Thursday, 8:09 a.m.   Fingers Performing Sweet Tricks sliding down your spine tugging at your shirt dipping under hems dancing circles on your back Your shoulder muscles reaching to touch your skin Feeling its warmth under cold Feel the cold over warmth Knuckles softly caressing your face Fingertips gently entwined in your hair And flying slowly over to touch your lips Run over your ears trickle down your neck sliding down your spine tugging at your shirt dipping under hems... I had a weird dream last night, that I was at mandy's, she had flavoured drinks made out of liquid wax and I was very partial to the kahluah flavoured ones. She walked out to her car and got stopped by a policeman, who searched her car and wrote her a ticket for not having her driver's license in the front bits. It made me so mad. I tracked down a different policeman, I yelled at him, goddamn you man, what the fuck is your problem, until he cried. It felt good. I made him come with me to find mandy, I made him void her ticket, I made him apologise to her (even though it was a different policeman. it made sense at the time.), and then allowed him to leave. The yelling. It felt so good. ----------------- Listening to: Blink 182(Down) Feeling: down 10:07 p.m. It's not Real. There's no way it can be Real. Please tell me it's not Real. Even though I know it has to be Real, and I'm crazy. And it hurts me so. It can't be helped and it's not happening specifically to hurt me but I cried on the shoulder of someone I trust and my eyes hurt. It's amazing the way a day can totally and completely suck one person will do or say one thing, and the day is magically happy. It's even more amazing the way a day can totally and completely rock, one little thing will happen, and it all goes swirling down the metaphoric drain of emptiness. This online journal is not just an outlet. It's an addiction. Sometimes I wonder if I'm writing this for me or for the world, and I read something I wrote and realise that it's all for me. It's just easier to type than it is to write, i guess. I'm lazy? I am an attention whore? If I am crying, my imaginary perfect soulmate husband would definitely do everything in his power to make me feel better, and vice versa. it's okay to cry, sometimes.