I Don't Care.

I should be fustrated.

Looking for a place is turning out to be much more of a hell then I thought it would be. There are all these bloody things to consider, and when you're not making several thousand dollars a month and require things like space and location, it becomes as hard as hell.

And then you factor in things like, how are you going to manage your time between school, your new boyfriend (and for once I really do think things can work out, and it's up to me to try and make sure they do. Because it would be a pity if they don't) and the fact that there's just no bloody space for anything in your parents house. I mean, having to stack up all your art things just before you go to bed is simply not the most convenient things to do. Oh and that anyway, they live miles away from the school. Who's ridiculous idea was it anyway to stick an art school all the way in West. I can undestand it if it were on a hill, at least that's kinda romantic. But in a shitty industrail area? What the hell.

I'm sick of depending on other people for money, and I wouldn't stay in a nice place if I had to. I just don't want to worry about stupid thing like finances. I'd rather not have a great deal of money and do what I want, and use what I have on countless mad projects. Like going to fetish parties and making crazy porn art and writing about my sex life.

I took a walk around Chinatown yesterday and bumped into this cool looking dude who used to teach at LaSalle. I didn't bump into him per se. I tresspassed into his friend's property (as looking for lodging, remember), he asked me if he could help me, and I chatted him up. I tired toe xchange email addresses with him after, and he told me he didn't have an email address. Neither did he have a computer, or a cell-phone. he didn't care for being contactable, and he got to people when thought he could be useful to them and made money like that.

That sort of contentment would be great, but it's just not possible for me I suppose. I need brunches at fancy cafes and cab-rides when I want to cab ride. Books and CDs at a whim, and the occassional dress. Which I swear is the only retail vice I succumb too. I cannot help myself when it come to pretty dresses.

***

This morning I got woken up at 5 a.m. because he wanted a fuck. I was so bloody tired, but kinda turned on as well.

'Wake up slut. I need a fuck and there's nothing you can do about it.'

And I curl up into a ball and say oh nonono please don't I'm so tired, please let me rest.

But of course there's nothing I can do about it.

And I kinda get a perverse thrill out of being treated like a slap rag doll in bed.

xoxox