Beanblossom

Because giving up means it was all  a lie.

All of it.

You coming here to be with me.  You saving my life.  You leaving me in 2002.  None of it mattered since it was all a lie.

And now you have a new lie to finish.  Hopefully he won't be as heartbroke.

I have a hard time believing it was all a lie.  Larry at least lied to my face, can't you?

Guess not.  Hard to think you're worse than Larry.

Stop fucking Ebola monkeys. Or at least wear a condom.

Given that I lost my job today I am surprisingly in good spirits.  That's proof that I've changed.  If this happened last year I'd probably crawl into a bottle right now.

The title of this post refers to one of my funnier texts during the first hour after getting home.

So:  What now.  My boss obviously didn't want this to happen.  He was in my studio as I gathered up my stuff and jokingly asked if I was going to fuck anything up before leaving, i.e., setting some kind of computer virus off that would infect the network.  I asked in return, "Would you like me to?"  I think he was relieved that I was taking the news so well.

I didn't tell him that I actually could have easily done that.  He was relieved I didn't Hulk out and was a good boss and didn't want this to happen.  The orders came from on high.

I'm kind of just relieved that this happened now and not a year ago when I was straightening up my act.  I would not have survived that.  I was getting better because Ex wanted me to.  That was wrong.   I should have been getting better for myself, and I knew this, that's why I stayed on the meds.  Until I was doing it for me, it was for the wrong reason. 

And then in January I did believe that I'd never hear from Ex again.  And with that came the realization that if I wasn't going to hear from him again, I'd never hurt him again.  (I was wrong, on both counts.)  But I began thinking about what he told me in his last message:

you're a good person

He was trying to tell me he didn't see me the way I saw myself.  It's like when you hear your recorded voice.  When you talk you hear not only what's coming out of your mouth, but also all the vibrations inside your ear canal and in your head.  It changes your resonance drastically, and you are the only person who hears you like you do, and your brain rejects the recording.

Same with pictures.  Unless they are in reverse, which is what you see in a mirror, when you know it's you and are perceiving it in real-time, your brain rejects it.  Not me!  That's not me!  Ugh!

But that's how I saw myself, and I know it was my sickness that caused most of it (although I like to believe that most people are not Narcissists and do not believe they are beautiful and also all that), but hearing somebody you still love tell you, when you hate yourself, that you are good... that's hard to ignore.

I regret that I found a way to ignore it for so long.

So now the search begins.  I have the demo to Seattle, if that is really a position and not an EOE required posting... And I am working facebook and my friends in the industry.  Of course if things don't pan out I can always just try for a job at Hardee's.  Losing all that weight like I did last time wouldn't be a bad thing.

Anyway.  Back to working the crowd, until I leave tomorrow morning for a restful week at home.

The strain

Well yesterday was an adventure in itself.  Apparently I cannot take a "sick" day at work without everything coming down in shambles.  Whatever.  I'm allowed sick days and, unlike in the past when I'd use them in a moment's whim, I have twelve saved up from rollovers... basically the past year and a half of not being a drunk all the time has meant I don't need to use them.

But I was a drunk this weekend and was encouraged by my new friend to get back on the big stuff.  He has familiarity with depression in his family.  My doctor confirmed that, yes, I can get back on Zoloft after my body has adjusted to the current med.  Good then.  But how will it affect my work output?

So I talked to my boss yesterday.  I was absolutely honest with him about everything.  Back in Lexington, after all, I passed out more than once at his place.  So when I told him the whole story he was not surprised.  I think he was more surprised that I'd even been fighting to stay on the sober side of life.  It's not easy.  You wind up being alone a lot, because if you hang out somewhere with friends, there's drinks.  If you go to the bar to meet people, there's drinks.  It's like everyplace you can go to there's temptations and you want to say, "Well just one," but it is never just one.  So you stay away from all that.

I even started going to the movies here to pass the time, at that shopping mall with the bad parking.  There were drinks.

I told my boss because a.) trying to do the right thing, and b.) I had to find out if he thought my work output had suffered while I was on Zoloft, or if I acted weirder than I usually do.  No on both counts, so medicine for life I guess.

This morning I woke up at 4 am after a strangely dreamless night and went to the kitchen for some ice water.  In the freezer was the leftover Bicardi from this past weekend.  Regretting the waste of money besides everything else it represented, I poured it down the sink.  For some reason it took a long time to pour, and for some reason I turned the disposal on, which makes little sense outside symbolism maybe.

