That’s what I need right now. Some warm, human contact. Some of that human touch.
I lay awake last night for a long while, all kinds of interior narratives running through my head. Too much caffeine was the culprit. As I lay on my side, feeling my heartbeat in my pillowed ear, I wrote a letter to my mother in my mind. A letter of gratitude and thanks. I talked to him, articulated everything I needed to get off my chest perfectly. I listened to the faint booming of a stereo from a nearby frat house – Won’t Get Fooled Again, followed by You Shook Me All Night Long. I philosophized on how I felt my ‘id’ was taking over my rationale. I lamented on having read Freud at all (damn him). I wondered how my brother was dealing with his jetlag. I’ve been collecting bottlecaps for him.
I’m used to taking half an hour to hours to fall asleep, though. Another ADD-like attribute. Always trying to organize my thoughts and make sense of them, make peace with my mind, during the only time I have completely, irrevocably available to me. The time I need to be resting the most.
An effect, most likely, of my hormonal cycle, but my desire to be wrapped in the warmth of another human body has increased tenfold lately. I always get cold feet this time of month, too.
I suppose that’s because all of the heat is going where it most wants to go right now – my womb. And while finals and post-finals work has drained me, I’ve been hungering for sex. For a male. I am overcome with the need to be connected, made complete, made whole, filled to bursting, feeling him bursting inside me. The hunger has my eyes (and my eyes only) stalking those who could fulfill that desperate need.
So, I sit here, tying up final loose ends with one more class, and all I can think about is the tube of cotton stuffed inside me.
I have never been truly comfortable with tampons. This may have partly been inherited from my mother, from whom I inherited many traits (for better or for worse), but mostly I feel it is such an unnatural, uncomfortable sensation. And as every shift and movement reminds me of this absorbent tube, I am also struck with nervousness at the potential for toxic shock syndrome. I know little about TSS, to be honest, but the potential symptoms scare me nonetheless.
And so I find myself fighting panic whenever I feel it stirring within me as I move, or when I feel any pangs or aches in my abdomenal region. I could rationalize, tell myself it is the fact that I have not eaten in a many hours, or that it is the normal cramping of the first day. Regardless, however, I am nervous.
There is also the possibility of psychological influence on these bodily pains. I remember a friend’s mantra: “If you think you’re sick, you will be.” I wonder how much power the mind really holds over that. It links to my philosophy professor telling us of a hypnotist’s trick, involving an unlit cigarette being put out in the palm of the hypnotized victim, and having a blister develop at that spot the following day. It is as wondrous as it is frightening.
Psychology, Philosophy, Biology, Art, Animation, Academia, all swirling in my head today. I feel at once refreshed yet simultaneously weighed down. The curse of the month, as it were. The only benefit, I suppose, is to have a concrete reason for my mood swings and erratic behavior.
And the craving for chocolate.
Her eyes burned. She glared defiance as she repeated those two improbable words. Her body trembled with the energy of clashing emotions – anger, fear, desperation, and a hard, keening need. She didn’t know why she wanted it so badly. His anger, his rage. She craved it, as if she knew she would draw in its energy, be somehow nourished by it.
She saw his struggle – uncertainty and a growing, but fast repressed anger. She egged him on, pushed him. Her eyes never left his. She wanted to see them grow dark.
Stop this, now.
Oh, no. There was no stopping it. She was consumed by the need now. Everything else disappeared behind a hazy cloud in the back of her mind. She pursued him, trying to back him into a corner. She knew he would never stand for that. A glimmer of a warning sparked in her consciousness, aware of the danger of her pursuit. But this only excited her more, and her hunger grew for that primal rage and lust.
She pursued, he backed away. She knew how much he despised backing off. Conceding. She saw his pupils begin to contract, his eyebrows unconsciously furrowing. Close, close.
He was in a corner now. The place, mentally, she knew he could not, would not stand. She braced herself, but her eyes continued to burn into his. Challenging. She took one more step forward.
He snarled and grabbed her hair, bending her back in one smooth move. She pulled against the grip, but only to maintain eye contact. She saw it growing, the darkness. Her heart simultaneously surged with joy and leapt into her throat. She did the one thing to tip the balance.
Their eyes stayed locked as he raised his hand. She tried to watch him for as long as possible …
He brought his hand down across her cheek, knocking the breath from her. Before she could recover, his hand returned in a backhand across her other cheek.
Is this what you wanted? Two more swats.
Is it, slut? Twice more again.
Only low moans from her now … and in those moans, the only answer he needed. He hears her completeness; her submission; her lust. He reached between her legs, roughly pulling them apart and finding her thighs slick.
So, this is what gets this slut off. His grip on her hair tightened, lifting her head up.
Their eyes locked.
My period is due tomorrow night. My paper is due Monday morning.
I had something of a post in mind … but it’s disappeared into the ether, for now. The internet is distracting like that (although great for my ADD-like tendencies). And I’d much, much rather be perusing my favorite blogs than regurgitating my philosophy class in the form of a final paper. Ego, id, super-ego. My ego is aware of the necessity of passing this class in order to notch another step towards my degree. The id delights in the simple, automatic pleasures of the wind and sun on my face, the bagel by my side, and grumbles at the paper that restricts that pleasure. The super-ego … well, isn’t it omnipresent, pulling the strings of my unconscious decisions like a puppeteer? Directing my actions and behavior without any awareness on my part? Perhaps it, too, is playing a role in this paper-writing business. What that is, I can’t say. It is, after all, unconscious.
I stepped outside to go to class this morning, and felt a gust of autumn-y, nostalgia-laden wind. It reminded me of the crackle of frost, and then I looked down and saw a cluster of red maple leaves. The sight captured me, as if I’d been frozen in time … or transported back into a past season, or all past seasons. I shook myself free and leaned into my walk, nose searching for that whiff of autumn I had sensed – or had I just remembered it?
The mixture of past memories and present reality stayed with me until I entered the arts center. The spell broke.
There is still a lot of work to be done. I am excited for the term to end, and for the new one to begin. Fall term. Looking forward to pumpkin carving, Homecoming, bonfires, hikes under the changing canopy, the privilege of living in a shiny new dorm, the incoming freshmen, and classes, classes, classes.