It's 3 am, I'm being petty and jealous, and sexting has ceased to turn me on. I have a feeling that at the other end, my fellow sexter is either handing his phone around to friends, is piss-drunk, or is combining the two, plus adding a little "other girl" possibility, just to make things more interesting.
Or it's 3 am and too late for sex.
And I have no right to be jealous.
It's funny how I want to have a one-woman man, yet it seems that since the ex and I broke it off, I'm incapable of the same. He's not with anyone, and has all the right in the world to have sex with whomever he wants. I more wish he didn't vocalize it. Yes I realize he's a grown man with needs that I cannot satisfy for him,and that he will take other lovers. Understandable. Just maybe not people I know, would be preferable. Or if so, perhaps he could just mention it in passing instead of planning it out with me and asking my opinion.
Or, maybe, I should just pull my head out of my ass, stop making demands of him and be happy that he may have an opportunity with a quirky, artistic, very pretty redhead, that satisfies most, if not all of his fantasy girl attributes.
I'm thinking that I'm going to take that last option there.
Adam has put me off for sex, which makes the petty jealous side of me a little more pronounced that usual. I really wish that didn't make me feel totally worthless, but somehow it does regardless. Cheap and expected on one side, worthless and ignored on another.
What's better: Sex because it's good, without attachment, or a relationship where sex is decent, infrequent and emotions sort of come into play?
At least I know what I want:
1) Companionship
Someone I can hang out with on a regular basis, who is capable of interesting conversation
2) Honesty
Somehow spending my days guessing how the other person feels, what they want and expect, if they're only with me out of pity or if they are genuinely interested is not on the top list of things I want to spend my Saturday doing. Or Monday. Or Thursday. Well, ever, really. I would ask but that makes everything awkward.
3) Meaningful Relationship
Sex without one is fine until possessiveness takes over, either on one side or another. Then, either a relationship in imminent, or the sex ends, period. Otherwise you get weird, awkward friendship mixed with sex and hurt feelings, which is about as much fun as getting repeatedly poked in the eye with a fork.
4) Sex
As you may have already guessed.
Need it. Love it. Gotta have it.
That all being said: goals for the day include anything other than thinking about sex, losing the jealous thing (stupid really), and getting to class on time. Also to stop sexting in the late hours of the night.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The Complexities of Friendship and Lust
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I feel today like I should explain something. Something about relationships that maybe isn't as cut and dry as it ought to be.
His name is Julian.
The first thing you need to know: Julian is not my boyfriend.
He is many things. He is a swimmer with a killer body, a physics major, a snazzy dresser, a wonderful friend, a fantastic lay, and a tease. But he is not my man. My man should be the only one to make me feel gorgeous, sexy, interesting, sexually capable, satisfied. I know that. And when I haven't spoken to him in a while, Julian doesn't enter my thoughts, much less have sexual effect on me.
Then he and I will start talking again. Likely over something innocent such as "I haven't heard from you lately. What's up?", but it inevitably leads to talk that invariably leads to more talk surrounding sex. Then we reminisce, "remember that time in the shower, when I taught you how to..." or "oh God it felt so good when you...". Then we get aroused. Then we like being aroused because it brings us...or rather, me (I won't speak for him) back to the most satisfying sexual interludes of my life. My first orgasm was from him. He made me feel like a sexually charged person, able to bring whomever I wanted to their knees in lust.And every time we start this whole thing up again, he makes me feel like that again, and I want to bring him to his knees, regardless of what sort of relationship I'm in.
I find him intriguing, arousing. When we're talking, he enters my thoughts daily, and in the most inconvenient locations. School, work, at family parties. And all of a sudden I'm transformed from a rational human being into a cat in heat, yearning to rub myself into something, just to suppress my urge to find him, drag him to the ground and fuck him. I plan out how I could cheat so no one will guess what I've done.
And then I remember Adam.
Adam with no self-esteem, who thinks he's useless, who thinks because he's not like everyone else, no one cares about him. Adam whom I love. And I know that I am undeserving of this delicate being who is afraid to let me in, to let me love him.
Julian's body is available and he flaunts it at me. Were I single I could have him any time I wanted, give or take a couple hours for transportation (he's in another city 2 hours away by train). Adam's I have tried to possess, and though I have succeeded once, I want more, I need more to be satisfied. I am a sexual being now. It's an addiction that needs to be fed. He's sweet, has no sense of social graces, and though he's absolutely gorgeous, he doesn't use his sexy prowl until he's not paying attention to it. He is my man, the one I have chosen. But he doesn't make me feel pretty, or sexy. In fact, I feel like I'm begging for it from him. I hate begging.
