Below are the 10 most recent journal entries recorded in the "LadyDraykona" journal:
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Friday, John and i went and walked the dogs around the woods again. Can't go there again until i get some more frontline. I found 4 ticks on bella and one on Bae. But we can try the park or somewhere else.
Today, i did a little mile walk around the building at work.
I walked with MapMyWalk! Distance: 1.15mi, time: 24:44, pace: 21:29min/mi, speed: 2.79mi/h.
the way things should be|
"You're not supposed to hit a guy with glasses." I say, mostly joking. She only meant to tap my arm, but stumbled and fell into me, hard. I will have a bruise in the morning. Fortunately, I don't think I'm sober enough to remember how it got there in the morning. I open the door to the fridge and pull out a bottle of beer, opening it with the church key magnet. The bitter taste of the lager mixes with the Scotch and the blond's fruity lipstick on my tongue.
"You're wearing sunglasses," She pouts in retort, "at night."
She looks at me expectantly. I sigh, almost regretting bringing her back to my place. "It's bright in here." I take another sip. "You want a beer?"
"I want you to come over here." She pats the couch beside her. I take a deep breath and decide to smile. I set my beer on the coffee table and prepare to get lucky.
*i'm not happy with the last line, but I don't know how else I should say they're about to hook up*
on dating sites|
Why is it that people on these things are always looking for "someone who doesn't play games" and describe themselves as "laid back" or "easy going"? I mean, really? Is that really a quality EVERYONE wants AND possesses? I want to know if someone is going to be feisty and playful and a control freak - if they're going to want to put a fucking trash can in EVERY room of the house, if they are obsessed with video games to the point they can't hold down a job. "Easy going" just doesn't cover it. I want to know if there's something you don't have a strong opinion on, but I do, are you going to co-operate and let me have my way, or continue to do things in ways I don't like for no good reason? Are you going to start out all lovey dovey and fun, and then turn into an asshole rather than man up and break things off? Are you going to be like a sixteen year old and whine for sex? These are the important things, people! "I'm pretty laid back." does NOT cover it.
the way things should be|
The blond is back, pressing another rocks glass into my hand, tracing her fingers up my arm. I take more big gulps. My head gets a little fuzzier, my emotions numb. My stomach starts to unclench, my blood flows again. The blond takes my hand and leads me to some vacated chairs. As we walk past, the hostess catches my eye and smiles, giving me a thumbs up. For moving on, I suppose. For not causing a scene.
The blond chirps and babbles, and I try to follow what she's saying, but it's so goddamn boring, and so hard to concentrate. She doesn't seem to notice - or care - that I'm not really listening. Looking past her shoulder, I'm free to watch them again. She's twirling a lock of her red hair around her pointer and middle finger; it's something she does when she's splitting her attention between what's being said and analyzing her feelings. Somehow, she can listen and think at the same, a feat I've never been able to manage. He says something that makes her laugh. Despite the alcohol, my stomach clenches again.
I turn my attention back to the blond. She perched on the seat across from me, blathering on. I study the curve of her heels as they turn into muscular calves and the abrupt angle of the knee, where her long, athletic thighs finally hide beneath her short pleated skirt. She catches the direction of my stare and smiles unabashedly. My chagrin must be obvious. She leans in close, and I can smell the perfume in her hair. "You're welcome to look, don't be embarrassed." She whispers. She kisses me, and I relax, trying to enjoy it.
the way things should be|
Across the party, I watch them. He gently, subtly, tugs on his earlobe. She pulls all her long red hair away from her left ear, draping it over her right shoulder. He leans in and whispers something to her. I don't know what. No one does. They are sharing a secret. We used to share secrets, she and I. Whatever he tells her, it makes her smile. And while she's smiling, her eyes sparkling, reflecting the tiny bulbs of lights strung across this patio, he tilts his head down and kisses her neck. And my stomach clenches, and I can feel the blood draining from my head, and I turn away.
It's not that I miss her, or want her back. I'm not even jealous of what they have, exactly. I tell myself that I'm annoyed. The ear-tugging-secret-telling-neck-kissing thing was our thing. She should respect that. She should be alone, like I'm alone. I want to be indignant, angry that she did not pine for me, mourn the loss of the two years we shared. But I can't. I can't approach her, can't watch them together anymore, can't ease the feeling that my lungs won't open all the way, can't force the blood back up into my heart, my head, my lips.
