I am alive. I have no computer, but yet my heart still beats and my lungs still take in and exhale air. I even manage to function despite it having been several weeks since someone else has touched me in a sexual manner.

Imagine that. I'm growing up.

I'm certainly not the satisfied sex kitten I'd like to be. Someone needs to fix that.

Spring is in the air.

I was awoken by a thunderstorm this morning, rumbling lazily through my neighborhood. As I listened to the infrequent booming and saw the lightening flashes against closed eyelids, I laughed to myself. Winter isn't quite gone yet, but spring isn't ready to make its appearance yet either. They're simply two quiet puppies dozing sleepily side by side, one tired from playing all day and the other not ready to awake yet.

I can't wait for spring to wake with a vengeance. I'm a thunderstorm-loving, puddle-splashing, umbrella-throwing away weather ballerina. If I could spend the entire season outside on a picnic blanket, I would. No question.

This may shock some of you, but I'm a brat. I'd go one step further. I'm a Brat. With a capital B. I was an only child for 6 years and was generally spoiled rotten as a young girl. That has definitely spilled into my adulthood. I like things my way. Everything in the spot I want it. I want things to go off exactly as planned. I hate not getting what I want. I'm really, in general, very hard to manage and deal with.

So, naturally, living with Bear and being denied the routine pleasures of his cock due to his back problems makes me a bit pouty. No, fuck that. I'm not a "bit pouty." I'm a lot pouty. I hate it. Hate it hate it hate it. I'd like to tie him up, give him painkillers and Viagra and fuck him stupid. I'm going to say I'm only joking here, merely because I don't want him to get suspicious when I make a trip to Lowes.

Last night, I was asleep. He came in later, as he usually does, and I woke up with his fingers inside me. I remember asking him to quit because I was tired, but I must have been mostly asleep because that would have never crossed my awake and rational brain ever.

This morning, I asked him if he would have fucked me if I woke up. He said probably. I'm an idiot.

Note to self: It is always better to get fewer hours of sleep if there is an orgasm involved. Granted, I had one by myself a few hours earlier, but it's not the same. Damn my heavy sleeping and ineptitude at waking up.

I'm going to try to respond to comments a bit more now that things have calmed down around here. I'll just amend your comment with my response if I feel it needs one, if I'm bored or if I like you. *wink*

What is it about alcohol that is so appealing to us mere mortals? And don't say the taste... that's the bullshit most alcoholics spout when they're trying to think of something else to say besides "it makes me hammered."

I'm 25 years old. I've been drinking since I was 15, at least that's the furthest back I can remember. I did it for all the usual reasons - I thought it would make me cool, funny, etc. Turns out, it really only makes me look like an ass and make stupid decisions. Not to mention that my liver probably hates the hell out of me at this point.

The consequences fully outweigh the rewards for continuing this behavior. At some point, I will get a DUI. I will make that one poor decision that will get me raped or killed or, even worse, get someone else killed. I don't want that on my conscience.

(Yes, there was a specific event that led to this decision. No, I probably won't discuss it on here. Nothing happened to me or anyone else, but it could have.)

So, aside from the occasional glass of wine with dinner (I can't give up my eiswein just yet), I'm finished with social drinking. As the child of an alcoholic, I couldn't stand it if my daughter's childhood was affected by drinking the way mine was.

Wish me luck.

For those who have stuck with me through this depressing post, I offer the promise that I will write more pruriently soon and here is my cuteness as gift...

Labels: faults