A change of plans

We’re such a silly race. We cling onto our plans and carefully designed routes with single-minded ferociousness.

We fear change and anything that threatens to throw us off course. At least off the course we had thought as ideal. We’re so silly and scared. I am so silly and scared. Going with the flow is supposedly the easiest thing to do, yet how unwilling I am to do that. How scared I am of any kind of commitment on any level and for any reason. 

A friend wrote to me in one of her letters, “I always had an escape route handy in case something went wrong.” I know exactly what she means, and this is how I usually plan my life too. Making sure I need to rely on no-one except myself, and if relying on someone cannot be avoided, I certainly don't choose to rely on someone I am evolved with in an erotic manner. Depending on my lover is my greatest nightmare. I want to be free. I want no power games or need involved. I want to be myself, and approach someone because I feel the need for companionship. Not their help. Feeling helpless drives me nuts, being in need for something only another person can provide makes me beside myself with distaste and annoyance. It’s actually better than what it was; in the past I got sick with self-loathing whenever I even thought about such a possibility. I probably am the most deluded fool of all, wanting to exist alone in a perfect void, where desire and need cannot take root. This cannot happen, such a state of being cannot be achieved. Not while I am still human. Perhaps at some other point. Oh no, you will not capture me again, I say to desire, I will never again be your prisoner, as if desire is the executor, or the bad guy. And this coming from a person who’s nothing but desire in its purest form. I have the ability to bridge and understand and download and merge and shape, using desire as my guide, and the one thing I do understand to a frightening degree is desire. Yet I struggle against it tooth and claw. At least the erotic type of it, because I splurge in every other type. They’re safe. They cannot make me depend, or humiliate me. I have avoided drugs and alcohol and every single option of desire that can make me lose control. The rest, yeah right, bring it on. I’ll dive head into it. Music, any kind of art, food, pets, even friends have been safe choices. Never sex or love. They are the dangerous choices. And even with friends, I make sure to choose the ones I can guide and help to my advantage and therefore control most of the time. Sad freaks, those choosing not to play the game. Sad addicts, those choosing to play it. And I pretend to be standing in the middle ground. Yeah, right. Jesusing my way on the angry sea. You go, girl.

If only there was a way to re-acquaint myself with erotic desire in a safe way, with no strings attached and no stupid power games. With respect, responsibility and an open mind. Then again, if pigs could fly… (I would make swarms of them circle the houses of those I hate, and shit on them non-stop. Ha ha!) Yet, strangely, my best friend has managed the balance. Maybe I can do it too.

Sometimes the cure to a very unusual problem is an equally unusual solution.

The solution in my case, strangely enough, involves death in an indirect manner.

Not my death, and not through my hands. I did my part seven years ago. It nearly killed me, yet I did my part. I tagged you and I wait.

Let me hear good news from that front. Please.

In the mean time, I’m ovulating. Pretty boys, cover your rear. The butt chasing menace is out there, salivating and making gurgling noises. Need I tell you how dangerous she is for the sanctity of your butt? No sir.