Rough day.

Doesn't help that I'm spending my evenings up and wandering, not getting enough sleep.

Have to push myself into the ground, of course. It's what I do, what I've always done. Push and push until you crash, recover, then do it again.

Didn't have a nightmare about GV8 last night. That was... good. Unexpected. It's so hard to play out the different versions of the same thing, watching echoes of past relationships creep up on me, consolidate into the last ex.

In the dreams, I'm nothing to him.

In the dreams, I'm less than a stranger. I'm "someone he knew, once". Someone he thought he loved. Someone that was worth his love and attention. And then he looks at me in the dream and realizes that I was nothing. An infatuation, a symptom of foolishness. Not worth the most basic of human caring.

Back to those fears again.

Always devaluing myself. Always doubting. Always taking my value from the man who I spend time with, the man who I do my best to please.

It's better now than it was.

Still not 100%.

And it's hard to untangle the strings of actual lust from the strings of internal motivators stemming from other sources.

I have one man right now that I would willingly take to my bed, with near total confidence I would do so out of caring and connection. Being a couple thousand miles apart, though, means my bed is going to be empty for some time.

I'm coming up on my first cut-off. I said no new partners until a week after GV8's and my anniversary. Next Monday. I thought, by then, that there could be a chance that I'd be okay enough to start engaging again.

But I was wrong, and I'm having to move it to the next cut-off. August 1st.

I don't think I've ever gone so long without sex since I was 16 or so.

But, what? Do I really want to just trip up again? Find some "special" guy when I'm not ready for it, have to start again when it falls apart a year or two from now, when I'm 28 and I'm still at the same spot I was before? That I've been at so many times? How foolish that I keep turning to immediate pleasure, knowing the outcome.

So much easier than dealing with what I am now: tension. Anger. Grumpiness. Anxiety. Mood swings. Barely controlling myself from snapping at those around me.

I caught myself on film today. It was unexpected. I went to Lucha Va Voom's Cinco de Mayo show at The Mayan in downtown. A man with a video camera walked down the line, recording people waiting for the doors to open. I was on the phone with a friend, walking away from the line so I could hear. The timing was perfect. I walked about thirty feet in front of the camera, just for a second or two. They played the whole video just before the show.

I haven't seen myself move in years.

Yes, there are mirrors at the club, but I don't really look at them and, honestly, I'm dancing. It's a given that I'm going appear somewhere between decent and very good.

But I got to watch my walk. Something that I've been working on and adjusting, something that gets commented on and draws attention fairly often. Controlled, centered, internal. Rollingly smooth. The hipsway my family teases me about, saying I move like my cat.

It was surprising. I knew I moved differently, but I didn't realize how noticeable it was. Good to know that my body-awareness is paying off.

The show was good, the dancers, the performers, and, of course, the luchadore. For all three matches, each set of wrestlers were "thrown" out of the ring and into the chairs in front of me, people dashing out of the way, spilling drinks, the girls buzzed and shrieking.

I walked to my car afterwards, bidding C and friends good-bye for the evening. They were wandering off to find food, but I wasn't looking to spend money on things I already had at home. The freeway was smooth and empty, I slid into an easy 80, sometimes 90, letting my wheels take me home. My left-handed driving is getting better, though the awkwardness of using the turn signal is cropping up. Less and less I need to bring my right hand into play to make sure I get those extra-tight curves. I think that, within a month at most, I'll be driving just as smooth with my left as I do with my right.

It's a bit of a reality check for me. Making myself face the likelihood that I'll eventually lose all fine motor control in my right hand. Not anytime soon, but probably in the next ten to twenty years, depending on lifestyle choices. If I learn to do more things with my left, that time will extend, which I am aiming for.

But it's 1AM and my neighbors are slowly staggering home. I hear the laughter in the hallway and that's my cue to get myself unconscious.