It's so stimulating being your hat.

I hate the smile & happiness I feel when I first get into his bed. The bed she was Just in. Him eating my ass & me hugging onto his pillows, smiling & feeling alive. In the morning he messes with the blankets to try & find me within the layers. He does & he pulls our naked bodies together to wrap into each other. We did that too the last time I slept with him summer of 2025. Still remember our arms wrapped over one another & the contrast of soft pale white & sculpture brown shoulders. This time I still see him on his side lifting the blanket to pull me in to be skin to skin. Stomach to stomach, chest to chest. I kiss him so much. It could be years or never again to feel that way again (with someone fucking else). That strong ache when I remember he said how he’d be less busy in June… & here we are & once again.

I’m committing to asking the videographer at work on Tuesday to buying his drone. Like I’m doing it. ( a lot of “ing” in that sentence)

I keep thinking about what a security guard I’ve worked with for 9 summers said to me. He asked about me & he said that I looked happier & praised how far I’ve come since I had.. like sorrow hang on me from being down n out for years. I don’t remember exactly what he said but he said how he remembers the times of when I had nothing & here I am with a lot to be proud of. Like just crazy kind things. But him saying I looked great & happy was a huge huge compliment. I needed that.

.. so stoked to sleep you have no idea.

I want to stay in bed & sleep so much

I have a meeting with a trainer after this house but I’m just… everything. EVERYTHING hurts & i know this meeting is pointless because of my schedule

I deleted our messages. His number is still there from every time I tried to call him but maybe this will stop the impulsive texts .. So stupid.

A very hard morning & embarrassment is kind of surfacing. Which I need.

It’s like i fester over this sh*t because there is nothing I can do with having committed to my summer job & wanting to do real estate photos… I need to do more though. More of value.

Out running errands, yeah? But I send a joke to Bodie. & I gave this random guy on ig my number this morning & he texted me Exactly right after I sent the joke. This guy says I can call him daddy or sir. I’m driving & I get that amazing hit & goosebumps. Fuck. But then I do my usual line with daddies (I tried to make the guitarist one but it didn’t fit) I excluded the word pussy since we are Just now talking. Well. I guess he didn’t like the line because he hasn’t wrote me back. I fucking need this. & I’m doing that stupid thing of the curator of how every dude (exception of the ex) that I’ve slept with is this well branded, well styled, beautiful conceptualized character & this dude is that. I didn’t like his name & then lo&behold he goes by a different name that is right for the fucked up part that is my recreational pathetic made over important sex life.

After my break up in 2023, it took an entire year for me to stop the ache. It didn’t matter that I made friends, was pursuing & achieving goals, loved my job - none of this is healthy, but I really only got over it when casual sex was introduced & I was meeting these really compelling & beautiful guys… but now that’s been a vicious cycle. I went November not talking to anyone for sex, I tried to break that bad habit… even though I had met someone after “the videographer” he was still always felt for & thought of Everyday & I would Weep, cry the hardest I had ever since my 2 year relationship… & why I broke 5 months of no contact & brought him back. If I allowed the hurt, the rumination, the self pity, the belittlement & dejection to run its course long enough without distraction & impulsive bad habits… fuck, that thought is absolutely terrifying. I don’t think it would better me, it would soften & silence & ultimately snuff out the parts of me I need to survive … unless financial independence or better people & love enter in in the right here & fucking now, I can’t see me overcoming the bleak of nothing.