Basically now I'm gonna play a waiting game until my meds are upped.  I can make it a few weeks.  It's nothing I haven't done before.  

I will always regret not staying on them, now.

Thank you

I just got thank you'd for something somebody else did for me.  It was an odd feeling.  I will have to take him to dinner.

The doctor has heard my tale now and recognizes that I need to be heavierly medicated again.   Apparently she could tell what was wrong just looking at me.  Am I that obvious.  I knew the possibilities of side effects of coming off my anti-depressants in January.  I didn't have any of them.  No suicidal thoughts, nothing.  I started eating properly again.  Well, not properly.  Just eating at all was a miracle, and after starving for so long I forgot how much I enjoyed things like tomatoes with salt.

And learning that table salt was not my enemy but sodium from processed foods was... it became easier to eat healthier but stay very lazy about it.

So we are going the same route as before.  I'll continue with citalopram for now, and then move on to Zoloft again, whatever its generic name is.  I should have done this in May but didn't want to admit the feelings that were building in my head.  That was, of course, before.  Speaking of which I got a very nasty little note from somebody I barely know.  Knowledge is power.  I could crush this person's spirit if I wanted revenge for the note, but I do not.  They will find out on their own.

Here's to better living through chemistry.

Great.

I've spent so much time in the past year and a half getting sober and healthy.  I switched from Captain Morgan's to Henry Weinhard beer when it was made available here.  That is when things started to change for the better for me.  I could have a beer and sleep... I wasn't a drunk anymore.  Too little too late.  Then one weekend, frustrated after learning that he had already been in a relationship this whole time we were talking... That's all it took for the dangerous activity to start back up.  Hating myself, hating what I became.  Looking for something to hurt me, because that's always great.

The one good thing I can say about this experience was it made me reach out to others.  I've actually gone on dates.  A new friend came over last night and stayed, making sure I took my meds and listening to my words.  He helped check my blood pressure twice.  A little high, but nothing to worry about.  He held me when I didn't want to be held.  I told him I was a bad person, he said he didn't believe me.  I told him I'd wind up hurting him.  He promised he wouldn't let me hurt him or myself.  We went to bed and he told me I was good.  I started to believe him.  I trusted him.

We woke early and I took him home.  He wants to hang out more often.  I do too.  If he'll make time for me.

So maybe something good did happen.

The Impossible Valentine

I was recently cleaning and came across something I thought I'd lost a long time ago... maybe I just forgot about it.  No, I hadn't.  It was my iPhone.  I recognized it sitting under the bed because of the cool shell you bought for on Redbubble, the Dr. Who/Chuck Taylors one.  That was probably the coolest gift anybody ever gave me.  You said you wanted to find something that combined some of my passions, and hoo-boy did you.  It's almost as disheartening as it is joyous when you get something like that.  You had to not only pay attention to my interests, you had to figure out which iteration of phone I had, and then you had to be internet savvy enough to know where something like that would be found, and you had to get it for my post-Valentine's day gift.  It was even in the faded white and not the optical white, which is a different shade but not the faded white Chucks the Doctor wore.  It's hard for somebody even as jaded as I am about love to think it doesn't exist after receiving something as a gift that shows that somebody you love has been paying as much attention to you as you have to him.

It was so great a gift.  I was so happy that I had you in my life, and I felt again what I felt for you so long ago.  Not that it ever changed.  I just had to push it away, holding that old gift in my rare fit of cleaning, because you were never going to be part of my life like that again.  I would just be refusing to let go of the past, and it would hurt me to revisit it again. 

So of course I had to see if the phone still took a charge.  Yeah it did.  And I had to look at our chats.  Most were from me, thanking you for coming into my life again.  But there was one in particular that touches me to this day, because I remember what caused the exchange like it just happened.

You'd come to bed late.  We were never on the same sleeping schedule, I knew that.  I accepted it a while before.  But my morning routine was to wake up and slam off the alarm so it wouldn't wake you.  It never did.  Bathroom stuff, shower, dress, then lean over you on your side of the bed and kiss your forehead before leaving.  You were always such a deep sleeper it never woke you.  I'd go to work and come home to you on the couch, smiling your heart-melting smile.  Good times.

I remember that morning I was wearing my green cargo shorts and the white pin-striped shirt that looks too big on me now.  It looked good then, it fit me perfectly.  I know I'd had my hair and goatee trimmed recently and was quite impressed myself with how I looked in the mirror.  

