This week as we share our caffeinated beverages (mine would be a southern style sweet tea today), I’d tell you that things are relatively calm. I’m writing again, and that’s positive. I wrote a poem that I posted yesterday (technically wrote it the day before), and I even began working on my novel again.
My thoughts become wrapped up in the very idea of you,
hypnotized by the memory of being enveloped in your arms,
of being held tightly
while teased into a fervor of passion
with the gentlest of caresses along the tops of my breasts.
Your fingers pull and flick at my nipples,
as you simultaneously
pull a moan from my lips.
When you suck and nip at my ear,
the warmth of your breath drives me even further
into a frenzy
until I am at risk of losing myself completely
in your scent
as it surrounds and sticks to my naked flesh
pressed so closely to your own nude body.
hips moving of their own accord
to that most ancient of rhythms
known to all lovers who’ve given themselves
freely one to the other.
I missed Ostara this year. It was the first day back from Spring Break, and I’m on my moon time, and I just plum forgot there was a Holy day to be celebrated.
I’m not a very good Pagan.
Not a very good Christian either.
I float somewhere in between: believing in the more mystic aspects of both, and agreeing with the morality of both (to a point), and finding my happy medium mixing a little from column A and adding a little from column B… occasionally a dash from a column C from some other religion or spiritual ideology.
I’m basically a religious mutt.
So I was having lunch with the Old Boy yesterday and he asked me what the New Boy’s name was… I think perhaps it amuses him that everyone gets a nickname. But I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the guy I’m currently seeing (not sure dating is the right word… not sure what we’re doing to be perfectly honest) had stolen his name.
I don’t know why I thought it would bother him. I mean, after all, he didn’t like the nickname in the first place. He didn’t understand the significance of it. He thought it was meant in a derogatory sense, or some such.
Admittedly, I should have thought about the racial connotations of such a thing, but that was not how it was meant! And if he’d known anything about me at the time, he’d have realized that, but for some reason he seems to always assume that I have the worst intentions.
Especially with names.
With only a few hours left of my Spring Break, this weekend we’d be drinking our coffee (or tea) while curled up in bed with relaxing music playing from my cellphone on one side and a stack of papers and notes on the other.
It’s a bit of a mixed signal, I suppose: relaxation on one side and stress from work on the other, but I feel sometimes that I’m very full of contradictions.
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day everyone!
I hope you’ve got your green on. I, sadly, do not have any green to wear this year. Or at least, I don’t know where I might have hidden it. Don’t worry, my roommate’s kid has punched me, and we had Corned Beef and Cabbage for lunch. I’m not sure if that’s really a traditional Irish meal, but it was the first time I’ve ever had corned beef before, so that’s something.
Now we’re getting ready to go to a Lord of the Dance show at Miller Outdoor Theater.
I keep thinking that things are going to get easier in my life, and then I’m always wrong.
At the moment, I’m still in a rental car, still staying with a friend, and there’s a problem with my phone…
And my finances aren’t exactly great. Instead of being able to save up to get either a new car or into a place of my own, all my money goes to that silly rental car.