Ad 2:
2017-10-31 21:45:43 (UTC)

i am as obsessed with sex as a person with very little interest in sex can be

"For Real" by Okkervil River

Some nights I thirst for real blood
For real knives, for real cries
And then the flash of steel from real guns
In real life really fills my mind
I really miss what really did exist
When I held your throat so tight
And I miss the bus as it swerved from us
And came crashing to its side
Some nights the blood from real cuts
Feels real nice when it's really mine

October 31, 2017 Tuesday 9:52 PM

Some hours away, Laney is drunk in bed with her boyfriend and either they have already had sex or they are having sex or they are about to have sex or maybe all three if they have some really insatiable libidos, I guess.
(Source: our texts)

Over the weekend, I was also drunk, except with different people and also I was very and also I cried a lot. I kind of... don't like myself... when I'm drunk. Like, on one hand, I like how fun everything is, I love the listing of the world n' all that, love that I can speak my mind... But also, it means every emotion I have is magnified a fuck ton????? And I ACT ON THEM???? WHY DO I DO THAT???

So, like, things were fun, but just—Adrian and I got into, like, a huge fight. Mostly about his being attracted to me, and me hating that. He's all, "I mostly just wanna have sex with you tho," as if that will MAKE ME LESS UNCOMFORTABLE???

And then, I'm really stupid because, as a drunk person, I am soft and lonely and horny. So I do flirty things that I should not do and I ask Adrian to keep talking about allll the things that make me beautiful or whatever it is he was saying as we sat on his bathroom floor, holding hands, occasionally letting go so I could lean over the toilet and dry-heave. And he still thought I was pretty. THat's so sweet, but also horrible—it makes me feel so bad!!!!!!

Whatever, overall it was a pretty good night. I shouldn't have mixed weed and alcohol, since I am not sure of how they interact and I think the mixture part of the reason why I experienced a horrible emotional snap-back (literally felt like dying, quite genuinely. Like, I spent a good hour on the bus ride home considering just finding a way to kill myself with pills or maybe by throwing myself out the window lol).

(SIDE NOTE: I actually went to a real party for once???? It was kind of stupid. They only had this terrible beer. I drank a lot of it very quickly to get drunk. This was after already smoking a bit of weed and taking two shots of vodka back at Alexis's house. Later, after we left the party, I called Isaac at about 2 AM with the plan to ask him for more weed, but he didn't pick up the phone. More on that later. But for now, here is the rest of what I drank for the night: a shit ton of vodka, straight from the bottle with no chaser. And I kept drinking until sometime past four in the morning. I feel like I was blind for half the night.)

I actually feel quite good now. I've been feeling very good for over a week now. Are the pills working??? Or am I just happy that the autumn chill has finally set in??!?!?!?!? I am lacking work ethic after this weekend haha. God I am going to die.

Oh, also. I had another appointment with Lancelot. I didn't tell him about the partying, just 'cause it didn't come up, but we did discuss my familial past n' stuff. He did the thing that I swear all therapist-esque people do to me at some point: they say something like, "You're smart," and I automatically pull a face and then they follow that thread. It's really quite simple: I have low self-esteem, bitch, at least in some regards. I don't know. It's not as low as it used to be. Maybe I even have medium self-esteem at this point?

Anyway. We did this thing where we talked about intelligence and crap. I remember Pat used to tell me I was blind to my own... I don't know... specialness? And she'd tell it to my parents. Lance didn't do this exactly, and for that I am grateful. I love getting praised, don't get me wrong, but I always feel a bit guilty about it. Like I don't deserve it, y'know? Don't call me smart. I don't feel smart. All these people calling me smart—makes me feel like a cock, to kinda dismiss it when I know I'm lucky I get these kinds of comments at all, but I feel gross on the innards. No amount of insisting is gonna make me understand myself in your eyes, okay.

The rest of the meeting consisted of me discussing my intimacy problems with Lancelot. Lance didn't have time to say much about it, but he did say that in the future we would need a "guinea pig" to help me work through stuff. And by that he means a boyfriend, lol. I told him I already have someone in mind, which I do—this kid from my literature class.

I am kind of annoyed because he is exactly my type. He is an artsy-fartsy person (in this case, a writer and a very good one in my opinion). He is intelligent. He has nice hair and a stubble (BUT NOT A BEARD—I JUST CAN'T DO BEARDS OKAY). Also, he's jewish. Didn't know I had a thing for that, but this is many times in a row I've been interested in a person with jewish background. It's not even like I know this stuff at first. It just becomes apparent.

(By this definition, Adrian is very much my type. He always has a stubble, he's got really good hair, he's jewish, and he's an artsy person in fuckin... All the Ways. He wants to go into film. But Adrian... is Adrian. I am physically unable to find him attractive unless I am drunk, even if he insists he has "a pretty good penis." He also told me he thought I'd be good at sex, but I think he was just buttering me up. The fucking Fuck. Sigh).

The problem with the Literature kid is that he's very closed off. Which is also my type, honestly. That's so annoying!!!!!! He is just like Isaac. This is so bad, lol. Whatever, I am going to try to get to know him anyway. Hopefully he doesn't make me sad. I just want to find my guinea pig ASAP, y'know? The sooner I get over this, the sooner I can figure out if sex—if archetypal relationships—are the kind of thing I'm interested in having.

I spoke to Isaac on the phone on Sunday. God, what a weird conversation.

He was all, ???? y did u call me at 2 AM on Saturday?
And I told him I was very drunk. I did not mention that I did it because I wanted weed. I am not sure if I withheld this information for fear of hurting him (as in: oh, you wanted to weed, not me) or so that maybe he'd think I called him because I am into him or something (to keep my options open—I know, I'm kind of shitty).

Anyway, we talked very awkwardly for a couple minutes. I kept apologizing for asking awkward questions and he said they were good awkward questions. I am still trying to figure out if Isaac is genuinely a nice person or if only said that because he cares about me. I am hoping for the former. But also the latter. Mostly the former, though. The latter is only nice because it's nice to be wanted—I don't plan on reciprocating, though. I think. I don't know. This kind of stuff confuses the fuck out of me.

Besides, it's been awhile. I kinda get the feeling Isaac has moved on. The way he talked to me—I dunno, man, I expected some sort of negative emotion. But there was nothing like that. So maybe it's all okay.

In the conversation, he mentioned he'd been working all day. He has an honest job. That's not too surprising, I guess. He also, apparently, has a best friend now and they hang out like every day. I am still weirded out by the idea of Isaac having a friend. It's kind of sad that the concept is so foreign, but he was such a loner. I hope the best friend is a positive influence on Isaac. I just pretty much hope Isaac is okay and happy. I don't know if we can ever be friends—I don't know if I can be a good friend to him—but, y'know. It's nice to know how people are doing.

Isaac asked me to call him next time I go back home. He said it the way he always says things. With a slight informal twang—I don't know what else to call it. It's very New York, that's all. He speaks like an old-fashioned street urchin???? I don't know if that's accurate, actually....
Ah, nevermind. I've really got to pee so I'ma go now. Also I have homework. Fuck, okay, byebfyebfyebe.

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