Renew

The pressure in her head continued to grow as she sat at the window, her face in her hands. She watched the streaks of rain race their way down, down until her eyes could follow no further, until she found another to concentrate on. She wondered just how long this would persist. His eyes were on her, tracing her back and arms and legs, slowly admiring the grotesque swell of her ankles, the most recent physical flaw she'd gained.

A flutter shifted her liver slightly and she smirked, a hand automatically going to large mound of her abdomen. It sat low, giving indication [hope] that it was a boy.

"Sorry, baby," she whispered. She grazed her fingernails lightly over the area she believed his head to be, cooing him back to sleep. But he had other plans. A fist, foot jutted up into her stomach, startling her and not pleasantly. She gasped at the impact and fought the urge to puke. One more shove and the baby was down. It was too late for her dinner though, which now rested on her South Beach T-shirt. She'd never been to South Beach, but her parents had brought it back three sizes too big to compensate.

"Linc, could you get me a paper towel, please?" She wiped her chin with the back of her hand as he slowly rose from the table to retrieve the roll. He tossed it at her and sat back down, the roll itself landing three feet short. Without much hesitation she got up and waddled over.

"Don't get that shit on the floor," he growled. "You just had me mop it." She ignored him and snatched up the paper towel, ripping off several pieces to take care of the solids resting on her chest. A tear slipped her eye as the baby shifted yet again. "He movin'?"

She looked up, the sudden urge to punch him in the neck powerful and nearly consuming enough to be carried through. She took a breath instead and closed her eyes. "Yes, Linc. Dreamin' hard tonight." He cleared his throat and dragged a hand over his clean-shaved head.

"Must be the storm. Got everybody stirred up," he offered pathetically. She shrugged and chuckled slightly at his attempt at a decent conversation.

"Must be." She turned to walk out of the kitchen, ready in more ways than one to say goodnight without speaking.

"Want some ice cream?" She stopped, just shy of the threshold and turned to him.

"What?" He swallowed, trying his best not to attack her. Again.

"I asked if you wanted some ice cream," he said as evenly as he could. Even took to cracking his knuckles instead of her face. "Maybe it'll calm him down or something." If it had been anyone else, she would've smiled sweetly, given him a kiss, and told him to come upstairs, that all she needed and all this baby needed was some warmth.

But this was Linc and such words and gestures meant weakness and weakness meant she wasn't fit to be with him and this baby wasn't fit for this world. So she shrugged lightly instead.

"Yeah, I'll take ice cream. Chocolate, if we got any." And she made her way upstairs.

Celibacy Pt. 1

i think too much. it's my nature. i overanalyze and dwell and repeat until whatever i've originally obsessed about has become some warped deviation from any remote rational train of thought.



and this is applicable to just about everything.



as of late, i've been thinking about my sex life, or as recent, the lack thereof. it's on purpose; i've decided to go celibate and, no, not because i secretly think i'm a whore that needs to hang up her tramp-ways in order to get herself wholesome for her future husband. it's not like my number is astronomical (58) and it sincerely is not about that. i enjoy sex. gawd, do i enjoy sex! but call it maturity, call it some sort of self-repent, but i can't do meaningless sex anymore.

::clears throat::
yes, i just said that i can't do meaningless, carnal, casual sex.

though the only relationship in which i've been [shamefully] admittedly in love was oprah, lifetime movie worthy, my feelings were genuine for him, for it. to be blunt it was the first time i'd ever had an orgasm with a man. (And that statement is to imply that i've been the only other, nothing else.) at one point i was perplexed with the possibility that i associated the orgasms with love, but then i had my last fling in which the sex was infuckingcredible and i orgasmed and i dropped it like it was nothing. at this point, it's been months and he still wonders when we're going to get back together. i've never been a playette of any kind so confrontation with feelings that are not mine put me in a bit of a stuttering jam. i continuously, not too deftly, avoid, change, eviscerate the subject to save face (over the phone of course). it's hard trust me, but something in me won't let my vagina take over.

and trust, she is ready.

Christening

so it's about goddamn time i started this thing up. i suppose i should give this a proper intro, a good "hello, the fuck are you?" beginning, right?

let's get this straight: i'm a horrible person, reprehensible, irredeemable. fucking cunt, if you will. i whine, i bitch, i'm spoiled as all hell to a certain, lenient degree, and i'm overdramatic. and i'm not green. i mean, i love the theory, trust, it's just that mr. clean is sooo much cheaper than that natural scrub shit that smells like boiled bark with a dash of au naturale rot.

now that most formalities are out of the way and i've apparently kept [attained] your interest since you are, in fact, still reading . . . hello. how are you? fabulous. mm, me? fine. swell.

i won't bore you with basics (i'm a virgo, which by stereotypical zodiac standards makes me hypercritical of every goddamn detail and person in my life, including, most importantly, me and OCD in every other facet), but i will bore you with nearly all of my everyday occurances. i'm a failed writer so some entries will appear to be fiction, but are in fact true yet exaggerated events. others will be written avant-garde. all will be honest. i leave the discernment solely up to you, should you still be interested.

so welcome. grab a drink (i strongly recommend one heavily adulterated with alcohol), relax. and try not to be fucking offended.