Just dance...

Sometimes I feel like I post too much.

But that's the way it goes.

Anxious.

Which is, of course, nothing new. Just something I have to swallow down and keep the manifestations in my actions controlled.

Hard to do when a sexy manbeast is texting you wondering if you're free tonight.

And you end up sending back something along the lines of, "Yeah... maybe Sunday. I'll let you know. Can't be all marked up."

I want to say I know GV8 wouldn't care.

And he wouldn't... care. That I was out frolicking on a night he is off being busy working on the club.

If things were smooth.

Which, as has been noted, things are the least smooth they've been.

It's intent. It's how I spend my time. It's showing him what is important to me.

So I turned him down. And will likely turn him down again on Sunday, unless GV8 texts me to tell me that we are a no-go. And then that man will be my angry, objectifying sex.

Which he's good at.

So it works out.

GV8 is... busy all weekend. Construction. Bad timing on my part, I suppose. So I'm going to be sitting here, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for the week to begin. A paper to write, a movie to watch (for class), and then a essay summary to produce.

Not too bad. Easily distracted when emotions run high, though. Brings down the quality of my work.

Saturday, I'm thinking of going clubbing. I'm a bit on the fence, because my body is so exhausted from the stress of the last few days, I really don't want to push it with my heart.

But... I left my pants in Silverlake two weeks ago. And the friend that I left them with is also going to the club. So that'll save me a trip.

Mmm, contentless post where I gather my thoughts and do nothing of a productive nature.

I'm shakey, to be honest. Worried about the whiplash of rejection, a rejection that I feel is imminent. I can't let my hopes get up that he'd actually have me back, and I can't really imagine him doing so.

Who would have thought I'd be this shaken up over a guy?

C is shocked, I'll tell you that. She's so used to me charging over and through, twisting through the men, with mild impacts occuring that, on the surface, do nothing, and are swallowed down into the back of my brain.

And yet I sit here, moping. Wondering. Waiting. Pacing.

Distance is created with time and duties. All I can do is hope. There's no prayer in my life.

And what does prayer accomplish, anyhow? It's a meditation, a rationalization for how things turn out. It allows that faith in a higher, controlling power, remove the anxiety of one's own lack of control. That it will be okay, to quoth Lady Gaga.

I can't believe I just did that. So lame.

It's nearing 6PM. I've knocked my weekend free, once more, from social constraints. Easier to do without a steady partner in my life, though that isn't always a good thing.

I'm afraid of what GV8 is going to do. How much this is going to hurt.

But I'm going to have to take it. I'm going to have to be brave and open myself up, knowing that it's more than likely he's going to shut me down.

And I'll survive.

Wounded for a time, but... but what? Something trite that I keep telling myself? Wounds happen? Right. Wounded, but I'll heal? Scar tissue or fractures? Solidifying into a mass. Internal cancer?

I'll be wounded, and time will continue to move on. I will do the best I can, because there is no going back. I can't stay in one moment forever, I can't mope or wallow my seasons away. Time will continue rushing and it is my decision to heal myself or to cauterize those wounds that men make. I am in control of how I handle this. I've been here before, in other ways.

Whatever happens, I will trust that I will take care of it. I will trust that my support network is strong enough to hold me when I plunge down, and that I'm strong enough to control the fall.

I will, ultimately, be in control of how I handle myself. We all walk around with shiny scars or oozing wounds. We medicate ourselves in different ways.

I need to be okay with this.

I need to be okay with him leaving me like I left him.

I need to trust and love myself.

Faith.

In a week or two, I will be walking wounded.

My mother tells me that "these things will pass".

Because that's what time does. It heals wounds, enables us to forget the immediacy of the emotion.

But the emotions aren't ripples, fading away into nothingness. They get stored within us, impacting other ripples, changing the shape of the water's surface.

I've just dropped a rock into my pond.

I heaved it over my head and slammed it down. I've always been so good at shocking the system, making waves. Emotions slosh over my edges, bleeding out into my interactions, driving needs.

What is to say that I should not take up one of the offers for sexual companionship this weekend? GV8 would never know.

But that is a weakness of mine. It's how I de-stress. I read, I watch movies, I cuddle, I fuck, I dance. That's how I de-stress. When I'm angry, I walk, I run. Pound it out of my system with rapid heartbeats.

It's not always healthy, though. Not always good.

And it's so easy to turn to. Options, they are available.

But I need to get a handle on it. I need another way of relieving stress, another source of comfort. I have them, I need to explore them.

I need to keep sane this weekend. I need to keep healthy and happy (as much as I can) and do what needs to be done. Prioritize.

And next week, I'll see GV8. The axe will likely fall, but I know that.

At least I tried. At least I did what I've never been able to do before.

I'll just hold still and let him swing, for a clean cut.