Someone presses a drink into my hand. They say something, but it doesn't register. I am grateful. My mouth is so dry, my head too clear. I take big gulps. I shake my head, clearing it like an etch-a-sketch. I focus on the girl in front of me, the one who brought me the drink. Her long blond hair is pulled back into a pony-tail; her bangs are kind of feathered. She looks like she stepped out of a deodorant ad, tennis outfit and all.
"Better?" she chirps.
I don't know what to say. I know what she wants me to say, that of course I'm better, now that this adorable girl has taken an interest in me. I don't know if I believe it, so I don't want to say it. But my head is starting to feel a little fuzzy, so I decide to remain positive.
"Uh... getting there."
The blond touches my shoulder, traces a finger down my arm. I don't shiver. I tilt my glass back and forth, listening to the ice cubes. Clink. Clink. The blond gives me a sly look. She reaches for my glass. I pull it back, out of her reach. She smiles and stands on tip toe, balancing by resting her hand on my shoulder. Her face is near mine. I kiss her. It's an okay kiss. Certainly not horrible, but so different, I can't tell if it's good. I surprised her, but then she relaxes and laces her fingers behind my neck. I reach up with my free hand and pry her hands off me. I hand her my glass, and she skips off to refill my drink. I risk turning around, looking at them.
She is alone, talking quietly with a friend. She glances my way, and I can't read her expression because of the distance. Through sheer willpower, I stop my feet from approaching her. I tell myself she saw my escapade, she believed the charade and the expression on her face is pained.
Current Mood: calm
Current Music: Airborne Toxic Event - Sometime Around Midnight
i'd just like ta say....|
i went to a wine tasting tonight. Really, honestly, mostly i could give a crap about wine. I know a few brands/types and am actually fairly decent with pairing wines and foods, but I don't care what kind of grapes or aging or barrels went into the actual process. It's more like *takes sip* "this is a white wine, but it is surprisingly tart and dry enough to go with tender or rare-cooked beef, like sirloin tips or a very juicy prime rib steak."
It was just a good time drinking with friends, really. Even if they got silly and "sneaky" about things no one would care about. It feels good to be mischievous when there's no reason.
It's egotistical, maybe, but I really like going back through things I wrote and re-reading them. I realized I really need to properly archive some of my writing. I also realized that I have very few "polished" and finished pieces. There comes a point where the editing is very fine-tuned and it's not as obvious where changes need to be made - especially when I'm freshly working with a piece, and very protective of my ideas. I realized that while the editors I had in college were not always the best, they did have more emotional distance from my work and not ALL of their notes were moronic and if they "didn't get it" maybe it wasn't there to get. I also forgot my own ending, and was surprised, which was kind of neat.
So I've gone back over a piece that I haven't looked at since my junior or senior year of college. I can see a couple areas that need more refining because the character is acting... well, out of character for the way I set them up. I am going to put some effort into this, make my easy changes and add/change the scenes that will guide the characters actions.
Then I will need an editor. Someone to answer questions about the direction of the piece...
Anyone willing to edit, or who knows of cheap but good editing services, please let me know. Also, if anyone knows of lit mags or something similar... If I can be happy with the way this turns out, I may want to try and get it published. So those suggestions are welcome too.
Current Location: Cranston, RI
Current Mood: hopeful
Tags: writer's block, writing
Here it is, another Saturday where I haven't even gotten out of my pajamas. Just lounging on the futon, watching DVDs from Netflix alone. Apparently I got all my socializing out yesterday. It's awfully late in the day to decide that it's lame and want to do something - yet I do. Oh well.
I don't know why I can't bring myself to do things like get dressed, or why I'm finding Party of Five so heart-wrenching... but then, I'm a little over-sensitive to everything, and it is a pretty good show.
I so need a reason to get dressed on weekends. And I so never have one.
Current Mood: bored
The fire department is on their way.|
Holy geez, why am I such a psychopath who never considers the consequences of her well-intentioned yet ridiculous actions?
Current Mood: embarrassed
My Harlequin Romance|
Feisty Ingrid is so embarrassed. Her husband took off to the Australian Outback with millions in embezzled funds and she discovered he'd been cheating on her for years! Now Ingrid is broke and brokenhearted—shutting out everything except her family and her twin sons' NASCAR careers.
Cowboy Rob can hardly believe that the coy woman he meets is an award-winning writer who the tabloids can't stop talking about. His code of honor demands that he help her, but while he advises coy Ingrid on her financial affairs and she introduces him to the world of NASCAR, he begins to wonder if he can teach her to trust a man again—and let him into her heart...http://www.harlequincelebrates.com/mystory.php
Current Mood: amused
Current Music: Taylor Swift - Picture to Burn
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