:: Play Truth or Dare ::

I must say I admire my patience with this site. You all know how goddamned long it can take to get to write an entry now and I have a VERY short attention span. But I'm still here.

I don't write much, but hey, I'm still alive, which is impressive considering I was going to trash the whole site. I honestly miss it a lot in my life. I needed this place to talk. Now I just talk the ears off of people around me and I'm no doubt starting to look a little egocentric. It's like getting over an addiction.

As I'm currently getting no action to speak of, I thought I'd tell a little story. True? Only I know for sure.

Sitting next to him at the bar, I find myself tapping my feet, shifting around. I suggest alcohol and sound all too enthusiastic when he suggests a pitcher. I know what's in store, but it's awkward, surreal. I try to act sexy, to let my cleavage show a little, to brush my hair off my neck. It seems so silly, when there's no necessary enticement. As I move into my second drink, the conversation flows a little more easily.

The bar is small, but not cozy. They know him, but they've never seen me. They don't ask questions. I find it hard to look at him, anticipation getting the better of me. I small talk about my life. He doesn't really know anything about me and it doesn't really matter.

I excuse myself to go to the washroom. I shut the door and hold it closed for a second. What am I doing? I stare at the wall for a second and let time pass. There's a stark, full-length mirror on the wall, and I move to stand in front of it. I definitely feel sexier than I look. My clothes are flattering and I adjust my breasts to try and create cleavage that I certainly don't possess. But still, not sexy in my eyes. I picture my body without clothes, the way I'd like it to look, and then, the reality of my curves and all of my insecurities. I picture myself moving with confidence, naked and vulnerable. The thought terrifies me, and I remind myself that that's why lies ahead tonight.

I run my hands over my breasts, and try to feel sexual again. I run cold water over my hands and fix my hair. Time to finish this night. What's done is done.

That's just one of those stories in my head I've always wanted to write down.

So anyways, I've been sick and insane for the past few weeks. I'm pretty mental and my day job is getting me down. Not really much to say. I can't sleep well and I can't bring myself to eat all that much. Depression is basically eating me alive. But hey, I write more when I'm mental.

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