The Little Boat That Could
*grr* I just typed this out, and then Spaces went down.
Okay, so I’m doing this again. I’m feeling a lot more positive in the last few days. I feel more like myself than I have in a long time. I feel I'[m getting back to the me I was before all of the deviated compromise I had to make. I’m writing again (everything from blogs, to books… songs, poetry, etc). I want to post some of my art on here eventually, when I’ve dug my art books out of their boxes. Most of my life is still packed away but at least I’m in a bed now. That has brought some normalcy back into my universe. We share a kitten with our neigbours… she’s theirs but she loves us, so I have the cutest bedmate EVER.
I’m a little drained, though. I joined plentyoffish.com, because my Mom inspired me by dipping her toes in it looking for love. Despite my insistances, somehow I get the same kind of people hitting on me (for the most part– there are refreshing exceptions). I’m sorry, but “You’re hot, I would so do you” is not going to attract me to someone. In fact, I find that offputting. Thanks for telling me I look good… it’s appreciated. But everything else turns me off. No, I’m not about to tell some strange guy how big my breasts are and I don’t want to have hour long conversations about their penises and how much I’ll “like it” with them. There are lots of dicks in the world. I don’t care. I want a gentleman. I am monogamous through and through.
I want love, people. I’m not a casual dater or dabbler or experimenter. I don’t understand how women who participate in casual sex don’t feel stripped of their identity. Sex without intimacy is not appealing to me. That activity is reserved for one person. I can handle lust on my own. Why would I go home with ‘some guy’ just to be dehumanized? I’m not a dog. In casual sex, you don’t matter. You’ll be fortunate if they even remember your name. That is so demeaning to me. In my eyes, sex is letting someone get closer than they will ever get to you. That’s no small thing. For me– it’s everything. When I love, I love completely. I fall headfirst into it, and about as deep as one could go. I’m left totally vulnerable and exposed. But I’m strange. Do all ‘assaultees’ feel like this? Do they all care that much? Am I just totally screwed up? Is the whole world really hedonistic except for me? Should it not matter? Am I supposed to try not to care?
I want to be with someone I can picture the rest of my life with. If he has no interest in that, and I have no interest in that with him, what the hell is the point? I want monogamy. The one for me is out there. He doesn’t have to be perfect. Everyone is faulted. I’m faulted. (I hate doing dishes, and I’m sometimes narcissistic. I like to look nice and sometimes I know I do. So what? So do other people!) The man I spend the rest of my life with won’t be someone I love because he’s perfect. He’ll be perfect because I love him– faults and all! Sometimes it’s the person’s faults that I love! Should I not care this much? Do I need help? [Insert Kassi’s uneasy laughter here].
The one I’m meant to be with could make millions, or make minimum wage. I don’t care. I would rather be with an average guy who works hard and have all the love in the world than be stuck with someone wealthy and secure and be totally trapped in a loveless life.
I love music. It courses through my veins. If I could spend all day, every day making music, I would do it. When I sing, the world melts away. I get lost in it. I feel vast and endless, like a shift in the wind. It comes from inside my soul. No matter what is wrong… when I sing, I feel alive. I love music. I’m IN love with music. Hold onto your hats.
Go forward. ♥ Kassi