While being sick and staying in bed all day is not the most horrible thing in the world from a non-sexual perspective, waking up after being able to nap next to Bear and shedding our clothes in a heated rush to have him inside me isn't so bad either.

Qué será, será.

Don't get me wrong, I love a good roll in the sheets. Crawling into bed with him, naked flesh against naked flesh, pressing against each other to take the chill off our skin is incredibly satisfying. I love feeling him against me, on top of me, exploring my mouth with his tongue and holding my hands above my head.

But sometimes, goddamnit, it's nice to be in bed sick and be taken care of.

There is something primitive about sitting alone in the dark. I hear my cat purring as she warms my lap, pressing into my legs with her fleshy pads and the few sharp tips of nails lucky enough to have escaped from their plastic prisons. This occurs as an almost out of body experience. I know she is there, rhythmically bashing into my hand with her cold, wet nose to solicit my attention, but I don't interact.

I am focused.

The computer monitor holds my attention, the clicking of my fingernails against the keys, and I watch as words form. Sentences appear. Paragraphs now, frenzied and disjointed, those words and sentences strewn together haphazardly in an attempt to find peace from this manic need to create.

I was once told that all creative people are psychologically "off." There is some facet of personality, some minor quirk that places them apart from the so-called normalcy of the rest of society. I have found, in my experience, that this is almost always true. It's an addiction, especially with the more recent creation of online societies, to seek the endorphin rush that comes with creating (even anonymously) for people who read, comment and ultimately inflate the ego.

I was born with an overactive sense of lust, in every sense of the word. I have lust in the most basic definition... I love to be involved in sexual trysts and liaisons, studying bodies with my hands and tongue, learning what makes people tick in the most primeval way. I have lust for life. I have lust for educating myself, teaching myself new words nearly every single day (in many languages). I have that manic lust for creating and for reading the words of the few who comment here. They feed me.

There are few who share my obsession, but I thoroughly enjoy engaging those who do the few times I'm able to online. It's almost like a secret society, filled with the angry, lustful, dispossessed, strong and intelligent. We're the revolutionaries of a new generation; one where writing is more accessible and you don't have to have a book deal to be heard. It feels good to share that with you.

I am pro-choice. As a woman, my body is my temple. I eat well, I exercise, I take care of myself both inside and out. It is my body, the only one I have, and I treat it that way.

I feel that it is incredibly inappropriate for lawmakers, especially male lawmakers, to make decisions about my body. The simple fact is that they are not women. They don't know what it's like to have to make a decision like that. They couldn't know.

A woman's right to choose should be nonnegotiable. Reproductive healthcare is not something that women should have to receive with shame in back alley clinics.

I have never had an abortion. The fact is that I'm not sure I ever could. But I've held my friends' hands as they've crossed through lines of protesters holding signs of dead fetuses. I've tucked them into bed, wiped their eyes and sat outside their bedrooms for support. I've seen the fear in their eyes turn into relief as they realize that they've done the absolute best thing for them. I would do it again in an instant.

Today, I blog for choice in support of all the woman who have had to make that decision, all the woman who will someday have to make that decision, and all the women who are lucky enough to never have to make that decision. On the 34th anniversary of Roe Vs. Wade, hug your sister. Hug your wife or your girlfriend. Make the commitment to make sure they're free to choose what's right for their own bodies for the next 34 years.

Labels: Blog for Choice.

Borrowed this meme from Daemon, since it's about the most creativity I can fathom between packing packing packing.

Instructions:
1. Open your library on your iPod (or in iTunes). - (I use a Creative MP3 player, fuck iPods.)
2. Put it on shuffle.
3. Press play.
4. For every question, type the song that’s playing.
5. When you go to a new question, press the Next button.

