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Sometimes I think there are only 2 sides of me. There's the real me, buried inside of me, then the shell of a person I let people see to protect the inner me, my trapped inner child. I feel that child will never get out. She comes out in spurts, but is suffering. I want that side to break free someday, but wouldn't that be a dangerous thing? It's like an impulsive side, like taking away the filter that screens your thoughts so you don't embarrass yourself. I think sometimes the screen is too dense, that not much can get through. It's the start of a new year and there's so much potential. [T, the person I'd gone on a few dates with, has found someone and is apparently very happy and smitten. I was disappointed that I hadn't found that with anyone, that her and I had no magic, that I wasn't clicking with anyone. Guaranteed, if I like someone, or if I'm dating someone or even having sex with someone, they'll find love elsewhere: My relations never last]. I've already kissed someone at a new year's bash. She was trying to gain my attention, having me sit with her and her friends, telling the dj what music I'd like to dance to, asking me if I like to lead or follow and letting me lead on the dancefloor, telling me how shy she is about wanting to kiss me; I put my face in hers and made a lame pucker, like I were in a comedy. She went for it and we smooched for maybe a minute. That's the most action I've had all year, and the year just started! One of my friends warned me that she's a rakish type, a Mick Jagger in Dyke's clothing, a Warren Beatty of Winnipeg, like Shane from "The L Word". When she wanted to get to know me, I told her I was vegan. Now, when I tell most people this, they feel the need to cause an argument and tell me their opinion about it, like they'd better defend themselves before I convert them. I was called a hypocryte for working at Wendys and being vegan, like she was sparking a passionate debate. Must be her tool for foreplay. I hate being baited into arguments. I don't want to be used, but I don't want to come up with so many reasons not to be with someone. This is only the second time I've met her; the first time was at the xmas party I went to several weeks ago, the one where I had pot for the first time in December. What a great month I had last month! I find some rich guy's wallet and get cash for it, I attend several parties, I get some decent xmas gifts and I finally buy the last box set to "Sex & The City". I'd watched it today and felt complete! How Sad! Whenever I watch that show, I'm questioning my love life too, like Carrie does. I feel I'm more Miranda than Carrie. Sometimes I wish I had Samantha's sexlife but Charlott's romantic view of love. After I exhaust the last box set, I'll rewatch "The L Word" again, especially the second episode. I also discovered a couple of friends who love the show, so I have some comrades in Winnipeg to chat with about it! I realized I had a crush on a boy and a girl when I discovered both of them were seeing each other. Whenever someone gives me a longing look, I take that to mean they like me, but it's so childish that I hate it and smoosh it unsuccessfully. I deny my lusts and crushes, which I try not to take seriously. I love sometimes to have stupid innocent crushes on anyone, male or female, because nothing will come of it. They go away, the people forget about me, they find love and I'm undamaged. It keeps my imaginative juices flowing. I love to fantasize. It's one of my favourite hobbies. My favourite place to be is in my fantasy life, inside my head to curl up and imagine I'm somewhere else or having sex with someone I shouldn't or having a lifestyle that's out of reach or whatever I feel is impossible for me to achieve. I'm such a dreamer, I can't tell which will be attained and which will stay in my head. The only horrible fantasy is whenever I'm at work, I fear I'll slip and break my head open like a coconut, for the floors have no traction and neither do my shoes. My old ones were worse, but my new ones make no difference either. I have slipped and caught my balance a few times and my heart would be racing at the thought of being killed because of unsafe conditions. When most people get killed at their workplace, it's usually a construction site, but I've yet to hear of a restaurant death where someone slipped and fell. Hell, it's a greasy joint and there's been some Biggie Fry grease on the floor that we've all skidded our heals in. I've cut my finger and only drawn a tiny bit of blood, but what if someday someone breaks a vein open and tons of blood is spewing out like a fountain, draining the person until they're dead from the major loss? I would read in one of those weird news columns or something. The scary thing isn't when you'll die, but how. Suppose it's a stupid death? Suppose you're dead and all people can do is humiliate your memory, ridicule your death and forget your life? Who knows what'll happen to this diary? What if I get tired of it and all these entries vanish? What if I die tomorrow and nobody knows it? What if I die tomorrow and my identity is revealed? What if it's not? I'm scared of what'll happen to my memory and reputation when I'm no longer around. Then again, I'll be dead, so it shouldn't matter, and a hundred years after, it'll all be forgotten, right? Suppose it's not? I need to imagine some othe scenario besides death, eh? While Soaking in Lavendar... - Saturday, Apr. 06, 2019 He Reminded Me of An Incident Years Ago - Monday, Feb. 04, 2019 My Rose-Coloured Glasses are Smashed & I Don’t Want Them Anymore - Sunday, Feb. 03, 2019 It’s Been Awhile - Saturday, Feb. 02, 2019 I Never Needed You. - Thursday, Nov. 27, 2014
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