I came over to your side of the bed and leaned down to kiss your forehead.  You were as deep a sleep as you ever are.  I don't know what happened that morning... maybe I jostled you too much leaning down.  Maybe I put on too much deodorant and it bothered you but...  You woke up after my kiss, and leaned up with that smile, reaching out to shirt for another kiss.  It was very sweet.  You started to fall right back to sleep afterwards, still in the arms of Morpheus.  I left the apartment with what I must imagine was a very silly looking grin on my face.

Later at work you texted me, saying how handsome I was that morning.  I was surprised and flattered, because it wasn't like you to break out of your sleep to text something like that.  I replied, "Is that why you wanted another kiss?"

You told me you just wanted a kiss on your lips before I left.

I read those chats and others with customary tears that day, with that forgotten iPhone in the impossible Valentine gift, and never thought I'd be happy like I was that one day at work, knowing you'd be waiting at my apartment for me in just a few hours. I don't think I'll ever be as happy as that again.

I will follow you into the dark

When I finally do sleep, I have a dream of you.  I wake in the dream lying in a ditch, with my truck next to me, in Winchester.  Why am I in Winchester?  I must have been heading to work. So in this  world I must still work in Lexington, maybe I was falling asleep and needed to rest, which makes as much sense as anything else in my dream. I gather my stuff out of the ditch as a paperboy delivers the Lexington Herald.  Somebody follows behind him, stealing them, before I take off.

For whatever reason, I have to get home and shower.  It is nighttime, and my clothes are muddy, or perhaps I'm only in my underwear.  I head for home.  For some reason I have to sneak into my family's apartment, which means going through a back way through yours and Tony's place.  Yes, in this world, we live in the same apartment building.  Dream logic.

I remember thinking you were still not really talking to me.  It was 4 am, and my mind was incorporating stuff about you that you'd told me... you worked first shift, but it was early enough that you wouldn't be awake.  I could sneak through and not bother you.  Of course that didn't happen.  As I was about to reach the front of your apartment, I see Tony.  I've never had a dream with him in it to my knowledge.  He is in your living room, I think sorting through vinyl?  I'm not sure.  He recognizes me immediately and I can tell he doesn't understand what you saw in me.  But I just give what I'm assuming is a look pleading for him to not say anything and he doesn't.  I can make my escape.

Of course this is where you walk in, talking to him about something.  You don't see me at first and when you do you're not sure what to make of it.  Oddly you react kind of like John Watson, ask Tony if he left the door open again (double reference, Sherlock and Shaun of the Dead.)  Tony leaves the room and you resign to let me pass through, but you follow along to my family's apartment.

The scene changes.  I say my family's apartment because it's not my parents', as Dad has passed on.  Kelly is here, younger and not talking much.  Mom is here, older and kind of grumpy.  Keith is here, fat.  One has returned from the grave, little Miko.  As I set up the shower, which I guess is in the living room for some reason, you play with Miko.  I try to tell you not to, because I don't have your allergy medicine, which I remember tossing away.  It was one of the only things you left behind that I did toss.  You say it's okay, so I go to the shower.  

Mom brings the body wash, my big rust-colored towel, and a washcloth.  I don't want to use the washcloth.  The body wash comes out with a Jell-o like consistency.  It is difficult to use in my beard.  But I wash off and dry off.  I try to get my clothes on as quick as possible, because I have no idea what you're thinking right then.  Why you followed me back.  Why aren't you mad.  And when my mind asks these questions it's using your nickname, not your actual one.  I've never used your nickname, not often anyway.

I begin panicking because in the hoarder's delight of an apartment, I can't find any socks.  You ask what's wrong and I mention that I need socks, where are the fucking socks.  Then I see that I'm wearing them already.  You laugh that laugh of yours and smile, saying "I was wondering when you'd finally notice that."  I begin to be relieved.  Then you say, "Well I guess if you could drop me off at work..." meaning the Winchester Walmart.  Keith says to you, "Hey, you work at the Walmart's don't you?"  We laugh again and I begin to believe that we might be friends again after all.

