Galaxies run down my face...

I did not get to my couch last night until about 4AM.

A concert in Hollywood morphed into an Amoeba trip, which morphed into a hunt for slurpees, which led into C and I searching for a movie theater with tickets left over for the Harry Potter midnight showing.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

We got there early, they opened the theater at 11, so we took our seats. I immediately laid out across four seats and dozed. I have to catch my sleep where I can, and couchsurfing has allowed me to get used to sleeping in all sorts of various places on various types of furniture and floors, with various things going on at various volumes around me.

Variety is the spice of life, right?

So now I'm running on three hours of sleep.

Isn't too bad, considering I've done 20 minutes of sleep before taking off for Disneyland. That was exhausting, but the giddiness was entertaining.

C and I were going to go grab dinner with friends tonight, but I think I'm going to sit this one out. The last thing I want to do is get myself sick again.

We talked a lot last night, about relationships and sexuality, like we do. C is bisexual and does open relationships with intense emotional connections. I'm mostly straight and have two relationship functions- low emotions/high physicality/uncommitted or high emotions/high physicality/committed.

Since most of the time I operate under the former, my sex life remains incredibly simple. Drama remains next to non-existent, communication is strong.

Most of the conversation focused on her trying to determine how to reveal some unsavory bits of her past to Crosser. This is foreign to me. I have lots of unhealthy history behind me, but as soon as I consider sleeping with someone, and I know my interest is returned, I disclose so I don't have to worry about telling them later and having them freak out and reject me for things I did years ago when I really wasn't in my right mind.

We talked about guys, how easy things are for me. We talked about how both GV8 and SFPlayboy threw at me the idea that they were afraid I might get too attached within a week of each other. (C's response, "They clearly haven't been paying attention.")

As we talked, as I sorted it more and more out in my head, I realized I could sum everything I tried to convey in my earlier post up in one sentence.

If I wanted to be dating you, I already would be.

Looking over past relationships, as soon as I realized that's what I wanted (which didn't take long at all), I'd communicate it and we'd agree on a committed relationship immediately. This is not because I'm so awesome special, but because I know when someone will mesh with me, and they tend know it as well. It's a given.

But since it's rare to find someone I truly mesh with, I don't date often.

I mean, it's been almost a year and I don't think I've met a guy that would suit me. I wouldn't be surprised if I went another year without seeing more than a glimmer of potential.

And, yes, it's a little sad. I'm a companion by nature. I like having that partner.

But I'm also very much a loner.

Most of the time, not having a true partner doesn't bother me. If I need physical contact, I have lovers, ex-lovers, friends, and family to go to. If I need sex, I simply have to go to any number of hunting grounds and see if I can find someone suitable.

But while I have several close friends that I can talk to on any number of subjects, I want that one person that I can be myself with. The one person who will understand me.

As if anyone could truly understand another.

But I've felt it. I've met men that I knew straight down to my bones, knew them so well without words, without their names, I knew them.

I miss the late night conversations in parks, walking around whatever city we're in, laying alone in my bed with my phone pressed against my ear as he talks to me, soothes me to sleep with his words.

That's not for me right now, that fantasy.

I dislike that I get so mawkish when I'm tired. I want so strongly to curl up in bed right now, my head resting on a man's chest, inhaling his scent, feeling the rise and fall of his ribcage, the beat of his heart, the bass of his words vibrating against my ear, echoing through his chest. I want to feel that hand lift and brush the stray strand of hair off my face before settling on my waist or hip, pulling me half onto him as we slowly slip into sleep.

I hate how exhaustion makes me lower my shields, makes me easier to access, makes it easier to get upset, to get hurt. I feel as though if I was truly healthy, truly confident and stable, no matter how tired I was, I would never be that vunerable.

But I do like how I know that if something is bothering me but I can't quite get to the root of the problem, I can just deprive myself of sleep and it will weaken my mental blocks I set to protect myself... and then I'll easily find out what is wrong.

Provided, of course, I'm in front of a keyboard.

But I don't like how I have to do that to be honest with myself. I find it... not the best, not healthy, to operate like that. To hide more painful and self-doubting emotions to where I can't reach them if I'm fully awake... and I'm doing it to myself.

One of these weekends, when I have the alone time, maybe I'll try to go two nights without sleep. Just prop myself up in front of a computer with a bunch of coffee and some good music, see what I spew out.