Over time, I've been building my castle of love.

On Saturday night, I stayed home and Raymundo borrowed my house keys and Sean's belt and went out to a club called The Gaping Maw where apparently he drank several bacardi silver malt liquor beverages and made out on the dance floor and couches and in the champagne room with several hot individuals. At one point, even with two at the same time. Raymundo gets around. He claims it's the gold chains and (fake) Gucci glasses that drive the folks wild. I envy his natural sleazy charm. And in case you're wondering, but without COMPLETELY kissing and telling, the following people might be getting some testimonials (in alpha order): drinkasyoupour, freakysparks, herownsociety, vimandvigor.

No sex in the champagne room.

Yesterday I went shopping at Target and spent too much money and came home and nearly broke all the things I bought while attempting to implement them into my home. I realized that I am in some ways very much used to living alone, because when I struggled to install curtain rods or find the proper code on the universal remore, I would swear and holler and then get suprised and annoyed when someone would come to check on me. I mean, what are they going to do? Stay in the kitchen and ignore the expletives from from the bedroom? Of course not. But my salty inner domestic would still bristle unconsciously, maybe in part because I was even feeling embarassed that someone was viewing me in an annoyed state of being.

I worked off lots of cranky energy stored in my body by helping Riley and Kathy move their earthly belongings out of a truck and up three flights of stairs. I was simultaneously panicky about the prospect of me having to do this for myself soon while also motivated to clean out my apartment of heavy things like books before packing myself up. I actually enjoyed the physical labor aspect, including the full body drip of sweat and heady swoon of repeated physical tasks. We had a good crew who understood assembly line movement while also accomodating for injuries or restrictions or even the need to stop for two minutes and get water. Their apartment is extremely snazzy and I look forward to seeing it in it's full glory when they've arranged their life.

This morning while drinking orange juice out of the carton like a heathen, I noticed Lynx has a jar of bread-and-butter pickles and the brand name is "Bubbie's". This makes me smile. I call Sophie "Bubbie" all the time. And also freakydeak. And trouble. And mija. And dingo. And sometimes baby girl. She probably has an identity crisis from the number of names I give her.

Born with the [sun] in Cancer

From now on, whenever I'm feeling any sort of moment of emotional clarity and progress and moving forward in my growth as an individual and a human with emotions, remind me to just shut my fcking piehole. Because I swear, it might be three steps forward and one back which is still two steps forward net gain, but it feelings like one step forward and two back, at least in the moment.

I feel uncomfortable in my skin right now, to the point where everything is just a stick being poked through the bars of a cage, tormenting me.

This tells me something. My batteries need recharging. I'm way overdue for some alone time that doesn't somehow include sleeping. Luckily I'm like my iPod, and often just an hour is enough to get me back up to 80%.

( a story in 41 lines )