There is a thunderclap and a blast of white light that pulls me out of the dream.  Right then my phone is playing this song, a cover by Amanda Palmer of a Death Cab for Cutie song.  When I heard the original, I hated it.  It is almost a happy song about losing the person you love the most.  Literally losing them to death, and how you'd rather take a chance on what's past that with them than without them.  Amanda covers it with just the sad bits.  So I got up, listened to her version, cried, and wrote this dream blog.  I don't know if you still have this bookmarked on your browser.  I know you did once.  This is my way of being passive-aggressive.  A lot of these posts do have references about you.  Sometimes they are sad, sometimes angry.  Mostly they just miss you.

And now I guess I'll do laundry.

The Postal Service | Against All Odds (Official Video)

Spider-Man: a comedy

Getting ready for my doctor's appointment this morning was a bit humiliating.

Showered, shaved (well, trimmed), wanting to look good for my doctor in case I get lucky.  Today show running in the background, it's mindless flotsam of morning television the best encouragement to leave.  I sat on the bed, pulled on a fresh pair of underwear, my shorts, and started to put a sock on.... and then I felt it.

A spider.  slowly crawling down my back.

I'm not icked out by spiders.  I think they're fascinating.  I watch TV nature shows about them.  I wrote a short story about one once that lived on the door frame of my first apartment in Dallas.  I considered one my "pet" in the house I grew up in, feeding it lightning bugs (or fireflies) completely convinced that the spider would suck out the phosphorescent liquid and begin glowing.  Hey, I was six.  And a science nerd.  And I guess kind of stupid.

I like spiders.  But I don't want them on me.

After being very still for a second that lasted a week, feeling the spider crawl down my back, I freaked out and began flailing about with my hands, trying to swat the spider away before IT BIT ME AND EATED ME AND THEN SHIT OUT MY CORPSE AND THEN RAPED MY SHIT-CORPSE WITH WHATEVER KIND OF GOD AWFUL SCARY BODY PART A FUCKING SPIDER CALLS ITS PENIS GODDAMN GET IT OFF

Yeah.  I had not dried my hair properly, it was a little drop of water running down my back.

So excuse me, I have to go turn in my penis to the Man Store.

Storms

Last night the Dayton area got hit with some quite heavy thunderstorms.  Maybe that's what made me go to sleep.  I've noticed Leo and Barbarella both get all nappytime when it's raining.  I don't think it was even 11 because I didn't watch Jon Stewart.  Pretty unusual.

Slept like a baby.  Woke up at 5 this morning to a message that has made my day. 

Back to work.

Perfume Genius - Sister Song

sick punk

A friend rightly pointed out that I should consult my doctor before taking anything else to deal with allergies, since the two could conflict.  Just like, I can't take boner pills because of my high blood pressure meds, because it could kill me.  Oh the irony.  Well I had to go see her soon anyway so I'm on for this Friday morning.

+++++++

I've given up on hearing from Ex again.  I wrote him, told him so.  Apologized for being crazy, maybe I never should have stopped the anti-dep pills, but if I don't give up I will obsess about it til it drives us both insane.  He's got a new life and I already caused him too much pain for this one.  He probably regrets contacting me at all now.  I will probably never know.  It doesn't matter, I can't replace him and I can't have him, so it's better to give him up and watch from afar.

I wonder if he ever did that with me.

Dreams of crashing

As if to get revenge on me for getting a good night's sleep recently, my body went into full allergy mode yesterday when I woke up.  Runny disgusting nose, sneezing, the works.  Then I swallowed some spit and gagged on it and wound up coughing so hard I thought I was going to puke.   Unfortunately I didn't, so I came on into work despite sounding like a frog.  I am kind of grumpy and wondering if I can get the part-timer to come in and cover me for the rest of the day and take half-a-sick day.

I'm gonna have to see my doctor again soon for blood pressure meds, so I might as well ask about allergy meds if it's kicking my ass this hard.  Apparently I have to do something funky to just purchase Benadryl because I look like I cook meth or something.  Please.  I won't even cook ramen noodles when I get home tonight, imagine me cooking up a big batch of meth, somebody put the sign out on the front porch, "hair doos and p-nuts."

Orphan Black continues to be really good but how many times are they going to let Kira get kidnapped?  That shit is getting old.

I'm about to sneeze my nose off so I might just ask the boss if we can call the part-timer in.

Sleepless in Dayton

Ack, maybe that's not the best idea for a title right now.

