I always keep in mind that I could be crawling into a great old cave and getting myself lost for no good reason. Just scraping my body up against stalactites and feeding my skin with moisture-bonking my head on unseen calcium formations and whatnot.
I love caves.
I have always loved caves. And I don't care how blind I become in the dark.

I remember how easy it was to go back to an old love affair. I sure like that idea-revisiting something that has been crusted into my memory in the form of warmth. But, after a time, it does get tiresome. There are always good concrete reasons why a person left another person-well maybe not for other people (I've seen some weird stuff when it comes to that) but with me, god, I have more reasons than my fingers can count for each one of them.

So when I keep walking on ahead and I am suddenly all slathered in warmth I can do nothing but remain suspicious. I'm trying not to be so suspicious. I'm used to dampness and shivering and teeth chattering and the like. How can I adapt to something so savory? I really thought I had dumped all of my pessimism but so many years and so many bedcovers and hands and feet and rustling has chipped away any hope.

The point is-I am still naive and I will always be but right now is the pocket in time where I haven't quite realized what I'm doing so I'm just really goddamn happy.

I found out that my birth control has serious side effects that have been on tv and stuff which might explain why my stomach has been hurting for like...years. And then my mother just informed me that we have an estrogen based history of breast cancer-so I'm getting off the stuff for good. Like, I won't be taking any pills for that ever again.

Ever since I started taking it, it has been a big old waste. I just keep getting with guys who are like little boys and having loveless sex where laughter is non-existent. Here's to utterly fucking over my body while having nothing but pain to show from it.

I'm really tired and I want to find a couch and attach myself to it and read about other people's fictional lives until mine becomes so coated with mud that it is indiscernible. My body keeps breaking down and breaking down and crackling apart...I guess that is what it means to be a human being.