your concentration on that particular ache, while shutting off everything external to it?  The pain seems to diminish, or at least it seems to lose meaning, like when you repeat a word over and over until it loses meaning.

Another contracting example that comes to mind is washing dishes after smoking a joint.  It’s far more enjoyable to wash dishes while high, partly because your mind is focused so deeply on the task.  Everything you do, the lathering, the rinsing, the placing a plate on the dish rack seems larger and brighter when you’re stoned.

I think these mind tricks are neat.  I although I can’t yet figure out why, I think that they are important, and that being aware of them is important, too.

Non-Smoking Log: Day Three

It’s been three days since I stopped smoking, and it’s been a mostly smooth ride.

Already my lungs feel better, and my complexion is more vibrant than before.  My sense of smell is coming back in spurts, mostly because I’ve been suffering from some kind of cold/non-cold over the past week, so I can’t really tell whether it’s my cold going away or my non-smoking that’s making me smell things again.  At any rate, my sneakers stink like used condoms.

I’ve been experimenting with bubblegum as a means to do something with my mouth when feeling nervous or bored.  It sucks.  I fucking hate gum.  I’m going to try to just pay attention to the bouts of nervousness/boredom and psych my way out of them.

Masturbating, alas, has not yet yielded the orgasms I was expecting.  Better orgasms than before, but I’m not shattering any windows.  Maybe I’m too old for sex now that I’m thirty two.  Sigh.

A strange thing that I experienced today was something that felt similar to a panic attack, but not with the negative feelings normally associated with such.  It came in waves like a panic attack, and I was able to ride it out like a panic attack, but it consisted of excitement rather than panic.  A giddy attack.  Would that be from the excess oxygen that my body isn’t accustomed to?

It’s an interesting journey, this road to healing and discovering the new normal.  Interesting to me.  Your opinion can go fudge itself.

Back to Bubblegum

Today I quit smoking like it was nothing.

I made the decision, stuck a nicotine patch on my tit and went to work.  I figure that if I’m able to survive one of the busiest days at work with nothing but a nicotine patch keeping me from committing bloody murder, then I’ll probably be fine.

I’m not entirely sure if I’ll be able to write with the same voracity/creativity/capacity to which you are accustomed, but I don’t really care, either.

I’m fine with being your dancing monkey until I get tired of dancing.  Then I’ll just quit like it’s nothing.  Sort of like what I just did with cigarettes.  Hopefully like what I just did with cigarettes…

Don’t You Wish You Could Hear my Lemmy Impression?

I really hate it when there’s a song stuck in my head, but it’s my own voice singing it, monotonously and a capella.

These are the songs that got stuck in my head this week, in chronological order:

That last one, in case you were wondering is “My brain don’t work, my heart’s a jerk, lover after lover, yeah one after the other.”  That was today.  All day.  The recorded version involves yodelling.

Henry Rollins, Eat Your Heart Out

For my birthday wish I want this:

To let go of this constant, nagging, mammalian desire for erotic love.  To rid myself of this all-too-natural urge and occupy my thoughts with more constructive pursuits.

It’s obvious to me that this love is not going to cross my path at any point in the near future, and so I owe myself something better than just sitting around watching stupid tv shows and eating delicious baked goods.

I’ll take care of the boring business; the t-shirt production, the income taxes, the vacuuming, the dish washing.  I’ll try to achieve a certain state of mind from this tedium, meditating on these small tasks, learning about my insides as I focus on the finer details.

I will become reacquainted with my own independence, and I will become stronger as a result.

I am already strong, already independent, already fitted with a good intelligent head on my shoulders, but I’m going to get even better.

I’ve been writing this blog a long time.  It started off with no readers and has grown modestly over the years to something that I’m now proud of, so I will try to share what I learn as I learn it.

Sigh, the path to improvement always starts with the recognition and understanding of one’s inevitable solitude.

A Connoisseur’s Guide to Masturbating While Under the Influence

I masturbated yesterday while under the influence of a half dose of muscle relaxants.

I’m quite sensitive to pills, so a half dose was all I needed to feel like I was floating on a cloud of love and angel farts.  Which was nice, but the whole masturbating experience while high on such drugs was strange.

The orgasm wasn’t anywhere near normal.  Not exactly anti-climactic, but not incredibly powerful, either.  The sensation was much like letting go of one’s bladder, minus the mess.  Actually, it was totally anti-climactic.  I remember the build up seemed like the orgasm was going to blow my tits off, but when it happened, the tits went nowhere.

This led me to think about the other times I’ve masturbated while under the influence of various substances, and the physical differences involved.

By far, I have to say that the best orgasm I’ve ever experienced has come from masturbating after having quit smoking for a few days.  I think it comes from the body being able to absorb a lot more oxygen, and as a result, it gives the most intense and long lasting climax.  Did you know that a pig’s orgasm lasts for thirty minutes?  I’ve been reading this particular piece of trivia everywhere lately.  Weird, and I’m totally jealous.

Hangover orgasms are a close second, simply due to the body’s mysteriously intense desire for sex.  I don’t know why the body gets so painfully horny when hungover; I’d really like to know the logistics behind that one.

Smoking pot and masturbating is okay, but I get easily distracted, and my mind will wander off to decidedly unsexy thoughts.  Like grocery shopping, or that scene in Hostel where the guy gets drilled in the tit.  Not really what I usually think about when twiddling my lady bits.

Unfortunately, that’s the whole of my experience of masturbating while under the influence. I probably need to get out more, and try to keep my hands out of my pants for longer than an hour.