But is this a relationship flaw, or a "it's too soon, don't push the man" sort of thing? Should I stay in my present sexual state, that is, no sex and hope that it blows over soon so I can make passionate love to the one I love, or should I screw the brains out of the man who means very little to me beyond the point of friendship, but makes me orgasm like no other?
Lust makes everything more complicated.
I feel today like I should explain something. Something about relationships that maybe isn't as cut and dry as it ought to be.
His name is Julian.
The first thing you need to know: Julian is not my boyfriend.
He is many things. He is a swimmer with a killer body, a physics major, a snazzy dresser, a wonderful friend, a fantastic lay, and a tease. But he is not my man. My man should be the only one to make me feel gorgeous, sexy, interesting, sexually capable, satisfied. I know that. And when I haven't spoken to him in a while, Julian doesn't enter my thoughts, much less have sexual effect on me.
Then he and I will start talking again. Likely over something innocent such as "I haven't heard from you lately. What's up?", but it inevitably leads to talk that invariably leads to more talk surrounding sex. Then we reminisce, "remember that time in the shower, when I taught you how to..." or "oh God it felt so good when you...". Then we get aroused. Then we like being aroused because it brings us...or rather, me (I won't speak for him) back to the most satisfying sexual interludes of my life. My first orgasm was from him. He made me feel like a sexually charged person, able to bring whomever I wanted to their knees in lust.And every time we start this whole thing up again, he makes me feel like that again, and I want to bring him to his knees, regardless of what sort of relationship I'm in.
I find him intriguing, arousing. When we're talking, he enters my thoughts daily, and in the most inconvenient locations. School, work, at family parties. And all of a sudden I'm transformed from a rational human being into a cat in heat, yearning to rub myself into something, just to suppress my urge to find him, drag him to the ground and fuck him. I plan out how I could cheat so no one will guess what I've done.
And then I remember Adam.
Adam with no self-esteem, who thinks he's useless, who thinks because he's not like everyone else, no one cares about him. Adam whom I love. And I know that I am undeserving of this delicate being who is afraid to let me in, to let me love him.
Julian's body is available and he flaunts it at me. Were I single I could have him any time I wanted, give or take a couple hours for transportation (he's in another city 2 hours away by train). Adam's I have tried to possess, and though I have succeeded once, I want more, I need more to be satisfied. I am a sexual being now. It's an addiction that needs to be fed. He's sweet, has no sense of social graces, and though he's absolutely gorgeous, he doesn't use his sexy prowl until he's not paying attention to it. He is my man, the one I have chosen. But he doesn't make me feel pretty, or sexy. In fact, I feel like I'm begging for it from him. I hate begging.
But is this a relationship flaw, or a "it's too soon, don't push the man" sort of thing? Should I stay in my present sexual state, that is, no sex and hope that it blows over soon so I can make passionate love to the one I love, or should I screw the brains out of the man who means very little to me beyond the point of friendship, but makes me orgasm like no other?
Lust makes everything more complicated.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Hydras and Philosophies
Dignity.
A good word, thought I as I walked past some poster board advertising some physical disease or defect that people have to live with.
It was especially interesting because of a thought process I'd been following that day: What is dignity, how does one gain or lose it, and is it a necessity of life? If it is, can it be given or taken by others, or does it have to be one's own doing to gain or lose? Are the rules of dignity straightforward, or do they depend on the individuals view?
It was a surprisingly deep train of thought, considering I'd been up until 6 am the day before finishing off an essay for class. I didn't manage to come to any definite conclusions though. Every single question I figured out led to about 5 more. Since when did ethical questions and philosophy merge with hydras? Usually, when someone answers a question it is, for the sake of metaphor, like killing a dragon. You chop it's head off, it's dead. But with philosophical debate questions, every time someone tries to answer it's like doing battle with a Hydra. Every "kill" brings about five more heads to chop off. If you've ever seen the Disney movie "Hercules", you know the image I'm thinking of.
This train of thought, coupled with the poster, made me start thinking about mentally challenged people. Now, I'm not here to start a grand debate about the ethical decisions of aborting mentally challenged children or euthanasia, or burden on society/family/quality of life or any of it. I'm merely considering it from a point of view of having, or not having dignity.
