Sometimes I really need touch.
It feels like there is a spider-web net holding my innards in the right places. And it's only that fragile net is keeping me a functioning organism instead of a heap of tissue.
Sometimes it feels like that net is gone.
It feels like my insides are going to collapse.
I feel isolated and unconnected. My body feels dense.
I crave feminine physical contact: A warm hug. Putting my head in a special someone's lap while they stroke my head. Feeling the skin of a soft belly against my cheek.
The things you can't buy. The things you can't get by working harder.
If I could try harder, I would. I try to make myself as desirable as possible. Maybe that's the problem.
Luckily, I remember that I don't always feel this way. So I avoid the trap of despair. I only wallow in the loneliness for a bit. I haven't lost track of the tunnel's elusive light.
Alphabetically, I go through my list of phone numbers. I see if there is anyone I could call. Even though I read over the numbers yesterday and found none. I leave a message on a couple machines. I forgive someone who had wronged me. And I give her a call. I leave another message.
I wonder how pathetic I would look to a voyeur. Walking around my apartment, re-reading the same list of phone numbers. Occasionally looking to the window and thinking I should go out and try to meet someone new.
November 19, nineteen98