Thougts
Day in and day out I'm me but hardly anyone really sees that. I may regale them with tales of my operating, my own personal sexploits,and the insanity of my family, but they don't know me.
Do your friends know you beyond what you tell them? Beyond that façade that you so cleverly hide behind? I think the more you look at it, you'll soon find that they don't.
Someone said to me the other day, merely in passing, that he wished hecould have a life as normal as mine. He's someone who considers himself the best of friends to me, yet he said that still, and completely demeaned my human experience thus far.
I suppose it's my own fault, though, for not wearing my heart on my sleeve any more. I don't tell them about the sickness in my family, I don't tell them about how I feel after sleeping with a man that I can't even remember his last name. But does that mean that they can chalk my experiences that they do know about up to some kind of normal?
It's not possible to equate someone else's life experiences with this trumped up idea of normalcy.
Considering what I do for a living and what I aspire to be, my life is anything but this idea of "normal." Our lives are all different, beautiful, fucked up and twisted but in their own special way. hOne person's idea of normal is another's idea of hell.
So, here I sit in my university sweater in my little room in a house of people who don't really know me, signing in to work where no ones knows me, waiting for the men to call me before they get ready for work, or after they arrive home from a night shift.
Girl of the moment:
Ava She's 22 years old, 120lbs, 5'6'', big brown eyes with wavy light brown hair and a 36DD chest.
Putting on the headset...microphone close to parted lips, and the call comes into her.
"Hey baby, how you doing?"
With a little stretch and a yawn, "I just woke up. I'm a little sleepy still..."
"You know, I like it when you're just waking up. I like the thought of sliding my hand
up your silky smooth legs, slipping a finger up that warm, wet..."
His breath echoing through the earpiece, she softly moans, telling him just how she's touching herself just for him....while she reads the play for class in three hours.
how...normal.
Day in and day out I'm me but hardly anyone really sees that. I may regale them with tales of my operating, my own personal sexploits,and the insanity of my family, but they don't know me.
Do your friends know you beyond what you tell them? Beyond that façade that you so cleverly hide behind? I think the more you look at it, you'll soon find that they don't.
Someone said to me the other day, merely in passing, that he wished hecould have a life as normal as mine. He's someone who considers himself the best of friends to me, yet he said that still, and completely demeaned my human experience thus far.
I suppose it's my own fault, though, for not wearing my heart on my sleeve any more. I don't tell them about the sickness in my family, I don't tell them about how I feel after sleeping with a man that I can't even remember his last name. But does that mean that they can chalk my experiences that they do know about up to some kind of normal?
It's not possible to equate someone else's life experiences with this trumped up idea of normalcy.
Considering what I do for a living and what I aspire to be, my life is anything but this idea of "normal." Our lives are all different, beautiful, fucked up and twisted but in their own special way. hOne person's idea of normal is another's idea of hell.
So, here I sit in my university sweater in my little room in a house of people who don't really know me, signing in to work where no ones knows me, waiting for the men to call me before they get ready for work, or after they arrive home from a night shift.
Girl of the moment:
Ava She's 22 years old, 120lbs, 5'6'', big brown eyes with wavy light brown hair and a 36DD chest.
Putting on the headset...microphone close to parted lips, and the call comes into her.
"Hey baby, how you doing?"
With a little stretch and a yawn, "I just woke up. I'm a little sleepy still..."
"You know, I like it when you're just waking up. I like the thought of sliding my hand
up your silky smooth legs, slipping a finger up that warm, wet..."
His breath echoing through the earpiece, she softly moans, telling him just how she's touching herself just for him....while she reads the play for class in three hours.
how...normal.
posted by just a girl at 8:42 AM
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