I suppose first we must define dignity. I would think (too lazy to go dictionary-ing, and to be perfectly honest, I look up too many words in a day anyway) that dignity would be a sense of pride in oneself, a confidence and a way of behaving that is in no way degrading according to a persons personal sensibilities.
Assuming this is true, what happens to people who were born normal, but through an accident or some awful situation in their lives, become handicapped and mentally disabled? These people likely knew a good quality of life, where they had friends and family, took part in groups or interests, etc. But after a misfortune such as a car accident or a serious debilitating disease, is dignity still a focus in their lives?
Of course, their relatives and those who care about them want to preserve the newly disabled persons sense of self, and try to keep up a standard of self-esteem, but when someone else is feeding you, putting you to bed, changing your clothes, changing your diaper and all of that, after years of independence, does dignity remain intact? or does the individual's definition of dignity change?
I have never been in such a position before, but I think that in my case I would feel ashamed that someone else was doing all this for me, when I used to be independent and do it all myself. I would feel useless I think, and without any shred of dignity. Physical limitations aside, I would not be able to stand tall and be proud of myself despite being completely dependent on another person. I don't know, to me it just seems wrong.
Please, no flaming for this, but I think that perhaps some people should accept that their time is running out after an accident that makes them a complete vegetable, instead of holding on to life in the hopes that somehow, someday, there will be a cure for their short-circuited brain. I think of life as a percentage thing, sort of like a grade over the course of a semester. If you do really well in the first half, but then mess it all up in the second half, your grade will be on the pass/fail, 50% line. What if you could stop the semester half-way through? Quit while you're ahead, as the saying goes. Then, the life you did live was a good one, great even! and not half living half existing (there is a difference), which would make for an okay life.
It's these sorts of questions that make me grateful I'm not a philosophy student.
A good word, thought I as I walked past some poster board advertising some physical disease or defect that people have to live with.
It was especially interesting because of a thought process I'd been following that day: What is dignity, how does one gain or lose it, and is it a necessity of life? If it is, can it be given or taken by others, or does it have to be one's own doing to gain or lose? Are the rules of dignity straightforward, or do they depend on the individuals view?
It was a surprisingly deep train of thought, considering I'd been up until 6 am the day before finishing off an essay for class. I didn't manage to come to any definite conclusions though. Every single question I figured out led to about 5 more. Since when did ethical questions and philosophy merge with hydras? Usually, when someone answers a question it is, for the sake of metaphor, like killing a dragon. You chop it's head off, it's dead. But with philosophical debate questions, every time someone tries to answer it's like doing battle with a Hydra. Every "kill" brings about five more heads to chop off. If you've ever seen the Disney movie "Hercules", you know the image I'm thinking of.
This train of thought, coupled with the poster, made me start thinking about mentally challenged people. Now, I'm not here to start a grand debate about the ethical decisions of aborting mentally challenged children or euthanasia, or burden on society/family/quality of life or any of it. I'm merely considering it from a point of view of having, or not having dignity.
I suppose first we must define dignity. I would think (too lazy to go dictionary-ing, and to be perfectly honest, I look up too many words in a day anyway) that dignity would be a sense of pride in oneself, a confidence and a way of behaving that is in no way degrading according to a persons personal sensibilities.
Assuming this is true, what happens to people who were born normal, but through an accident or some awful situation in their lives, become handicapped and mentally disabled? These people likely knew a good quality of life, where they had friends and family, took part in groups or interests, etc. But after a misfortune such as a car accident or a serious debilitating disease, is dignity still a focus in their lives?
Of course, their relatives and those who care about them want to preserve the newly disabled persons sense of self, and try to keep up a standard of self-esteem, but when someone else is feeding you, putting you to bed, changing your clothes, changing your diaper and all of that, after years of independence, does dignity remain intact? or does the individual's definition of dignity change?
I have never been in such a position before, but I think that in my case I would feel ashamed that someone else was doing all this for me, when I used to be independent and do it all myself. I would feel useless I think, and without any shred of dignity. Physical limitations aside, I would not be able to stand tall and be proud of myself despite being completely dependent on another person. I don't know, to me it just seems wrong.
Please, no flaming for this, but I think that perhaps some people should accept that their time is running out after an accident that makes them a complete vegetable, instead of holding on to life in the hopes that somehow, someday, there will be a cure for their short-circuited brain. I think of life as a percentage thing, sort of like a grade over the course of a semester. If you do really well in the first half, but then mess it all up in the second half, your grade will be on the pass/fail, 50% line. What if you could stop the semester half-way through? Quit while you're ahead, as the saying goes. Then, the life you did live was a good one, great even! and not half living half existing (there is a difference), which would make for an okay life.
