Where’s My Metaphorical Straw?


It has not been smooth sailing for the ole swandiver good people.  Begin a few weeks back with a total DWB that culmanated with a good five hours in the county jail (L Word, you liar!  It was nothing like you said it would be.) and add to that the continuing sucking of my soul at work, the only person who has got me since I came to this city moving back to Texas, my aunt getting her final break from her 15+ year fight with cancer and yet another hard crush on a sublimly fabulous yet totally unattainable woman.

For weeks I have been working myself to exhaustion, hoping that if I numbed my mind with idiotic auto claims and sleep that I would be able to process things when I got to a better frame of mind.  But it didn’t work.  I spent the last week barely able to make my regular shift, calling in on Tuesday night.  The sleep I pray for stubbornly refuses to come and the only feeling that came through this morning was some deeply primal, overwhelming urge to fuck.  And since none of the above mentioned problems are in the least bit sexy, I have no idea where that came from.

It’s as if I’m some giant, pulsing boil all tight, painful and throbbing.  All I need is a good cathartic lansing to make all the negativity ooze out and heal.

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