We wrapped our arms around each other and tried to shove ourselves back together-
we were making love. Making love.
It was a cold dark evening, such a long time ago,
when by the mighty hand of Jove,
It’s a sad story how we became lonely, two-legged creatures.
The story of the origin of love.
The origin of love.
I had a sad Christmas. I know you might have too. Spend these last 3 minutes loving me and I’ll spend them loving you.
I’ve swallowed myself. I feel like I am puking myself back up day after day, only a little bit more of me is gone every time and what is left is slimy and gross. It feels so strange to feel like I have failed this hard. I shouldn’t be here. Yet I know how impossible it is to hold myself to some sort of self-appointed standard of who I should be and how I should get there. For some reason, the truth doesn’t really seem to matter to me. I have failed at almost every single one of the goals that I attached to my pre-adolescent self. It isn’t good.
The moral of the story is: things you should not do before bed 1) Watch a bootleg of Spring Awakening 2) Look at the Lindsay Lohan Playboy spread 3) Watch soldier return videos 4)Discuss either (i) wedding dresses or (ii) baby names.
This Christmas would be merrier if I could say I had been touched by another human in the last 7 days. Let’s not talk about being held.
I will never get used to the sucker punch to the stomach that I feel when I get close enough to you to see your love.
I take every word you speak personally.
I don’t think my glands will ever be over you.
Dear Any Man Who Has Ever Wanted to Fuck Me,
Your time is running out. You have six months. If you want to have sex with me, you should tell me right away because if you wait until after my surgery, I am not going to sleep with you. I am sorry if that seems unfair to you, but if I know you now, there is no way I am going to be able to let go of the idea that you didn’t want me the way I was and you only want me now because of the change in my looks. Maybe I don’t want to bang you now, but at least I will know and then later won’t judge you. Time is running out. Post-surgery Shannon isn’t giving tail away like a discount sale no matter how much she might want to.
I’m giving you a chance to get in on the bottom floor here. You can take that however you see fit.
Love,
Shannon
It might make me a bad person, but I think you all should know that sometimes if someone that I think is silly or rude messages me on okcupid, I purposely say things to pick a fight and try to say the most outlandish things possible. I time them to see how long they chat with me before they get fed up and leave. Tonight was a record! Over half an hour of silly and mindless arguing. I think I might be deemed a “troll” if I was on a message board acting like this.
I hope you don’t think any less of me?
If it helps, I only do it with people who proposition me in some way first.
This is my favorite part of the conversation from tonight with an Indian engineer who thinks all American women are like the characters he has seen on “Teen Mom” and “The Girls Next Door”:
Kumar: so what you have to say about statistics?
Shannon: I don’t believe in statistics, they aren’t real. They are just made up by the person who wants to make a certain point. Only 1 in 5 statistics are actually real.
Kumar: What about government statistics?
Shannon: The government is a corrupt conspiracy. They make up statistics all the time. The whole census thing is complete crap. I filled mine out with a green crayon. I said I had 4 kids from 3 different fathers and one spoke Finnish.
I hope this makes you smile because this journal is SOOOOOO depressing more often than not.
Look at the man who was looking at you,
everything about me screaming, not ready
Every day, makes it a little bit more true
always awake with my hands unsteady-
And I can breathe deep now with these borrowed lungs,
they pretend I am strong and growing tough but
in reality they give me just enough
to make it through the day
and they say
baby steps will get you where you need to go
even if they are slow
but I want to take a tiger step
and leap into sleep
with massive paws and killer claws
so that when the man is looking at me, I don’t look away
I stay and say
this is just a game I play
I like me this way.
where with each paw I can move them all.
Sometimes I wonder what the limit is that you can go out onto a limb before you fall. I know it is different in every situation, that there is no true and concrete answer to this question. I’d like to reach just a little further than I comfortably can. I’d like to be so casual, to be so confident, to say, oh, hello, would you like to come have sex with me? I’d like to believe that part wasn’t robbed from me- that I make the choice to be demure and am not ruled by terror or shame. It was on the tip of my tongue really- spilling it all- the true depth of depravity- what-I-want-from-you… but there wasn’t a moment that was quiet enough or a place as intimate enough. Maybe its being almost 30 or maybe because I know there is a definite end of my suffering in sight, but I am feeling bold and I think it might be time to get back the courage I had at one time- when even though I wept all night, I could still say, “I am worth your true commitment. Be mine of stop wasting my time.” For now I intend to bide my time and wear it close to the inside of my skin, the secret mark that will pull your heart into my mouth.
In June, everything is going to change. I’m trying to clear the wreckage of this crash and burn. 6 months isn’t very long. Just enough time to say goodbye.
