Feeling kinda... socially stagnant.

Which is odd. I get out all the time. Too often, really.

Wonder if I'm just looking for excuses/distractions from dealing with my own responsibilities, and afraid that I'm just going to sink back into social non-existence.

Unpacked some more boxes last night and today. Long overdue. They've been sitting in my kitchen since I moved here in January, but it's a lot of decorations and memories. Memories... can't do much with at the moment. Decorations... that involves making this space my own. More my own.

But I did it. Progress was made. It felt really nice.

Always so afraid that anything I really enjoy is going to be yanked out from under me.

Feels like it happens so often, whenever I get excited about something.

I shut down my dating site profile.

Kept finding myself there, browsing the members, waiting for that lightening strike of "ooh, that's mine" to hit.

It's embarrassing. That's the last thing I need right now.

And the stupid, stupid messages. Who teaches these guys how to write? Or interact with the opposite sex? I feel like I could teach a course on how not to email women on dating sites.

And then the stalkers. Those guys that keep coming back and making sure you know they were there. And the passive-aggressive messages that follow.

So I decided it wasn't good. I'm itching. I'm itching with physical need and, more importantly, psychological need to have that male distraction, have that focus, have that rush of chemicals to my brain that leave me restless and excited.

I've gotten so much better than I used to be. Time was, when a relationship ended, I'd bounce from bed to bed. Happy, yes, but not necessarily healthy. Or, rather, in most cases, not doing anything positive for me, just engaging in my typical cyclical behaviors. It wasn't unhealthy, it just wasn't helping.

Things with GV8 have been rocky. The time I left him, back in early November of last year, I found my way into two different beds (and one of those beds contained two men, which was freaking awesome). Then he left me in December and the thing with my dad happened and, after that was all over, I found myself in bed with two men- but not having sex. Back together, then apart again, in bed with one man (no sex), made out on a couch with another.

Now we're apart again. Well, we're done, really.

It's been a week as of today, and I'm feeling that itch rise.

Gotta keep it tamped down. Gotta distract myself with life and with friends. Gotta focus on me and my goals. Long-term goals, not short-term, brief emotional-connect goals that do nothing for me but distract me from living the way I wish to live.

Each time has had a small backslide, each time has been less of a slide than the one before it.

I want to get better. What I do now... it's passable. It keeps me decently happy. I like being the sort of sex-queen I've come to be. But I don't want to stay in this place. To grow means there needs to be change. To change means there needs to be something you give up.

And I need to give this up.