Anyway.  I was having my regular sleep troubles, not related to anything personal... it's just what happens to me.  Around 4:30 this morning I sent Ex a Facebook message (well, messages technically) asking two questions I really needed to know the answer to:

Why now?-- Why contact me now?  Or send signals that you wanted to contact me?  For a few months now I'd finally come to accept that he was gone from my life forever, that I'd never hear from him again.  And even before that, I knew the only person responsible for driving him off was me.  I couldn't handle adult life.  But I'm doing so much better now.  Almost never late for work anymore, and everybody loves me there.  Everything about my life is better, but one thing is missing.

And... what now?  Are we friends?  Is it safe to "like" a picture he posts, or make a comment?  I can't even write more on that because I really don't know what I'm asking.  Maybe... did you just need to tell me that for whatever reason, and now we go back to having nothing to do with each other?

Because if that turns out to be the case... ah.  I'm not going down that road.

He has my number, if he forgot it.  Maybe I'll hear from him eventually and I can apologize like a normal person, instead of a crazy person.  

Surprisingly, last night, I had pretty great sleep.

busted

So Ex contacted me.

Out of the blue he looked at one of my profiles.  I guess it wasn't really out of the blue.  He'd looked at other ones, over the past few months.  But this time I checked his profile out in return.  Nothing had changed, so I thought it was just one of those things.  I showed up on his viewer and he was like, "oh yeah him."  I mean I've done it myself, with Larry, Dave.  Even that kid who was a furry and looked like Harry Potter.

But after looking at his profile, he checked mine out again.  So.... that meant something.  At first I thought, "What the hell is so interesting about my profile?"  So I looked at it and saw that it was painfully maudlin.  I changed it to reflect my current attitude towards life.  Then checked his profile again.

And later, he checked mine again.

I think we tagged each other again one last time and I could feel that Shadow Me starting to lurk, ask questions.  I've learned to accept this part of me and mostly ignore it.  But he asked that horrible question that, when said, demands an answer:  "Why?"

I thought for a while and sent a fb message asking why we were playing peekaboo profiles.  He said he'd contact me after ten.  My allergies had been on the rampage, and as I knew he stayed up late (usually) I told him if he didn't catch me because of my passing out to try again at 2 or 3 a.m.

We've had brief chats.  He said some stuff that made me feel better, which he must have known he didn't need to say.  I couldn't blame him for leaving.  I'm surprised he gave me a second glance, the way I was.  But I do know that I've made great progress in getting my life together.  Heck, my kitchen is almost clean.  Not spotless, but not the mildewed science experiment that it was.

I've sent him my phone number.  I hope to hear from him.  Hopefully when my allergies aren't making me sound like a walking bag of snot.  It would just be good to hear his voice again.

I told him I still loved him.  He returned it in kind.  Maybe I can start listening to Cutie Boots again without feeling like a heel.

Unexpected

this was not what I thought I'd blog about this morning.

you'll notice the lack of punctuation and maybe grammar aside from autocorrect.  this is because back in Portland this is how I wrote.  it was faster.  at the time my thoughts could wander off subject in a moments notice and id forget what I was writing about, which was all about capturing a memory and keeping it,because I knew even back then that memory was a fleeting thing and that most people didn't realize that your brain plays tricks with your memory.

memories aren't like video tape.  you think you remember something precisely how it happened, but you don't.  your brain takes images and feelings and emotions and makes an amalgamation for you, and it's almost never exactly how you remember an event.  this is true of everybody, including me.

so I've been keeping a journal, of sorts, for over 20 years.  it started in college.  at least I think that's 3where it started.  It must have, because I didn't have regular access to computers before that, right?  but it ramped up in Portland.  bought my first computer there.  played quake all night.  aol chats that never went anywhere except for one perv who I almost thought was going to rape me.  general tso's chicken Saturday mornings during laundry with a hangover and mst3k on the tv.  and greg.

I only met him twice.  one night was pretty intense.  by that I mean the sex.  the second meeting was a chance encounter after picking up comics and having lunch at burgerville.  while I really wanted to do a replay of that first night, I was on lunch break and had to go back to work, and greg was heading out of town that night, I can't remember where he was moving to but it was in California.

we had some common online friends and one of them told me, after I'd moved to dallas, that greg died in a car accident.  this made me sad of course, but not despondent, because I mean, it was just one night.  just felt really weird to think that somebody I did that with was dead.  like some kind of retrograde necrophilia.

get to work this morning thinking I'm gonna post something about dale briefly chatting with me last night and during my regular surfing I see greg, naked on a bike, doing portlands naked people riding bikes event.  I'd have written it off as a doppleganger except for the very distinct tattoo, plus I knew greg liked both nudism and biking so it made sense.

there's nothing else here.  I didn't get all weak kneed or tear up or anything, I mean yeah it was good sex but it was just one nihgt.  I'm glad he isn't really dead.  he seemed like a nice guy.

its just a really weird feeling.