Opening Credits: I Know I Know I Know (Tegan and Sara ) - Nice and mellow, a slow wake up.
Waking Up: Folsom Prison Blues (Johnny Cash) - I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.
Falling in Love: England Belongs to Me (Cock Sparrer) - Haha. Is that trying to say I'm possessive?
Fight Song: Ocean Apart (Julie Delpy) - Um, ok? Soft and mellow. Maybe a surrealist fight scene in some weird movie. I definitely fight a little less, um, sweet than that.
Breakup Song: Rattling Bones (Communique) - Wow. Yeah.
Making Up Song: John Saw That Number (Neko Case) - I'm not quite sure I understand that one.
Life’s Okay Song: Nanny Nanny Boo Boo (Le Tigre) - I concur. I dance to this song when I'm feeling happy!
Mental Breakdown: Psychobitches Outta Hell (The Horrorpops) - Hahaha. Hysterical. Perfect.
Driving: Feel Good Inc. (Gorillaz) - In fact I was listening to this one driving the other day!
Flashbacks: I Love You More Than Words Can Say (Otis Redding) - This reminds me of driving in the middle of nowhere with Bear. In fact, he made the comp that this song was originally on.
Happy Dance: Rapture (Pedro the Lion) - Happy in an entirely prurient way.
Regret: Dig Me Out (Sleater Kinney) - Well the title is good, I guess. The song isn't too regretful, though.
Final Battle: She's Just That Kinda Girl (Lucero) - Yup. No fighting. Just accept that I don't change.
Death Scene: This Modern Love (Bloc Party) - Hmmmm.
Final Credits: Leap Year (Maria Taylor) - Sweet and easy way to begin, sweet and easy way to end. Love it.

The laughing couple holding hands while driving their minivan down a suburban street as their child sleeps in the car seat behind them. Women scrubbing their sinks happily as energetic children track mud across their spotless white tile kitchen floors. Men leaving for the office in the morning, briefcase in one hand and a travel mug of coffee in the other, pausing for a moment to turn towards the door and smile at the wife waiting there as the sun rises.

I understand that it's advertising. The entire concept of advertising is to present an unrealistic future, the golden standard, something obviously unattainable but close enough to our reach that we view it as the ring on the carousel. Our idealistic vision of our perfect lives.

I still feel uncomfortable watching them. It's not that I don't have love in my life; Bear and I hold hands in public enough to make anyone ill. I've just never wanted that sort of mundane future for myself... The 2.5 children. The picket fence. Being a stay at home mother while my husband works hard and comes home to find a spotless house and dinner on the table.

I've always wanted more for myself. The things I aspire to, have always aspired to, are things that truly make a difference. I don't base my worth on how clean my sink is, how many cars I have or how many square feet my house is. The idea of living in suburbia, in the picture perfect cardboard cut out home, makes me feel sick. I'm a free spirit. I want to live in the hustle and bustle. I want museums. I want food choices that aren't chain restaurants. I want my daughter to grow up knowing what diversity really looks like.

Yet, viewing those ads, I feel like the freak. Like my desires for life are somehow less realistic than everyone else's desires. I'm a mother, but I teach my child that life sucks and that she'll need to be prepared to defend her choices. I'm a lover, but I feel most valued when I'm being forcefully pressed to the bed and tears are streaming from my eyes. I'm a student, but I'm the first to raise my hand and challenge a position. Is that less valid? Less worthy of praise?

I am a very needful creature. I consider myself somewhat akin to a feline - the type that winds herself around your legs, sits down on the book you're trying to read and stares at you until you decide to pay her some attention.

I've gotten used to my solitude, however. I'm not quite the attention whore I used to be. Quiet evenings spent sitting cross-legged on the couch, wrapped in a giant comforter and reading a book are perhaps more important to me now than being the center of attention at a party or the bar.

