On a much Lighter Note

The person who coined the phrase mind over matter must not possibly, and could not have been, under any conceivable circumstance, ever human. I can safely say that I'm feeling a great deal much better now, physically, and my mental state is a great deal improved. That is to say I no longer feel like I am being exorcized and that my bodily breakdown was as a result of my petty sins.

The seizures are most certainly gone and have proven to be not hereditary (medical side effect; if you have plans to propose to me and are secretly charting my medical history) and that the relationship aspect of my life has promised to fall into glorious mundane-ity with the return of the practically sensible, partially ostensible romantic Mr. Big. After a few days of “I’ll find out what exactly it is you want and give it to you, then you’ll have to give me what I want” from the Saccharine machine, I’m thoroughly glad for a “Am I going to see you this weekend? I miss you and everything that you stand for.” Of which I presume 90% is sex and 10% a penchant for verbiage.

The former had the nerve to tell my girlfriend that I was terribly morbid in a childish sort of way (I probably am, but we don’t like out faults reiterated by people we think are terribly childish themselves, do we?) and then try to fix it up thereafter by saying he was ‘only joking’. *shrugs* get real. At times I really do think he was playing us in. Crazy mind-fucker.

“Why did you ask her to go to Bangkok with you anyway?”

“Oh come on. If you think those messages were worth anything… I’ll stop contacting her if you want me to.”

Oh come on yourself luv. The girlfriend and I are at the stage where we can safely call each other sisters, and abuse the fact thoroughly. Because we’ve called each other every other horrid thing already. Well, she’s called me a stripper years ago when I was sitting on the window-still with my blouse unbuttoned on a day where the humidity was particularly charming. For the most part to the benefit of the male fare, both local and non-local alike.

Anyway, jealousy over you would be absolutely the last possible thing on my mind where she’s concerned. Women do suffer an unnecessarily fierce loyalty to their species, especially when it pertains to men. Well, I do, anyway. I might sulk about it a great deal, but I’ll get over it. And by then, the guy would have been gone anyway, from your life and mine. Amen.

***

Will be up to more photographic nonsense tomorrow.

<>I have no idea why they always tell you not to wear underwear to sleep the night before you do a fetish shoot. They say it ensures that there are no lines when you arrive at the studio. Well, then am I to reach your place on public transport with no panties on? I don’t quite fancy the idea, really. And besides I don’t see much of a difference when I do wear underwear and when I don’t. Personally, I think it’s just their idea of being naughty. Which I suppose is mildly amusing, but starts to get terribly tiresome after awhile.

And while on the subject, I must entreat you to Terry Richardson. His is truly an art unto its own. He has officially managed to de-eroticize the nude form. The bastard.

To put simply, here we are, with all our efforts, trying to incite some form of erection, oh-I-meant- reaction, with a combination of a low-carb diet, expensive photographic equipment, 12 miles a week on track, state of the art lighting blabla, and you ruin it all with a point an shoot! One wonders what this says about human behaviour.

I seriously can think of too much to say on the subject, and so had better stop at this moment.

xoxox