and why are you here

I got a very interesting email the other day:

I am one of those people who first heard about you (was it 2 years ago?) when Wired News mentioned you in passing and included a link. As I recall, you got totally swamped at that point. I remember you mentioning it in one of your posts at the time. That mention, and link, brought you more attention than you’d had before. I don’t know if your readership has continued to grow since then, or if some of the people who signed up then eventually quit. I imagine at least a few have quit. I, myself, have been very, very tempted to quit a few times. Sometimes I ask myself, “Hey, I’ve got a ton of work to do, how can I justify reading these entries from some girl who I don’t even know?” I usually feel this way either when I’m the most busy or when you’re written a really dull entry that didn’t grab me at all.

But, all in all, I stay subscribed. So I’ve been reading your entries, or at least a sampling of them, for 2 or 3 years now. My, how time flies when you’re having fun.

and with the advent of someone adding an actual PORN link to my guestbook, it’s been an interesting week here at pronstar. And in case you haven’t figured it out yet, pronstar.com is a real live porn site.
On April 22, 2000, the 100th person subscribed to the list. I was so proud that I had started screaming and dancing in my living room. I never thought that me, personally; would generate that much interest and that many people would come to the site. I’m not doing so bad with pageviews per day and I’m getting more email the more i update, which just proves beyond a doubt that updating is peachy and stuff.

river

i had spent most of the night crying.

it started when paul and i had gotten into an argument earlier this evening and had escalated when we were sitting opposite of each other on the couches. i was staring at the edge of the coffee table like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

closed.
you don’t talk to me.
you say more on your website than you do to me.
i’m never leaving you.
your problems.
you only hear what you want to hear.

at one point during all of this i had shoved down my shorts and panties, and pulled up my shirt and screamed “i am a woman” as paul claimed i was “being a woman”. (that got a raised eyebrow out of that little stunt).

and we sat and talked.

the same words reverberated over and over.

closed.
you don’t talk to me.
you say more on your website than you do to me.
i’m never leaving you.
your problems.
you only hear what you want to hear.

over. and over. and over.

i sniffled through the rest of the night though other things were going on. packing for paul’s trip to boston. folding laundry. eating dinner. aimless viewing webpages and talking to various people on aol im.

once we had climbed into bed and finished reading my book, paul climbed in being all snugly and cute. and he was tired. we have to get up at 4:45am to make his flight to boston.

———-

when i was about 7 or 8, i remember helping my mom fold the laundry. we had such a large family, that laundry was a daily chore. down to the basement to the washer. up to the kitchen to the dryer and then onto the dining room to be folded. and i remember one time i had gotten the gumption to defy my mother. i had asked her something. i don’t remember what it was pertaining to, but she looked at me and had said “stop trying to manipulate me. this is the way it is.”

all my life people have, in one form or another said that i have manipulated them. and the way i’ve always seen it was that when someone manipulates someone, it’s a conscious decision. they are thinking about some potential harm or evil they want to do to said manipulator. but i’ve never thought that. my mind is blank, as it was this evening when paul asked me to talk. i don’t feel anything pressing in my head to speak. it’s just blank. i just stared at the table edge and the sole of my feet as it were the most interesting things in the world.

i suppose, there is some truth to the matters at present. and presently i don’t feel anything. it’s like i’m going through the motions of life: i have a wonderful boyfriend, a wonderful job, we live in a beautiful area in an awesome apartment and i don’t feel like it’s special.

i don’t think about things, i just do them. i don’t mind fuck people, i just tell them what i feel. i don’t manipulate people because i have nothing to gain from said manipulation. but if the populous is right, than i must be wrong.

bare feet

have this passion for not having bare feet. which is strange because there was a time not so long ago that i could stand to have anything on my feet, cloth or leather wise. maybe i’ve always been paranoid about the fact that i have butt ugly feet or that i have cracked dry skin from said adventures. regardless, now i’m on this whole “feet can’t touch the ground kick” and i had slid off the fuzzy purple slippers and felt the carpet below. it was so…

soft.

the cure is blaring into my ears via my headphones, paul’s happily watching rasslin and i’m so relaxed that i’m about to fall asleep.

which i will as paul and i were up all night fucking and talking. so i only got about 2 hours of sleep 🙂

night.