Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
I'm getting this out of the way now, all the bitching and whining and moaning and general pissiness.
I know it must not be every time, but it sure seems like it. Every time I get a heart-friend who dreams on the same frequency that I do ...
And now that we're adults, we've got a choice. He can choose to take that job. I can choose to stay in Arizona to finish the schooling that I'm getting less and less of a stomach for.
What is wrong with me? What?
I just want to settle down with a nice man (witchy of course) and have a studio of my own and paint when I feel like it and raise a horde of adopted little gamers/witches. I want to write. I fucking want to write for a fucking living.
I can't get anywhere, ever, if I keep bitching without doing anything, but for now I think I'm just going to bitch until I'm all bitched out and then find a corner and cry myself to sleep.
Then, I'd get up in the morning full of furious energy and start doing something.
I learned how not to let anger rule my life two months ago. Misery is a luxury, and at the moment I think I can afford it. I don't want anybody to offer hugs or snuggles over this. I don't want to be touched. If anybody touched me but Darkside or River, I'd probably draw back into myself if they were a close friend, or hit them if they weren't. River's seen my soul. So has Darkside. Them, I can trust to tell me what I need to hear in the way I need to hear it. I can hear Darkside now, sarcastic, telling me that even men can learn to correspond, and he'd do better at it, only we see each other every day/ talk to each other every day, and he always does better at saying things without an audience, and he's not sure how many of me there are these days.
There's always the system password, in any case. I know his and I'm sure he knows mine.
Ennirikit, etiernna mi twer.