A funk.

I miss pussy. The smell. The taste. The feel. The wetness. The wetness. I consider fingering to be mere foreplay. I enjoy cunnilingus as the main course. I miss gently kissing vulva, letting my tongue dart out at random for a taste of the tender flesh. I miss feeling thighs tense on either side of my head. I miss the power. I own clit. Of course, I no longer have to prove my love of cunnilingus.

As my mood drops, I find myself reminded of how lonely I am. Heh. Sounds like a soap opera. As The Mood Drops.

It’s frustrating because I end up like this despite going through so much shit. Happiness? What’s that? Or is just an organic mood swing which will eventually leave me? Only time will tell, as I’m FINALLY chronicleing my moods in the back of my journal. Figures my mood would drop shortly after.

I can feel old walls crawling back up. They won’t hire you. You wouldn’t be good at that, anyway. Terror. Fuck, I hate life. Funny how cynicism can create such poignant entries. Both may be delusions, but it seems worse to convince yourself that everything’s right in the world.

Caught off-guard. It’s taken so much energy to try and enjoy life in the past nine months. Why does being sad seem so effortless?

I wonder if I’ll always be like this. I guess I will be, in some regards. I won’t suddenly “fix” myself and ride off into the sunset in bliss.

Lack of effort. Just don’t feel like perking myself up. What’s there to be happy about?

It’s been a while since I’ve wanted to just sleep and not wake up.

…

I know I can’t stay like this for very long.

Shortly after.

I fulfilled an urge to watch some RAMMS+EIN videos. I feel better.

(I wrote the previous much earlier today. Now I’ll post this and write about.. more important things!)