Sunday afternoon thoughts

You know, it strikes me that I come across as fairly invincible when I'm writing. I have to let you all in on a dirty secret, and it's not that I'm secretly into [insert perversion here]. I'm actually a hopeless - or is that hopeful? - romantic. And I wonder whether that's something that I'm never going to really find. I do know that I'm a lot more fragile than I let on, to you lot or to any of the freaks guys I try to date.

I wonder if that's why I am finding this such a traumatic experience. It's a bit like trying to sew your own arm back on; you've only got one hand, and it keeps bleeding, and you keep losing the thread and you're not sure how to hold your arm on so it's not crooked when you've finished, but it's still better than just leaving it so you've only got one. Actually writing down what happens, and making it funny - and I admit quite openly that it was only really hearing A laugh so hard while I hid from the cobbler that made me really think seriously about doing it - well, despite starting it for someone else, I sense it might actually keep me reasonably sane. Being able to look at these fucking...crazy people objectively, or as experiences to laugh at, is a whole lot easier than remembering the evenings where I've sat there kind of stunned at how mean someone's just been, or when I've been stood up - again. And man, what is it with the fucking standing up? I'd never dream of just leaving someone waiting. That's...it's mean. It's really mean. And rude.
I suppose I'm just rambling. It's a quiet afternoon. I had a bit of a revelation last night that sort of...well, I don't know. I was thinking, you know, about how J - the potentially Genuine One - talks to me, how he phrases things in the messages he sends. It is oddly touching, and I watched a film that reminded me very much of it last night, and I don't know. Everything made sense for about five seconds, in that I almost realised exactly what I want. And then it vanished again, but that was the clearest I've felt for a while, and I can't even really explain it.

Anyway. That was a peculiarly open entry for you all.

Trotting along swiftly, you'll all be amused and horrified to know that my very own Benjamin Braddock has sent me yet another long, rambly, unsettlingly sweet but horribly...suggestive email, in which he has *gulp* requested photos. I have gently suggested he looks for someone a bit more his own age and surely if we're just being friendly he doesn't need any full length pictures to wank over for whatever...purpose he wants them for. He has also asked me...what kind of men I 'usually go for'. I don't want to burst his bubble but tall, gorgeous, young ones...usually aren't my type haha. I like kind of well-padded scruffy looking ones with kind clever faces and just enough room for me to tuck under an arm. Preferably slightly older than me. With good taste in music and books. I do actually have an imaginary 'ideal things' checklist which perhaps I will share with you all later, just so we can take bets on whether I'll ever meet anyone that fulfils it.

Other daily updates:
Nothing from Lovely S. I think that's all for him, folks. I don't understand how they can be begging one second and ignoring you the next, but I had an interesting conversation with The Magician about it (right before he started going on about his love of big arses). There are lots of pros and cons to using an internet site to meet people but I think one of the biggest cons is that you forget that these are actual PEOPLE. They're not dishes on a menu that you can kind of go, oh I'll have this one and this one and...oh wait no actually I fancy just dessert tonight. I'll have a giant sundae with sauce. I think it becomes easy for people to forget that. Perhaps they are lucky enough never to feel unsure of themselves, or scared, or rejected. It must be lovely. I tell you what, I never realised just how thick a skin you need for all this fuckery. I really didn't.