My tattoo

My first choice for a tattoo would be the Starbrand.

Starbrand was the first comic in Marvel's New Universe, a failed attempt to make comics seem more grounded in reality, for some reason.  I'm assuming they got the idea from Alan Moore... sorry, I meant The Original Writer, with how he brought ridiculous ideas like Marvel/Miracleman into our world, showing what Supermen among us would be like.  This attempt by Marvel failed, and I think it took less than three years to die (although it lingered on with one-shots like The Pitt, The Draft and The War).  Maybe more.  The private comic book market (non-news-stand) was becoming popular, and releasing limited edition stuff suddenly was profitable.  Starbrand would go on my left shoulder, since I would accept it from the Old Man with my right hand and of course that's where it would go.

My second choice is secret.  But this is a good runner-up.

The barking dog from Faith No More's album, King for a Day, Fool for a Lifetime.

Because he looks like Leo.

The third one, which I'd actually get, horrifying my mother because I'd ensured my path to hell with a graven image on my body, would be an alethiometer:

Of course that would also involve hair removal,  but I'm not THAT gay.

Baby Fever 2

First, met Dave's new baby today.  Like all newborns, he is a cute little screaming and pooping tomato.  He seems to like his sister Kylee, whom I also met today, but seems indifferent so far to Maddie, although I'm sure that's because she's not allowed to be hands-on like Kylee is right now.

Second, I thought somebody was playing silly buggers with me regarding some odd activity with one of my online profiles.  It appears this was not the case.  However it is not something I can currently worry about because I am now convinced that I am dying of allergies.  I should note that I am one year (or so) new into this allergy thing, and I don't know how you guys have gone through this year after year and not begun cutting yourselves or at least shopping at Hot Topic and listening to Sisters of Mercy non-stop.

Anyway, Kelly suggests two Benadryls, but cautions that after he gets relief he usually passes out.  Given that I haven't had more than an hour's sleep at a time for nearly two weeks, I'm going to forego that cautionary tale and pop these liqui-gels.  I should probably consult my doctor first but I'm a walking bag of stuffed up snot at this point, almost Walking-Dead-esque, so good night.

Hopefully I'll be up in a few hours and can post a pic of the awesome t-shirt I bought yesterday.

(edit) never mind, here it is, found it online, only mine has more distortion in the image:

[REDACTED]...the Next Next Generation

Just had a dust-up sissyfight slapfest on facebook with a former colleague turned flaming retard uber-conservative ultra-right dickless asshole, and discovered a job opening might be possible soon in a pretty big market I'm very familiar with.  The problem is, I'm not sure of whether I should take it, if it becomes available.

There's nothing wrong with Dayton, aside from being pretty boring.  Which it is.  The nerds here have an odd fixation on gaming, like, CCD and Warhammer and all that stuff.  Never seen that before.  It's paying my bills and I'm getting back out of debt.  Commercial production is boring but I'm good at it.

But also, I don't really have any friends up here.  I had a problem with a lot of the friends from my past and haven't really made any here,  I'd like to say I'm shy, and that would be true, but I know the real reason is because I'm scared of failure, again.

In fact, I'm so scared of failure that I routinely turn down offers for random sex.  I don't know what has happened recently, perhaps it's my growing my daddybear beard out, but I get messages much more than I ever have in years.  Usually I just ignore them and don't respond.  When I do, nothing ever happens.  I don't know why.  I used to be an absolute horn-dog.  So even the probable dating pool increase doesn't really sway me.  

I guess I know that deep inside I am craving affection like I used to get from Dale, but after failing him I don't feel like I deserve even sex, much less a relatinship or even friendship with anybody.  So this possible job probably wouldn't change that.

I still don't know what I'd do if this becomes real.  Maybe I'll be lucky, and they'd try to low-ball me and I'd not have to actually think about it much to turn them down.  I'm just worried that they would offer me enough to tempt me.

I like living close to home.  That's the best thing about Dayton.  

B411 chat openers

"Mmmmmm daddy need some tight boy hole today?"

First, thanks for the generous offer, but I'm good.

Second, proper punctuation and grammar are sexier than your "tight boy hole."

Third, go away.