imwithjonas's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Summer Time Blues Summer Time BluesI seem to remember some song from a past life in which I listened to country that proposed "there ain't no cure for the summertime blues." Lies. Granted, I don't know what the hell actually cured mine, but they seem to be gone. I think I just kind of stopped caring so much. Do you ever get the feeling that you don't really know exactly what's going on? I feel kind of like I'm missing something lately. I don't know what, I just feel like I'm out of the loop on something that I should be quite aware of. I dare me to make less sense. So, in the arena of raging internal debates that are totally private and have no business being read by the public which I will therefor post on the magical internet, I've got a decent one. Earlier this summer, in the course of a very bad week, RS and I had an entertaining text message conversation. And as I recall that was the end of the conversation. I've deleted bits of it just because I got tired of them being in my fucking phone. I've deleted several things for that reason, actually. I got tired of scrolling through my messages and reading RS's current sexual activity roster. I was, needless to say, pissed the hell off. I was in one of my "I never want to speak to him again. Fucker," kind of moods. I believe I said to Mark "And I actually had sex with him." I also said something about how he wasn't such an asshole when I met him, or at least he must not have thought I was a whore, because he was really quite decent and entertaining. Xavier told me that didn't mean anything. "Just because he's 'not trying to impress' anyone doesn't mean he's not playing them." That one hit me pretty hard. Of course, Xavier is pretty biased on the whole anyone having sex with me thing. If the best way for him to make it stop is to make me feel bad about it, he's not above it. Sigh. So I did feel bad about it. For about a day. Then I decided everyone has bad days. Despite what he said, I had a feeling RS doesn't really think all that bull shit, and I really don't want to regret having slept with someone. Especially not the first someone. I think I've even said that before. Seriously. I refuse to be bitter toward this man if only for that reason. But it's not only for that reason. The next time he talked to me, he was way past civil. He was absolutely pleasant. And he even offered to see me when I next stopped in Florence. And I was all, "Aw, how sweet. See, he really is a decent person." So I spent a good portion of Saturday evening with the infamous Rock Star. He was funny and pleasant and all of those things I used to say about him when I was a fawning teenager. You know, seven or eight months ago. He was the guy that I would spend hours talking to on the phone. And honestly, I fucking hate talking on the phone. Really. It's a pain in the ass. But I loved talking to him once upon a time. And Saturday was like that, plus the sex part. For some reason, I was extraordinarily nervous about the sex. I was actually shaking. Before it happened. The shaking after is for different reasons. I mean, I had kind of written off any kind of sex in this little visit for a number of reasons. First, lack of place. And second, I still had all my vague reservations about having sex with someone who's simply treating me like the whore I obviously am. Also, it'd been a long time, he could obviously get it elsewhere if he wanted, and I kind of thought it just might not happen. Then we pulled up at a hotel. Hmm. That was unexpected. So aside from completely just throwing all my thoughts off track, I suddenly became ridiculously nervous. I spent about five minutes fumblingly attempting to rescue the story I'd been in the middle of telling, and then I just stopped talking. I didn't know what to say. I swear I wasn't even this nervous the first time around. And then we had to go back to the theatre for hat retrieval purposes and I remained silent. I'm sure there were about a million things running through my head, but none of them really stand out anymore. They just ran together into a strange buzz, which in turn produced one of my instant migraine-esque headaches. The best I can possibly guess, and this is the only thing I can think of, is that it was the first time sex had seemed so expected of me when I didn't really expect it at all. I mean, my first time was totally planned, and just about everytime after that was planned. I knew what was coming way before it happened. And this time I didn't. I mean, it wasn't that I didn't want to have sex, it was just that I didn't expect it and he so obviously did. I still can't make this sound the way it seems to me, but it just seemed surreal I guess. At some point, I was lucid enough to debate if I was even going to do it. I mean, of all the things I could possibly say about RS even when I've been most pissed off at him, he's not a damn rapist. I could have said, "Yeah, no thanks." I wanted to have sex, but almost as a backlash to this weird shock thing, I wanted to seem like I didn't. Or something. That part was really weird. But then he assured me that the sex was in no way required. Which I knew anyway. But him saying it was nice. Nice enough, in fact, to make me all, "Oh, he's a wonderful person," again. At which point I melted into a puddle which wrapped itself entirely of it's own volition around his dick. It was a pleasant way to spend an hour is all I'm saying. Although, I must say, if your tonsils are still the size of golf balls from a crazy (and quite painful) infection you had weeks in the past, even if the infection is gone and your tonsils are just freakishly swollen, it's not a good idea to put anything of any particular girth in your throat. Cause damn. Apparently my tonsils decided I was choking and my eyes started watering so bad I was sure he'd think I was crying and completely freak out, because he has already told me quite firmly that crying and sex of any kind should not go together. But I'm assuming none of those things happened, because none of the sex stopped. I post way too many intimate details of my life on the internet. Really. This is getting ridiculous. Of course, most of the point of this (up until that last part, which was completely unecessary and just there for shock value) is that I don't have the opportunity to talk to RS for hours anymore, and I'm not very good at talking about real, important things anyway. So this is the best way for me to tell people things. It's a little passive-aggressive, in that I've said some damn bitchy things on here before, but back then, he wasn't reading any of this. He didn't read all the super angry pscho bitch things until after we made up. Which I'm sure was fun. But sex related nervousness aside, it was a lovely date (if I'm allowed to call it that. Actually, I will call it that, because it's my damn life and I can call things whatever I want. Even if that's not what it was. I really need to get on this making sense thing). In terms of the actual date-like activity, I'd rank it as better than the one other I've ever been on. But the other probably wins on the basis that I got to sleep in the same bed as a boy for the first time ever (I am so 12 years old). And of course, major points for inappropriate touching. Although, I guess this one had that too, only I can't really call it inappropriate anymore. Now it's much more run of the mill. This is possibly the longest post ever. I'm going to kill it now, to spare you all any further torture. I think at some point I intended to talk about how I haven't been depressed this summer as I have in past summers, but I think you can gather that on your own. Woo! More illegally downloading music! 3:24 p.m. - June 27, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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