the last true romantic

You know when people are afraid you're gonna get attached if they're your first? Couldn't be me. I just had my first time with a woman and it revealed who I am. I thought I was a sucker, but boy oh boy as soon as we were finished I had to fight the urge to go all straight man and immediately leave haha.

I was crying and whining about Christina Koch not being for the girls, but I am being so greedy right now. My gluttony disgusts me. Here I am engulfed by lesbian astronauts and complaining. At least I got Sally Ride and the lesbian who was accused of committing the first space crime ever (although that was not true actually). As my grandma would say: nein nein nein. Or schweinehund. At least I think that's what she was saying. She was german (correction, when she immigrated Germany didn't exist so she's technically prussian). Obviously.

Nobody has ever accused me of lacking depth. Rather, it seemed I had odds and bits sticking out from every corner of my being, forming an inconsistent, unacceptable shape that refused to fit into any preconceived box. It was fine by me, I was quite proud to be an original and even more so to go against the current of absent-minded hate and ignorance. If you know anything about humans, however, you understand the vastness of my naivety. The reality is that everyone is infinitely different from each other, but there are some divergences from the norm that are more acceptable than others. It's difficult to be rejected on any single axis and your hardships grow logarithmically with every new facet of your identity. In any case, I was never particularly good at calculating the risks, or perhaps I was simply a slow study. It seemed impossible to just take the path of least resistance and blend in, to survive while I was sentenced to share space with intolerant people. Therefore, I was the one with the most impertinent and challenging questions at church, however well intentioned they were. At school, I was the kid who had a hard time with social cues, couldn't understand my girl friends’ obsessions over boys and that related more to teachers than to others my age. At home, I was a rebel who couldn't be bent or manipulated easily, choosing to pay for my disobedience rather than go against my morals. Adults claimed I presumed to know too much for my age while simultaneously praising me for my intelligence; kids claimed I was pathetic and disgusting, below any empathy. I recalled too much and knew too much to be one with my own, but lived too little to stand next to anyone else. Hence, I became a pariah of sorts, alienated from all possible eye to eye interactions. It's not too arduous to imagine the natural conclusion to this. Being an outcast, or, more precisely, a deviant became part of my self proclaimed identity. As I subconsciously tried to find ways to make myself smaller and more palatable, I publicly owned my differences and declared myself proud of them. Nevertheless, if you ever tried to change yourself to please others, you will find that they will always find new and creative ways to make you feel othered. As time went on, my personality predictably gained consistency, but instead of maintaining its form, I found that I was able to shape it into a million different configurations. Suddenly, I could hold a conversation about any possible subject and still be cohesive and coherent in my position. I wasn't one thing or the other, but I was it all, all at once. Unfortunately, with that grand discovery also came a harder one. I was malleable, but I wasn't set in stone. If left in the same pattern for too long a time, if I tried to be just one person, I would dry and shatter and break. I wasn't meant to be contained and I wasn't meant to fit into a box. What that meant was that for once I had to accept that I was never going to be shallow, my brain would never be hollow enough for me to be able to be predicted and nobody likes what they can't control. So, I was never accused of lacking depth. Rather, I was accused of being too deep. This wasn't handed to me as a gift, but wielded like a weapon. I am different and I am filled to the brim. But perhaps it isn't the ocean's fault for people's fear.

Somehow I've convinced myself that I can only like long form media (tv shows, books) if there's lesbians in them, but then I start watching a show and by the 4th episode without lesbianism (it starts on the 5th) I've gotta admit to myself that I'm not just watching for it lol

The thing I am the most proud of myself is how I've been incredibly consistent in who I am and what I believe in my entire life. As soon as childhood I defended women even if I didn't know what feminism was. Same goes for the environment, for younger children, for animals. I was raised Jehovah's Witness but I questioned everything that seemed wrong to me (which was basically everything) and I got kinda kicked out at 9 years old. The only thing that changed is I've gained more knowledge so my understanding grew. But at the core of every issue I was right (by my standards) simply because I refuse to let society tell me what to believe. I may have many unpopular opinions but I can say that no one indoctrinated me, because I've more or less always held them.

I have no business being hyper at 7 in the morning just because the lesbianism bug got into my brain (i watched franchaela edits)

All that keeps me going sometimes is the knowledge that in like 4 years I will have Michaela and Francesca making out sloppy style and fornicating like rabid animals on my screen. Also, I just really want to see how Violet's gonna deal with that.

I have only had romantic and sexual dreams about one person in my entire life and it's getting ridiculous, it's giving pathetic. The worse part is we were never together, at most we had a situationship/homoerotic friendship, ya know. It's been easily 5 years since I last saw her and I still dream about her occasionally. Last night we fucked multiple times and I crashed a bus and we both died.

Weird thing about me: whenever books get waaaay too sugary sweet I start involuntarily coughing. Like, I roll my eyes, put the book down for a second and just... cough?

I hate to admit it, but (in books) I do love it when they fuck and shit hits the fan not seconds later