Cookie cutter family

I've got baby fever, and not the kind you would think. It's more like baby dog fever. I apparently shouldn't have real children. Some girl at work the other day told me I should have my ovaries removed. Granted I made a joke about being tired and sticking a child in a closet. I guess that's not something you joke about. Not that I in any way even want a real kid. But a puppy, that is a baby I could handle.

And I know it will be hard work. I am under no disillusion that having a puppy won't be one of the hardest things I've done. I know he will whine at 6 in the morning to go out. I know he will nip and chew on things. I know he will pee on the floor and cost me plenty of money.
But I also know that he will be loyal and love me no matter what. He will look at me and I will melt. He will jump up to cuddle me and we will know that we belong together.

I have barely spoken to my mother in two months. I have family close but really only close enough for me to see them infrequently. I feel like getting my puppy will be like building my family. Unorthodox, yes. But my family none-the-less. I always pictured it as me, a dog, and a cat. I mean I assume some other person will come in to the picture at some point. Actually, I expect and hope for it, but until then, why not start building my unit now, when I have the resources and time?

Aubade

A poem I've been working on for a while. It's still not quite where I want it but I thought I'd publish it here all the same. :)  And an "aubade" is a poem in which two lovers are separating in the morning.

Between the real and the real

your body is spelled backwards

on red painted lips

which whisper secrets

that even your ribs didn’t know.

Your hips sing sirens,

light fires that won’t die

until the sun kisses

the windowsill.

Between the real and the real

tongues entwine with hips

and the slow cessation

of breath bumps rythms

against the sensitive curves

of lips, shaping lust

in their very indents.

Between the real and the real

your legs wrap beats

that leave my skin clinging,

and I gasp into your mouth

as your body

is unwritten.

The things that make a difference

I'm in Mexico with my lovely, amazing family and the only thing I can think of is how lonely and lost I feel. I'm trying, dear readers. I am laughing, and I we went on a whale watching tour today and we saw three separate pods of whales! 14 total. and I believe that that was my first genuine smile in a long time. The first time in a while that I felt truly me. The last time was when my bestie S was in town. She is amazing and makes me feel like myself, utterly and lightly me. Not this happy person I try to be. Not the sarcastic bitter person I have become. Not lonely and desperate for contact. Just me. A me that is alright being alone. Not being attached to someone else.

I thought maybe the sun and warmth would fix me but maybe this dear, crushing heart break is not something that can be fixed with the smell of the ocean and the flip of a gigantic tail, the spray of the sea.

I never really thought there was anything that the sun couldn't fix.

Maybe, sometimes, I don't even think that I have a heart to give anymore, so I give the very pieces of myself as love. I love you, I whisper, and a the very splinter of my third rib down is torn from me, and handed over. A token.

My heart I gilded over, flew away when the very people I call family betrayed me. When hands took things from me too young, when my mother tried to kill herself.  My heart soared away, light and beautiful, to remain that way always, far from dark people who do dark things.

I'm so sorry to be so depressing. It's draining to be friends with such a person, I know. I'm not entirely certain my friends read this blog. I'm not entirely certain anyone should read this blog. But for now, writing gives me some relief, and that will make all the difference.

Falling into line

I'm having one of those beautiful, rare days where nothing can put me in a bad mood. I got my hair cut, got a new bathing suit (and free underwear, heck yes), and some coffee. And I feel amazing. I feel confidant and happy. Like I'm in control of my life and it is going to be amazing. I think of myself as so old sometimes but seriously, I'm 23. And I know that will turn into 30 in no time but really, bring it on. I should be excited about life and not scared of it. I've come across Lucille Ball's quote "love yourself first and everything else falls into line" two days in a row in two separate places. So I'll take that as a sign, follow her advice and rock this year. I just know it's going to be great. :)

Sweet dreams lovely readers

I apparently fall for assholes. That's really all there is to it. I can't handle people who are all put together because they don't understand what I come from, how broken I feel most of the time just dealing with basic everyday things.
So I find boys, or men, who are broken too, so theory we would understand one another. But it just turns out that two broken people push one another away.
I get clingy when I feel uncertain. It's a problem. I get it. But I clasp on so tight because I really can't bear losing anyone else in my life. And usually men with issues have a problem with emotions. So, I end up pushing and they pull until one of us ends up falling face first in the mud (just in case you were wondering, it's usually me).

Sometimes I just want a house and a dog. Only me. Me, Jane, and a dog. And a good job. One I absolutely love. And I will write and have a nook full of pillows and the whole place will be lovely and open and clean. And warm. Oh, so warm. Because I can't handle the cold anymore.
And I won't sleep 14 hours a day like I have been recently. I'm just so tired and there are just too many hours in the day. And I'm sad. I really am trying so hard not to be. I just feel like I keep opening up to these people who don't give a fuck. And yet I have to remind myself that I have lovely, amazing friends.

But I long for a hug. So simple really. An all encompassing hug, one which uses one's whole body. That's the thing I miss most when I'm single, the touch. People don't touch, or really aren't supposed to (or so I hear from my manager).
I just want to cuddle. Is that so much to ask? (Just kidding lovelies, I want so much more than cuddling.)

And now that I sound all pretentious (I mean really, who calls herself "broken"?), and pathetic (I just want to cuddle *gush*), I am going to get some sleep. Sweet dreams to anyone who happens to stumble across this.

You want me to pine for you...

well that's just too fucking bad.

Walking into something which feels a bit like the coyote and road runner... I'll probably end up hanging over a cliff

I'm not entirely sure what I'm walking into today. It could be a pistol whipping gun show or possibly a sappy romantic comedy, or maybe a firework show so glorious that the oohs and aahs play accompaniment to the bangs. Or maybe I'm walking into a deafening silence and my heart will beat it's rhythm so loud and fierce that words won't be needed. I guess any way it seems to happen, I'm going.