Unbeknown to me, a private event became a public party. Tell me how comfortable you would be if two of your Ex's showed up at the club's privately reserved bar? And since you've been out of said relationships, you have a new hobby - pole dancing - of which both are well-aware.
I don't like crowds, nor do I like my eardrums blasted for three hours. It was a bad night all-around...
Since then, I've been sleeping for crap. I've sucked at pole all week because my muscles don't recover enough for the following day. No love. :(
I need to quit my studio membership because I simply can't afford it anymore. I still don't have a pole at home! How am I gonna practice? ::sniffle::
Friday, February 25, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Chaotic Resolve
I lost it. I just carelessly brushed it aside and now it’s gone. And I want it back but there’s no way to get it back, to get it back from the ignorant unappreciative hands in which it surely has fallen into. That makes it that much more painful, the loss, knowing that whoever finds it will not love and cherish it as much as I did is like daggers through my twisted and groaning soul.
Loneliness sets it. Or is it loneliness? Is it just veiled rage waiting to release itself from its bonds hurting the same hurt that I am because it knows that it, as a feeling, is enslaved by my decisions and entrapped by my mind? Probably the latter. So it wrenches and wriggles trying to squirm free but to no avail.
But I feel it. Oh I feel it. I feel every moment of it like churning of my stomach or even worse, a kick and a punch from the inside, paining and bruising me every time I consciously or unconsciously think. It’s always there yearning to break free. But I don’t let it go. I don’t let it ravage the countrysides with its fire and boundless energy. I have the power to keep it in. I am me, matador of my thoughts, and trainer of my feelings.
So I hold it by the reigns like a horse at bay, this hate…this hate so personal because it is indeed personally directed at my person.
Alas, I turn and it takes a chance. It kicks me once and I double over. A crack in the wall starting small but growing large. I let go.
Loneliness sets it. Or is it loneliness? Is it just veiled rage waiting to release itself from its bonds hurting the same hurt that I am because it knows that it, as a feeling, is enslaved by my decisions and entrapped by my mind? Probably the latter. So it wrenches and wriggles trying to squirm free but to no avail.
But I feel it. Oh I feel it. I feel every moment of it like churning of my stomach or even worse, a kick and a punch from the inside, paining and bruising me every time I consciously or unconsciously think. It’s always there yearning to break free. But I don’t let it go. I don’t let it ravage the countrysides with its fire and boundless energy. I have the power to keep it in. I am me, matador of my thoughts, and trainer of my feelings.
So I hold it by the reigns like a horse at bay, this hate…this hate so personal because it is indeed personally directed at my person.
Alas, I turn and it takes a chance. It kicks me once and I double over. A crack in the wall starting small but growing large. I let go.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Novocaine for the Soul?
Well, it's been one of those weeks: good, bad, ugly, magical...
My tat looks great. It's officially in the last stage of healing: peeling. Yuck, but yay.
Yesterday was cruel punishment for giving up my own apartment. It's a long story, so just trust me on this one. It partly has to do with parents.
I'm trying to wake the F up:
--work more on the business. Seriously, stop half-assing my work just because I'm self-employed.
--realize what the hell I want in a romantic relationship. Stop hurting people with indecision and/or fear.
--develop a style. Home, wardrobe, hair, maybe even a way of speaking that doesn't demand such patience.
--commit to a workout routine. Cough up the 400 bucks and get a freakin pole for home... and USE it.
I wish I could afford a dog. It's like being worshipped without needing to invest all the emotion in return. They don't ask for the same dependency. And they don't talk! ...at least not that you can coherently understand their language. I like taking care of things. It's not so much that I need to be a master, but it's nice to have relative control over a conscious being. I'm sick, I know... ::laughs::
My tat looks great. It's officially in the last stage of healing: peeling. Yuck, but yay.
Yesterday was cruel punishment for giving up my own apartment. It's a long story, so just trust me on this one. It partly has to do with parents.
I'm trying to wake the F up:
--work more on the business. Seriously, stop half-assing my work just because I'm self-employed.
--realize what the hell I want in a romantic relationship. Stop hurting people with indecision and/or fear.
--develop a style. Home, wardrobe, hair, maybe even a way of speaking that doesn't demand such patience.
--commit to a workout routine. Cough up the 400 bucks and get a freakin pole for home... and USE it.
I wish I could afford a dog. It's like being worshipped without needing to invest all the emotion in return. They don't ask for the same dependency. And they don't talk! ...at least not that you can coherently understand their language. I like taking care of things. It's not so much that I need to be a master, but it's nice to have relative control over a conscious being. I'm sick, I know... ::laughs::
Saturday, February 5, 2011
New Tat!
The pink (in the picture on the right) is what's missing. I couldn't last for the whole tattoo. My body wouldn't have it. So, I'll go back in a few weeks to get it finished.
Note to ladies: And this is a Serious TMI for men.... so you are warned.
Ladies -- don't ever -- EVER -- get a tattoo the day before your period. Your tolerance for pain is severely lessened. Oh... my freakin.... GOD. I was the most stupid girl ever and scheduled my tattoo during the day women are MOST sensitive to pain. So, again I say: NEVER get a tattoo so close to your time of the month.
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