It's these sorts of questions that make me grateful I'm not a philosophy student.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Introductions all around
I'm Norah.
I'm a 20 year old university student who lives with her mom, her brother, her golden retriever and two cats. My parents are divorced, I owe 750$ to VISA that I don't have money to pay off, and I adore books. I work at a shoe store. Right now I have a boyfriend. I don't know if I love him, or if I will, and I'm unsure where I stand with my ex. I have had friends with benefits, made out with girls, watched entire seasons of TV in a day, and have known true love. I value honesty above all else. I can count my real friends on one hand. I am a procrastinator, I love to cook, and I hate Brussels sprouts. My idols are Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn. I don't know what I want to do with my life but I know that wherever I go, and whatever I do, I will never be a sedentary, settled down person. I want to see the world, and I've been to Europe, North America, and the Caribbean. Soon, I'm going to Greece. I love history, shoes and coffee. I am not sure if I believe in God, but I know that sometimes when life becomes difficult I talk and the universe seems to listen, and care.
Even though I know all this, I'm still completely stumped by a very simple question.
Who am I?
Here's the goal of this blog: when I'm old, I want a detailed compilation of my twenties. I want to know what I did, where I went, what I thought about, who I loved, where I worked and who I was.
It seems that some people lose where they come from as they age. Certainly, they have ideas of themselves, clouded and changed through years of memory, but who they used to be is lost. Who were the average, everyday people of the 90's? Who were we before real worries and responsibilities, before parents or TV or magazines told us what was expected of us? Lose 20 pounds in five days, this shampoo makes me beautiful, be elegant, graceful, beautiful, thin, wild in the sack, a career woman, have multiple orgasms, children, how to get married as quickly as possible, if you sleep with someone outside of a relationship you're a whore etc...
With all these outer influences and rules to living, how are we ever supposed to know who we are?
I'm terrified this is all the future will have to remember us by - a time capsule filled with our flaws, fashion, and face-value selves.
I've heard that a person's twenties are supposed to be the best years of their lives. This is where we grow and change, sometimes for the best and sometimes for the worst. I intend to be completely truthful, share everything of importance and interest.
I want to remember who I was, how I changed, and what I became.
I want to know the detailed life of me.
I'm a 20 year old university student who lives with her mom, her brother, her golden retriever and two cats. My parents are divorced, I owe 750$ to VISA that I don't have money to pay off, and I adore books. I work at a shoe store. Right now I have a boyfriend. I don't know if I love him, or if I will, and I'm unsure where I stand with my ex. I have had friends with benefits, made out with girls, watched entire seasons of TV in a day, and have known true love. I value honesty above all else. I can count my real friends on one hand. I am a procrastinator, I love to cook, and I hate Brussels sprouts. My idols are Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn. I don't know what I want to do with my life but I know that wherever I go, and whatever I do, I will never be a sedentary, settled down person. I want to see the world, and I've been to Europe, North America, and the Caribbean. Soon, I'm going to Greece. I love history, shoes and coffee. I am not sure if I believe in God, but I know that sometimes when life becomes difficult I talk and the universe seems to listen, and care.
Even though I know all this, I'm still completely stumped by a very simple question.
Who am I?
Here's the goal of this blog: when I'm old, I want a detailed compilation of my twenties. I want to know what I did, where I went, what I thought about, who I loved, where I worked and who I was.
It seems that some people lose where they come from as they age. Certainly, they have ideas of themselves, clouded and changed through years of memory, but who they used to be is lost. Who were the average, everyday people of the 90's? Who were we before real worries and responsibilities, before parents or TV or magazines told us what was expected of us? Lose 20 pounds in five days, this shampoo makes me beautiful, be elegant, graceful, beautiful, thin, wild in the sack, a career woman, have multiple orgasms, children, how to get married as quickly as possible, if you sleep with someone outside of a relationship you're a whore etc...
With all these outer influences and rules to living, how are we ever supposed to know who we are?
I'm terrified this is all the future will have to remember us by - a time capsule filled with our flaws, fashion, and face-value selves.
I've heard that a person's twenties are supposed to be the best years of their lives. This is where we grow and change, sometimes for the best and sometimes for the worst. I intend to be completely truthful, share everything of importance and interest.
I want to remember who I was, how I changed, and what I became.
I want to know the detailed life of me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)