She climbed, somewhat uncertainly, into bed. Quite drunk from the night out.
Drunk enough to feel amorous. Not drunk enough to let me touch her as she had demanded.
Well, I say demanded, cuddled up, made all the 'right' noises, wriggled... and then when my hand wandered towards her skin, recoiled, pushed away, hid, said 'wait a minute' - and was asleep in moments.
Sad thing was I didn't want to touch her. Only a feeling of duty, obligation, made me.
Even the little touch of her I managed didn't work for me, I didn't enjoy the feel of her.

I feel ashamed.
And at the same time kind of liberated, because I know this isn't my fault.

I sent The Poet a message yesterday, the first since the falling out of things. I'm wondering if she will reply. I'm really not sure. She hasn't yet, but it was a fairly long message so may need some digestion.

I hope she likes this link.


Or she may think I'm evil.

I should be really stressed this week, but I'm not.
Not entirely sure why, but I guess I'll just go with it.


I know this isn't exactly earth shattering, doesn't open my soul, had no real insight into the human condition... But I'm in a bit of a level phase...

I'll try to be more upset soon.

Its been an odd few days.
Work's been its usual arsey self.
And The Poet and I have fallen out somewhat. One of those things that doesn't have a definable start, or cause, but the tail of it is still wrapped around me.

Happy New Year.

This is not the New Years Eve I'd have chosen for myself.
I'd have been with friends, eating and drinking. Relaxed, music, and time for one another.
But I was working today, and I'm working tomorrow. So I'm alone, and an early night beckons.

It is what it is.

It's not what I'd have picked, but it is what I have, so I will enjoy it.

May the coming year bring you happiness, in whatever form you desire.

Love

Confused.

My mum knew who I was, but couldn't remember my name.
I'll take that... its choking me up now, managed to hold the tears in while I was there in case I upset her.

I've not been in the mood to write anything at the moment.
Losing £100, seeing a woman who I thought was my mum for a moment in a distant city, the workmates getting another easy weekend when the plant broke down again (of course its been fixed in time for my shift again), and general... stuff... has left me deciding that I'm not writing anymore for a while.

A week, maybe two, maybe more. I don't know.

Bye for now.