  Another enjoyable night with the Weez-man drinking wine and eatin some grilled goodies. Too bad his workmate started to irritate me beyond my capacity to take drama. And anyway, Id burned myself a new Neko Case CD of various tunes from albums and lovely live takes that I couldnt wait to get back into my car to enjoy. Silently wishing I had a sex drive despite all the medication. I was half in the mood to spend the night with luis after indulging in a little sing-along with the venerated ms. Neko. Shes such a fox. And such an incredible voice on that woman. I cant believe shes not worldwide, save for the story I heard about her taking her top off at the Grand Ol Oprey. Guess thatll squeltch your chances at making it big in the uptight country industry. It only takes a distant, hazy fantasy of being with a woman I adore to carry me through the act with a man.
When youre tragically single, thats the best that can come of it  living in the straight world that I do. Why does the Zoloft rob me of my wantings? Does it have to include the valued ones? Is that the story, all those needs that pose a threat to my stability fall away in favour of a numbed stasis of emotion? What about the sexual prowess that so defines my sense of self? True, the wants and cravings are misdirected and largely unfulfilled. But that doesnt mean my sense of fantasy has to drown along with it. At least I could have the wish to be with myself.
But nothing for months now. And thats outright depressing. Recent events have turned my head again towards the mental imagery Ive invented about poor Kristen, my ex-history teacher. For reasons of there being no one else in my current dealings that can take on the role of a lustful focus. And partly to assuage my failings at negotiating that crush to its quiet conclusion. I want to apologise to her further, but I know its too late. Had my intention been only to flatter, I wouldnt be still concerned with her. But a part of that was a power play to dominate her after all the back-and-forth of offence and reconciliation, and I know it. Still, I have to have someone in mind to imagine spooning me at night as I fall asleep. And she is pretty foxy with those knee-high boots she wore to class. Word to the wise, women who wish not to incite my sexual wrath: Dont wear those things. And dont assume a power position over me either, no matter your footwear.
Its inescapable and apparently a dangerous place to be put in. I suppose part of the advantage of being queer is the seeing yourself in the mirror and having a different level of appreciation for whats reflected than others might have. Assuming my body reflects an ideal. Which it does these days, I suppose, save for a radiant scar or two on my left forearm. Where does that get filed away in my mental processes? Its on the same page as the other admonitions for wanting something most dont long for.
Its my punishment for my lusts. Its a wonder its my arm and not my naked body that bears the signifiers of anguish.
Neko.
Button on my backpack. CD to lull me into emotional wants, not enough to overcome the physical barriers to my human longings. Disconnected to myself indefinitely. True, lasting connections happen outside of lustful wants. But do they ignite without that passionate step? Am I securing my short-term solitude by continuing to take this stuff?
Is it serving me well to provide a grace period away from my seemingly poisonous needs? Whos going to want someone as damaged as I am? Best to work on this alone for a time. Reinvest in others when Im older. More settled somehow. I miss being someones girl. And all that goes with it. I miss Claudia and our connectedness. I miss loving someone. And truly feeling that passion returned to me. I hope Charlie is happy. Boy, oh boy am I glad I'm not in his shoes though. 