There is one large hurdle that I can't seem to jump over, however. I have a very active sex drive. Someone once compared me to a teenage boy - I have sex on my mind constantly and am nearly always up for it. Now, because of the pain and medications that Bear is on, my sex drive easily surpasses his. As he pointed out to me early, the will is there. The desire is there. The back, well, that's another story. I will be on top, in fact I come easier that way, but I far prefer being on my stomach with my face pressed into a pillow. Call it nature's way of getting me to shut the fuck up for a few minutes. *grin*

Although it's been this way for nearly a year now, I still have a hard time dealing with it. Now, moving in together, I'm worried that it may become even more of an issue. I've never been a faithful person - cheating is something that comes easily for me and leaves me with no bad taste in my mouth. Bear and I have been together for four years and not once have I touched another person without his express consent (besides, of course, getting drunk and kissing people). I love him. I don't want to be with anyone else, except in my head (and if you're reading this, you've been in my head at least once. Especially specific people who read this, and you know who you are. *wink*). I'm not going to cheat on him. It's just that this massive sex drive, this beast of burden that causes me undo suffering, reminds me that I need it. I crave it.

I'm going to go take care of that right now, in fact.

I was running late. I'm very sensitive about being late anywhere, mainly because my mother is consistently fifteen minutes late. As every woman knows, you never want anyone to have the recourse to tell that "you're just like your mother." It's one of the worst statements ever uttered by humanity. Trust me.

I stood on my tiptoes to give Bear a kiss goodbye when he wrapped his long, cold fingers around the back of my neck. Melting into his hand, I found myself pressing my tongue into his mouth. To those who don't know me, and even those that know me fairly well, discovering that I'm capable of such a loss of control at inapparent stimuli might be shocking. Bear, well, Bear knows each of my little tells and manipulates them to achieve his sexual aims.

My clothes melted off onto the floor and a heavy silence filled the room, punctuated by the sounds of mouths pressed together, zippers being undone and my weak attempts begging him to let me leave so that I would be on time to meet my father for lunch.

Bear bent me across the foot of the bed in a near backbend, kissing and biting at my breasts. My eyes rolled back into my head, unable to even keep them focused on him. I was slipping further and further away and Bear was aware of each little detail of my mental state. When he finally pressed himself into my slit, which was dripping with so much wetness that it was beginning to run down my legs, he grabbed my hair and told me that I was going to be late. I believed him.

I don't have the time, memory or mental energy to describe much more than that, so I'll let a picture do the talking. I apologize for the quality, it was taken on my cell phone.

In every relationship, a balance exists. The type of balance varies within the context of each individual relationship, depending on a number of different factors. The majority of the balance is due to functions of the human condition beyond our control, mainly hormones and pheromones that occur naturally in our bodies. We can't change them.

Sometimes our bodies betray us and attract the wrong sort of people, people who are able to "smell" our unique dysfunctions and manipulate them to achieve their own selfish goals. Other times, two people are brought together because, right or wrong, they simply compliment each other. I'm no human biologist and I couldn't begin to explain the "hows" or "whys" of this situation, but having experienced both conditions myself I'm aware that they exist.

Bear and I have always had "a way"... the natural ebb and flow, the organic way that we behave around each other. Neither one of us are superior/inferior to the other, we coexist and have been together for the past four years because our weaknesses and strengths correspond and help the other person to grow and change for the better. In our relationship, we share everything. We talk, we fight sometimes, we give in and compromise. We simply love each other - no pretensions or desires to make the other person into someone they're not.

And in our relationship, I am naturally submissive. Much like the breaking down and reforming of molecules, no two objects are exactly the same. My submission to Bear would never be the same as my assumed submission to someone else. In fact, I've never been submissive to anyone else besides Bear. It's something that I've embraced as the unique behavior it is. He is dominant. I am submissive. That's our way.

It's with the understanding that we have come full circle and embraced each other's essential unchangeable nature (both positive and negative) that we embark on the next path in our lives together - we're moving back in. It feels right this time - not the result of a forced hand or jumping in head first. We've grown so much in the past year and a half that we're finally ready to give it a complete go this time. Wish us luck.