Whenever I want you all I have to do is dream
The feeling of being grabbed around the shoulders by a tall, muscular man.
Kissing, biting each other on the lips, boiling over with passion.
Being pushed down to the ground, followed by his weight pressing on my body, his leg wedged in the middle of my two legs.
I’ve got to keep him by my side or he’ll walk out and never look back. But it felt right, so assured before. He saw my parents, was smiling with them. He rescued all of us in the end. Sorted the politics side, tied up loose ends. Gave us a strong arm that pulled us from the agonizing, almost vertical, final leg of our journey. That hill. But now we’ve arrived, the kids are all safe and sound. My family are here for my dad’s birthday. People are discussing the journey in awe and shock.
We went to his house, well i think it was a studio apartment, on the way. It was pure class. He had a cinema-sized Telly looming in front us as we entered the lounge slash living area and a grand piano sat in front of the screen, not high enough to obscure the TV, on a black stage. The three of us plonked ourselves on the huge, lush, rich-red coloured sofas facing the piano and the screen and I was told about the vibrating facility in the seat of the settee. I couldn’t locate it at first and just went along with the oohs and aahs of my companions. Then the young male, I couldn’t name his face, showed me I could get it to work if I sat on the gap between the cushions, which I did, and I felt good vibrations.
I also remember being on the tube, at an amusement park and disagreeing with my nephew. But the end bit was the most satisfying but also the most heartbreaking.
This is the stuff of my dreams. I don’t seem to be able to make it in real life, not often recently anyway. I have experienced the feeling in the past or I wouldn’t long for it and remember it the way I do.
I’m reading ‘The Worry Cure’ at the moment, and i fit almost every criterion of a worrier. There’s more to it than just simple worry or anxiousness. I need to be certain of everything. But certaintly is an impossibility in this life. I’m, in short, a control freak, but in controlling my life i leave no room for excitement, random events, lifechanging experiences. But we have to be responsible, reliable, thoughtful, to get on, to get and keep a job, keep friends. Balance, balance, balance, is what it’s all about, but if you think to hard about balancing things up your thoughts are turned to thinking and worry again.
I must change my ways and achieve my desires.
But perhaps the journey to what you desire is the most exciting part of all.
A bit of sex would go down well though.
Where did all the good times go?
things seem quiet at the moment. The internet’s quiet, friends are quiet, life’s quiet, well not quiet quiet, i mean i’ve been on holiday and have seen family and friends but i still feel lonely. I’m not desperately lonely - not much to complain about. Lots of beings seemed to die last week, my hamster being one of them. It’s strange not to hear him nibbling at the end of my bed in the secret hours of the morning. Work seems to define my waking hours at the moment. I work, then i spend time doing what i like and choose to do, then i eat, then i sleep, then i work again. I don’t know who or where some of my friends are at the moment. And i don’t where i’m heading next. There are no plans or needs to move home anytime soon for me. And i feel i’d better stick at this job for at least a year, even though i’d like to train to be a teacher. I haven’t seen anyone at all today. I woke up late and everyone was out, i don’t know where and i haven’t bothered to find out. I’m stagnant. Or something is. There’s a lack of love in Brighton at the moment. I’m rotting here, but it’s not right there. I’m not having a pop at anyone, just expressing my unease. I don’t know where to go to feel easy, happy and to get some sex.
blah blah blah
Long time no writage..! i’ve been trying to copy down on the computer a load of stuff (feelings etc) i wrote originally on paper (in a flow kind of way with lots of different coloured pencils) but it doesn’t feel right (write), more like a chore, an essay, than i wanted it to feel. So now i schpeel from the top of my head.
I always find it so difficult to write. i can’t seem to organise my thoughts properly to express them. It’s very frustrating. I always feel like giving up as soon as i start. Like now. I want to get up and do something active. This also happens when i read. I do love reading but it’s a before-bed activity for me. I’ve got ants in me pants!
I can’t think of the words. And when i talk i feel like i’m rambling and boring people cos i’m not succinct enough. Being understood is very important to me and to be interpreted as i’d like to be, so things aren’t said of me that i don’t feel are true. I don’t know why i bother. I’m such a control freak. That’s why i have casual sex and no relationships i’m sure. kissing and sucking and touching and rubbing is sensual and physical and is all the passion and feeling without the chat. but then it’s over too soon.
i’m feeling all stressed up inside myself from writing this. I guess i want someone but i don’t want it the way other people get it. ‘a boyfriend’, so earned and official. i can’t seem to get there and i never have and i think that’s just down to me being who i am. And a lot of the time i don’t mind it, cos it’s what i go after and it’s what i get. but why is it different for everybody else i know? I’m not emotionally repressed or an unloving person – far from it i think – but i think it’s half the problem.
oh i dunno where to go now. to get stoned. it stops the confusion cos it stops the thinking. I’m not unhappy. this is the thing about airing your feelings – people reading it will think you’ve got a problem cos that’s why you’ve written but i’m mostly ok. I think about living too much and don’t just live. but i am who i am. i’m popeye the sailor man.
Dreaming – Satisfy my soul.
I hate waking up.
My own unconscious likes to taunt and tease me by providing me with exciting films during my sleeping hours that figuratively make my dreams come true. Tho the coming true bit never actually happens.
Therefore when i wake up i’m greeted by an anti-climax and feelings of disappointment and loss – not the best way to start a day. I then remember that i’m 22, still live with my parents, see no changes coming to that in the near future and my face droops as does my heart, my mind, my soul.
It’s not that bad, i know, I’m not complaining as such. I just long for a little (or perhaps a great deal) of excitement. My adult like isn’t as i’d envisaged it. Or maybe it is but i’m too used to it now to realise. I know i’ve achieved some of the things i wanted to but your perception of situation changes when you’re actually in it.
I think what it basically boils down to is sex. Not all of us get enough and that includes me! Every night pretty much i dream about it. I want to try so many things before i’m old and decrepit. You can’t give it away these days! There are many barriers, emotions and struggles of power to get over first. Drunkeness is the easiest lubricant.
I’m so bored! There are riveting moments in my life but they’re too sporadic to make me content it seems. I don’t think i’d be so involved with certain TV shows if my life was full.
But i’m speaking from the now - 10.30 am on a cold January Tuesday morn. During busy periods of work, sleep and play life is full and then there is no time to reflect. I might get so bored soon i’ll burst into a fire of passion and idleness.
Does anyone else feel as though their life is massively unexciting, either compared to their peers, their dreams or their expectations?
It’s down to me at the end of the day, i know. I like to indulge in some self-pity. Maybe I believe the Gods will smile down on me and grant my wishes if i complain enough. Tut, it’s no good! Friends and family are always telling me “Join some groups. Go and meet some people” but organised groups, bah, there’s something so contrived about that. I guess i’m too much of a romantic soul and secretly reckon I’ll meet people i like and trees of fun on my random walks through the fields.
If only i could just spew on the page and let the words arrange themselves into exactly what I mean.. .
