nothing much

insufferable amounts of this and that to do and yet I still feel as if I’m floating. I’m not sure a job would help entirely, I doubt anything will help at this point. Feeling grounded has it’s perks but it’s not all it’s made out to be, that’s the thing, either way you’re a little screwed. I need to unpack and clean, that’s the first order of business, then sort out uni and estate stuff, as much as I hate both. Then it’s work, Junky and other things, zines, shows, murals, what the fuck ever else comes up. I need to get something part time, something to suppliment the money I have been bleeding for a year straight, I know this. It’s just hard to get up and get going. On the upside I’m pretty much out of TV shows to watch. I burnt out of Greys Anatomy by season 5, I don’t have the staying power for something that isn’t exceptional to last more than three seasons in all honesty. The weather is wonderful, a little too hot considering the cloud cover but lovely all the same. I should go for a swim today, it’d be good for me on a lot of levels, if it rains the pool will likely be empty which would be refreshing. I’d like to say I’ll for sure do a set of things today, it’s pointless of course. I will only end up being mad at myself for failing another to do list. I just want to lay in the bath and watch broad city forever.

well fuck

So here is an amazing problem to have. After many years of latent hostility, bitchy remarks (yeah I’m human what of it) and just general not being in one anothers lives I did a thing, I did the thing you do in your late 20’s. I contacted the big Ex. It started out simple, a emailed picture of an obscure book we’d both loved when we were legally but not actually adults. He responded, which in all honesty I had never expected. Then I replied, because I’m nothing if not polite and politeness moved to civility and ended in 4 and a half hours of coffee and cigarettes. This sounds nice doesn’t it, probably because it is, it’s really damn nice and it’s good, we’ve both grown up, we can be friends, hurray.

How great would it be if it was that easy? It should be, but I find a way to complicate literally everything in my life, which is really fantastic because I am an anxious ball of stressed overthinking hell on my best days. See the issue is that a long long time ago I realised that I had a magical list, 26 + stories that corresponded with the letters of the alphabet of horrific, amusing and down right unbelievable sexual escapades. The title was easy, the snark was needed and it was a healing sort of experience as I started to put the tails down on paper, as I lived my way through them. The book became an urban legend within my friendship groups, stories and the idea of it shared at parties. Things grew, the best of it was that I found a lot of people were willing to share their own tales, it’s why I knew I had to write the book. I wanted to stop sex from being this THAT WHICH WILL NOT BE NAMED OR EVER TALKED ABOUT SURE ITS BAD SOMETIMES MAYBE A LOT OF THE TIME BUT IF WE FAKE IT, IT’LL BE FINE RIGHT? Sure lets look at the current political climate to prove that this is obviously a load of shit.

The entire book isn’t about him, it’s about a lot of people, it’s about me and mistakes I made and the fact that humans are plain weird and that weirdness is fine but also sort of funny. I’d hope that the people in the stories could take it for what it was, a late 20’s trying to figure out what the hell happened with the whole sex thing and talk honestly about something no one has ever really been honest about in this sort of way, at least not that I have seen. The problem is that for some of them, two in particular I really don’t want to hurt them. It was easier before, when I could be the cranky ex who didn’t give a shit about their emotions, but now I’ve grown up a little and I have to consider the fallout. So what do I do? Give up on something I’ve worked on for 5 years? Something I believe is needed and could help people but maybe hurt a few? Or do I publish it and say fuck it, appologise after.

It’s such a stupid problem, honestly I think it’s why this shit is going here and not straight into the ear of my best friend. But maybe it’s here because this is where the book started, where it was taken down when some of the people within it found it. Perhaps I’ve already decided that fuck the fallout. Here comes the truth, naked, on top of a car, holding the biggest dildo I have ever seen and laughing the entire time.

Hmm.