As the churl learns

I’m tired and my thoughts feel somehow both sluggish and flittering, so I’m guna shoot some bullets your way.

  • I finished my summer semester. I got my grades today. My  4.0 overall GPA still stands.
  • I’m relieved, I’m a little bit proud of myself. I want to feel thrilled, I want to celebrate, but uuuhh
  • ???????????????????????
  • I just started my period today and everything hurts and I’m fucking exhausted
  • I just got back from a tour with a bunch of high school kids and everything hurts and I’m exhausted.
  • My emotions are swinging wild, i’m sure hormones are a factor
  • My next semester doesn’t start ’till August 20th, so I’ve got a decent chunk of time
  • Unfortunately I don’t get my financial aid ’til the 15th, so I’m going to be poor as fuck for basically all my free time, which is super annoying.
  • My brother is going to put in his 30 days notice tomorrow and I’m happy for him but I’m also sad, and envious. It’s okay.
  • Peace


One paper done and submitted. One left to go, due tomorrow. (but I have a tour tomorrow night so I have to finish it before that) And this one is for my super annoying picky as fuck professor who likes to give me shit and fuck with my grades over tiny little formatting errors, while simultaneously praising my mastery of the material. *sarcastic thumbs up emoji* So I’m sort of more nervous about this one than I was about the longer one because basically this paper is prrrobably going to decide whether I get an A or B in the class. That shit makes me nervous. I have a lot of feelings. Like… dude. Feelings all up in this fucking piece. The skin around my eyes feels sore and raw. It’s very distracting when your brain plays worst case scenarios on an endless loop in the background of all of your thoughts constantly forever. It makes it really hard to get shit done, honestly. Also, fuck Tennessee Williams, honestly. I fucking know that being alive is a horrifying experience, and that the illusions we cling to can never truly save us from that sense of quiet desperation that we harbor in our dark hearts. I fucking know, okay? It’s like… obvious. I never, ever, for any reason, ever in my life, need to read, or see, a whole ass depressing ass play about it. Why couldn’t you write some shit about finding joy in the crevasses, or cautious optimism, or the way the terrible wonder of the universe can suddenly hit you, fully, when you’re driving down a city street as the sun goes down, and the street light in front of you turns yellow, replacing the sun for the span of three breaths just as it slips below the mountains. And you almost want to pull over, because you just feel it all welling up inside of you, the liquid light of a billion exploded stars singing in your blood, but you have a place to be, so you just turn your music up a little louder and sing your favorite line. Or like… he coulda written about some cute ass dogs or something.


Rough, today, after two days of feeling pretty good. Two days of fun and connection. Today was terribly terribly hot. It’s storming and beautiful now, cool finally, but I’m rough. Anxiety on anxiety on anxiety, things eat at me and I don’t have time for it. This is the last week of my summer classes, and I have two papers to write. I think I’ve settled on a topic for my big paper, at least, which is good. I’m pissed at how my other professor grades things. Giving me Bs because of some bullshit formatting issues but then saying that I had “mastered the content”. Bitch… okay. Give me a grade that reflects my mastery. Fuck I feel so goddamn anxious, and pretty depressed right now. Everything feels bad and rough and fucking painful on my soul bits. FUCK. I should try to go to sleep. I can’t imagine sitting here and writing all this shit over the next few days. Daunting. Daunting. Being a person is horrifying and I want to feel at peace, filled with love, as I did just a couple days ago. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnyyyyyhhhhoooooooo … … … … I’m going to go lay down, and attempt to fucking sleep, because this is pointless and not helping me and holy shit, sleep would probably be a good idea. Later.


Loneliness is strange

Compelling yet boring

Compelling in the way that it’s such a human feeling

Such a human feeling to be lonely, alone or not alone. 

Alone or performing in front of a group, or hanging out with family, or in bed next to your sleeping love. 

Boring because it’s tedious. Yes, we know, you feel fundamentally disconnected and isolated and bla fucking bla, bitch, me too, the fuck? 

I have a park in my dreams and it has a swimming pool. 

Sometimes it’s open, sometimes it’s not.  Sometimes the water is clear and sometimes it’s murky. Sometimes it’s safe and sometimes it’s dangerous, inhabited. 

But I always, I always go in

glass menagerie

Trying to do school shit, as usual, and it’s not going great. I don’t have anything else due ’till the 21st but I want to get it finished sooner if at all possible. I feel restless as fuck and I’m the best at thinking myself to death. Awesome at thinking myself to death, shitty as fuck at expressing myself. Sometimes I feel so chill and breezy about it all. It’s just words, it’s just human bodies touching in specific ways. Why should it matter? Why should it bother me? But then my torturous brain works it around and around and hits me with a scenario that jars me. And I think yeah, but some words… some specific words… that I’ve chosen and given … are sacred to me, and it does matter. Some touches… some specific touches, things that only we have shared, feel sacred to me, and it does matter. Maybe that’s dumb as fuck but … it’s A Feeling(TM). I’m not going to get any more specific, any more into it, here. My heart and my brain are having a fucking row, lemme tell ya.

So anyway, lemme get back to reading this really depressing play. Summer semester is ending in just 10 days. In a way I’m glad, because August brings financial aid, and I’m painfully broke right now… but in general, the passage of time just feels horrifying, more so than ever, and I don’t want to wish a single moment gone faster. Peace.


I don’t know how some people seem to be able to do this sort of thing effortlessly. Just… Different I guess. The key, everyone says, is communication, and I’m fucking bad at it. I’m having so much fucking trouble with it. I’m thinking about the past and decisions I made and things I felt comfortable with, even reveled in to some extent, But the past weaves itself a veil. It obstructs and diffuses and selectively occludes, so it’s impossible to know what it’s true form was. This makes it less helpful to me. I fall far far too easily into a nihilistic state. Nothing matters and everything is for nothing so why should I even care, or try, or anything? It’s fucked. And I need to find ways out of it. I need to speak my truth but also…  I Feel my truth shifting like muscle under skin with every breath I take. How can I feel so fucking certain about something one moment and completely differently 10 minutes later? It’s paralyzing. I’m locked in my mind and failing to properly care for my body. Hoping these thoughts will settle but they’re taking their sweet fucking time and I can’t keep waiting. I just have to communicate what I feel, as best I can, and continue to communicate how it shifts, as it shifts. I don’t want to live here anymore. Maybe we shouldn’t have signed the lease. This place feels like it’s suffocating me. I can’t afford anything better but honestly maybe any change would be better. I don’t fucking know. That suffocating feeling could just be symptomatic of my other feelings. Logically, I know living in a different apartment won’t change any of the particulars of my situation. But my lizard brain feels otherwise. My lizard brain has too damn much to say these days. Being a domme changes things for me as well. I’m still learning and growing in that regard. I feel more possessive than ever, but… Less vulnerable. It’s probably perverse and unhealthy of me to feel glad knowing how upset you were at the thought of losing me. (and it raises yet another thought I wish I could stop having) Still, the look of relief on your face when I told you that leaving wasn’t my intention was… Something. It was something.