So The Melancholic Saga Continues...

I had a lot of things to say, and I probably still do. Only I can’t think of much else aside from shagging Martine, throwing stuff out of my room and designing fetish outfits.

I emailed him a couple of photos from my newest set, and he’s finally sent me an email that was a little more affectionate then the hey-how-you-doin’ sort. And it even came with one of his essays (well, I demanded a trade).

Frankly, I don’t know anything any-more. Not that it would make much of a difference if I did anyway. I’ve chased him long enough; he’s done me that justice, maybe if he wants me again, I should return the favour (I’m not saying this sarcastically. I really believe I’m glad for the fact that I had to try so hard for a few hours of his time). Then again, it could all be nothing more then wishful thinking. But wasn’t it wishful thinking when 7 months ago I thought ‘wouldn’t it be so lovely if I met him again’, and I did. I didn’t know then he’d want me back –because of certain business complications that I would unwittingly play a part of- but you know what. He did.

A-lot of my friends tell me he’s just using me. You know. For sex. But I really don’t think so. He could still sleep with me if he wanted, and he knows that because I told him so sometime back. But somehow sex makes things more difficult. If you don’t particularly give a damn for the person, then it’s no problem, but with the sort of emotions that are involved on my part…, no strings attached sex is just impossible.

No strings attached sex is pointless by the way. It can be fun sometimes, but if you have better things to do, it’s one of society’s most pointless evolutions. It doesn’t even serve the biological function for procreation. I am not suggesting that sex without love is pointless; sex with someone that you know cares is worthwhile, I still haven’t deviated from that belief.

I know Martine cares, in some incomprehensible manner. If Liz would just die, things would be so much easier. Mostly for him, but I would be so happy too. Then again, don’t we all just love coming up with hypothetical situations and their outcomes without really knowing ourselves and how we would really feel.

I thought everything would fall into place when Ethan came back. But things didn’t, and it didn’t work out as well as I had hoped. (I’m still going to visit him this September nonetheless, we’re still on very good terms).

While lying in bed with Greg a few nights back (with my panties on. I told him with a fair amount of irritation that they were staying on when he tried to get them off) I asked him about the person he’d loved most in his entire life. The woman he believed he would be perfectly satisfied with. Her name’s Shauna, and they had a few good years together, but she had to leave because he’d been married then. (She insisted). He got divorced anyway, because his wife was a psychopath that tried to kill him with a kitchen knife; by then it was already a little too late, Shauna had married someone else. So he’d settled for someone else, someone he feels all right with, I suppose. Because most people don’t like dying without having that significant someone beside them, because most people don’t like growing old without the security that there was someone growing old with them. (It’s just like how you feel better at the clinic when you’re there to check for STDs and there’s another person that’s kinda just like you looking as nervous in the next seat).

But it’s all very depressing. I’m not even going to presume Martine could be what Shauna was to Greg, but he’s definitely significant. And I would be very sorry indeed if a few years from now, he wasn’t happy with whatever he’d done. You think people should be able to exercise better judgment over their lives. But the funny thing is, they normally don’t. Life is very much a daily thing as it is a something that spans over the greater part of a century. And one day never really seems to matter a lot to any of us, so we just do whatever we have to, just because that day, we just… had to. And before we know it, the greater part of our lives have past, and we wish this and that, but it’s too late.

And I would be very sorry indeed if that happened to anyone I ever cared for.

xoxox



By the way, you can stop emailing me about sending my pictures, offering me your time to cyber, or giving me a listening eye over email for my sexual experience. I'm not interested in you. Whoever you are. In fact, don't bother emailing me unless you have something nice or insightful to say. Insulting does not equate insightful.