  i wrote this for my livejounal site... i may as well post it here. my little alternate universe. i'm overwhelmed with love tonight. non-specific yet all-encompassing. ____ Luscious evening. What a joy to be so incredibly affected by environmental stimuli. The soft stirring in the trees. My runners high acting like post-coital glowing, eminating from every inch of me. A perfect night. I found myself unconsciously fingering a buttonhole on my shirt with erotic intent while sitting in on Haytons Shakespearian sonnet marathon reading. These delicate voices carefully yet passionately breathing a little bit of life into his lines of love and loss, jealousy and longing.
And me, constantly running my hands through my freshly washed hair, unable to resist the pleasure of touching it. Its hard to be around Heather when Im feeling so fabulous. I want to share it, give freely my moments of bliss through tactile expressions. My fingers are just hungry. Touching the weave of a fabric, now running my fingers over the keyboard. Yet with her, I remember my place and happily accept my moods infectiousness as a satisfactory offering.
Earlier I met up with a woman who Im grouped with to present a critical article on Mrs. Dalloway next week in Dawns 504 class. What began as an academic spelunking expedition turned quickly into an hour of personal exposition. I spoke of my heavy heart about my Queer Theory experience. She touched me with sweet support of my plight as a lesbian child of unaccepting and disrespectful conservative parents. Then she shared her marital uncertainty, her ambivalence toward maintaining the commitment. I wanted to touch her hand. Not sexually, but to soothe her. I did nothing more than observe my impulse. Again, I sat back serenely, knowing my compassion was being communicated with the power I intended it; without breaking taboo and taking her hand as she spoke.
Why is it wrong to offer that comfort? Because the intensity in which I express it is too much to interpret? Why is there so much shame in loving someone who isn't your lover? I feel more when Ive been running. I feel more grounded bliss since beginning this medication. I dont have to experience joy and act impulsively to bring it to extremes.
I feel playful and freed from all the existential despair that haunts from the dark corners of my minds interior. I played with Heathers children during the breaks, and it felt so natural and gratifying to engage them on the same plane of unburdened fun. I love those two little people. Reading sonnets with confidence in a room full of adults. I wish I was invited to babysit them. My body feels electrified. Too bad Kerris long gone. No one to share it within appropriate bounds. I can only imagine how fantastic Then again, its precious to keep it all to myself. Indulge in the private pleasure of release from the emotional exhaustion I worked myself into over trivial matters. This week was a bit more stressful than weeks past. Last night I dreamt of Claudia the nightmare of my heart. Therapeutic intimacy gone horribly wrong. I dreamt I found her while on vacation. The two of us together, finally, away from her husband, searching for an appropriately amazing place to lay together.
To make love without worry. The both of us unbound by guilt or doubt. It was an amazing dream. Almost to the point where I want to contact her. I know where she lives, of course. I know her daily routine, revolving around her three kids and her workouts at Frogs in Encinitas. I had her license plate memorised ever since I met her in rehab. i miss her... Listening to my So Sad CD full of Nick Drake and very, very early New Order.
And Kate Bush. I made this CD for my last therapist, Natalie. The last one who would take me on. After more than half a dozen heard my history and replied weakly, I cant help you. I dont even know where to start. Translation: youre too far gone to be helped. And I dont want the liability of having you as a patient. How that hit me She was adorable. Natalie. The obligatory crush was actually not a factor in our working together.
yet she dumped me when I lost my parents financial support to pay for it. no sliding scale. After all the dismissals, I got one more. So I stopped looking. I think Ive had enough. I want to go for a drive. Dress warmly and put a skull cap on or something so I can have the windows down as I go, the freshness of the night air streaming into my lungs. Or just lay down on my plushy white bed and breathe in some music, rub the palms of my hands over the duvets embroidering. Youd think I popped a hit of E. maybe Ive just learned how to feel from my distant days of chemical coping. Lovely nonetheless. 
