My heart blooms over the simplest things. You calling me upstairs, because you want my attention and don’t want to wait. Feeling my presence wanted like that just… Yeah. You laying your head in my lap, the way you react to my touch, you telling me, that you love being mine. Fuck. Fuck.

I’m still trying to figure everything out. It’s not easy. It’s not easy at all, at all, at all. My heart gets sore and it riles and roars.

And i don’t know shit, but fuck, i want to have a house and live in it with you. I want to hear you say your name, and the end of it’s the same as mine


dust and hope

I’m listening to the new Murder By Death album, because I just bought tickets to see them on Friday, in a super amazing tiny venue that is also, itself, an immersive work of art, and one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. I’m trying to see if I can manage to get a room for the night as well, so we can make a little overnight trip out of it, just chill, and relax, and not have to make the hour+ drive home at 11:30 at night. Buuut, I’m really poor, so we’ll see what happens. I’m excited about the show either way tho.

I managed to get my 3 possible topics for my dissertation turned in yesterday. I’m actually pretty happy with one of them, and I really hope my adviser approves that one, because it’s super unique and thought provoking and actually sort of interesting to me, and I seriously think it would be something that could be published in an academic journal if I can pull it off. My second choice topic is pretty okay, I guess. That was originally going to be my first choice but then I came up with a better one at the last minute, so that was cool. My third choice topic, like… I *could* write it, definitely, but it would be so fucking boring, and I don’t want to. (but I could).

I think I’m just going to re-work an old poem for my stupid CW class, because I have one that is almost exactly what the stupid professor (that I dislike more and more, basically every time he says anything) says he wants. I want to change it up a bit, but overall I think it’ll be fine. Two students submitted their poems already, and they were both pretty terrible, in two different ways, so there’s that. Still, he gave me a fucking 86% on my “poetry exercises” thing, which I think is fucking bullshit, considering it was a dumbass assignment that seemed super subjective and he took off points because I didn’t answer shit the exact way that he would have answered it. Like… okay buddy. Oh-fucking-kay. If I lose my 4.0 over a stupid goddamn creative writing class that I picked because I thought it would be easy and fun, I’m going to be so pissed.

I’m feeling super weird and anxious and pretty bad right now. Maybe just cuz of how weird today was, or because of how much work I have ahead of me, in so many different ways. Or maybe just because of my general feelings, in general. Idk. It’s 2:45am and I should probably be asleep.

I really fucking hope that the dudes remodeling the apartment actually take the day off, tomorrow, Sunday, because I’m fucking exhausted and it’s guna fucking suck if I get woken up by ridiculously loud pounding on the wall right above my head … again.

Last night really was very fun tho. We fucking stayed up until the sun came up, which we haven’t done in a long time. Listening to music and talking deeply and then it started to rain, heavy, with sky flare lightning and booming, rolling thunder. We stood outside for a long time, enjoying the absence of neighbors on both sides of us, going into the street and getting rained on and just… being there. It was nice. Alright, I need to try and sleep. peace.



brutal positivity face punch

So out of it that I forgot I had opened my phone to turn off the downstairs light, and instead came here, and then had to go back there and do that and then come back here again. Warlock is a real for real type of business that means business. 

I am surrounded by love and I hope you fucking know, you better fucking know, that I don’t take it for granted. I do not fail to appreciate how fucking peerlessly fortunate it makes me. I know. With every last twitch of my harried heart, I know. 

And I knew i never wanted to take someone else’s name. I knew, for certain, as a world new child, that I would never relinquish that bit of myself. But i’d never thought about how, I could give my name, in love, as a gift

I hate that little game you had called

(crying lightning) Heywhat’supyouguys? (yes) Back at it again with not knowing what the fuck I’m doing about stuff! Three more days ’till I get my financial aid money in, which is cool. Being a person is fucking rough bro. It’s rough. Really, I need to focus on myself, on improving the things I want to improve about myself. I need to focus on my personal goals, and do the best I can in that sphere, instead of constantly, literally, fucking constantly,  obsessing over things that ultimately aren’t in my control. I can do what I can, I can be honest to myself, I can try my true full best to communicate my thoughts and feelings, but that’s it. It’s fucking unhealthy to constantly, basically almost every single second I’m awake, obsess over shit that’s out of my control. Obsessing over ways I could try to control it? or just… again…playing worst case scenarios in my brain again and again, and then getting upset about them. It’s fucking bullshit. I need to change what I can change, work on being the version of myself that I want to fucking be. I need to hold that in the forefront of my mind, and let other shit go. Let it pass and shift and flow around me, without consuming me. (easier said than done brain bro) yeah, I know. But still. It’s a true fact, and a goal. Ugh. I should go to bed at this point. I honestly barely even know what the fuck I’m talking about any more. It’s 1:30 in the morning. I’m tired. I need to decide, pretty soon, if I want to go for a PHD or not. Like… it would be cool to have a pretty huge dick, I could be a Real Professor if I had a pretty huge dick, buuut do I want to go to school for that long? to get a pretty huge dick? I dunno. But i need to decide kinda fairly soon. I want to pump myself up with positivity, work on myself and my projects. It’s important.


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.


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.