08.22.04 + 5:57 pm

Dangerous avenues?

I survived the lady doctor. [All my delicates are still intact.]

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I've always thought the idea of being a completely independent [read: alone] female was romantic in a way--maybe, heroic... But, lately, I've been craving a partner in crime in the absolute worst way. Now, don't get me wrong: I don't need a man to 'complete' me in any way, but it would be oh-so-lovely to have some jaw noise on this crazy trip...

I want the weight of two on my bed, I want someone else's toothbrush setting on the counter next to mine, I want to steal someone's t-shirts and socks, I want someone to play with my hair as we have half-light talks about Carl Sandburg or sand castles or existentialism or The Smurfs or Elliott Smith or Easton Press edition books or Rilke or David Lynch or Easter eggs or Dr. Seuss or Suzanne Vega or types of roses or Secretary or Neil Simon or Paul Simon or Simon Says or Say Anything or... anything, really.

These are, by no means, things I need. These are things I... want.

I don't need a support system
lifting me into prop-position
What I need is a man of action
I need my attraction to you
driving me down all those dangerous avenues...

I just fear I'm far too neurotic for most decent men. ['Neurotic.' Are you aware that I use that word entirely too much? For that matter, am I aware? ... Well, I certainly suppose I must be if I just made note of it.]

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[song] "Support System" by Liz Phair