Paris part 2

Paris

rating:5-- Reader discretion advised. ( Seriously.)

*admires rating* Cool no? Now I can cease horrifying folks who stumble across the Space by accident. And let you pervos who tune in for the bad decide if it's icky enough to read or not. *feels proud*
Any-hoo...join me, won't you? Don't forget your rubber gloves! And I don't want to hear any buzzing in the audidence, ya'erd me?

( The evening was surprisingly normal. )

(no subject)

Gee--porn is exhausting! I'm going to bed. So this writing thing--how is it that you spend all day writing and re-writing something and when you figure it's finally in shape to post, re-write bits again? Whats the hells the deal with that? Is it just me? It be a little easier if I turned to my friends and said, hey read this smut for me.

It's that low self-esteem problem of mine.

Oy, I need a beta. A kind and generous person who knows that under this care-free, devil-may-care, hard as nails exterior lurks an over-sensitive, big old whiny crybaby...what?

Why are you rolling your eyes? What do you mean "what exterior?"

That's it. I'm goin' to bed. *shmoochies*

Warning--Whining Ahead. Not That This Is News To You But...

...I'm a big fuckin' baby and I share this because ya'll know I'm shallow and a not very nice person anyway. My sister is visiting for the weekend with us and I feel a little like stabbing myself in the eye. I love my sister, I really do--but this new person the TBI left behind is hard to deal with. Hard to recognize. It's so difficult to talk to her, and trying to keep her focused leaves me exhausted and depressed. I suck. It's only been two days and I'm ready to melt. She has so little memories of life before that it's sad and her short term memory is--just not. She covers pretty well--you'd never be able to tell that she doesn't retain much.

Why doesn't anyone else get it? They all act like nothing's changed and any minute she's going to wake up and be herself. They're all convinced that if we worked harder (meaning me, i guess) that she'd be fine again. When I try to explain why all their brilliant ideas for her aren't going to work I'm being a bitch.

You can't hand someone a notebook and tell them to check it for information if they don't remember they have the notebook--more importantly they don't care that they have the notebook.

Oh shit, I am a bitch. A whiny bitch. I wish I knew what was going on in her head. I miss her so much and I can hardly stand to be around her. Nice hunh? Yeah, I'm not the one to come to when the chips are down. No brave hardy pioneer stock here, no shouldering the burden and dealing with the cards you're dealt.

Nope--I'm a lot more of the screaming and whining and crying and ripping the shirt--the kind of person who would look down at a friend with a broken leg and say "Why?? Why does this always happen to me? And I suppose you'll want me to carry you now? Christ!"

Crap. Still friends? I totally understand if you think I suck. I think so too.

You know, if I wasn't so gosh-darn cute--I'd have been capped ages ago.

(no subject)

I got home a little while ago, and read my mail, and now that I've stopped sniveling, I just want to say thank you so much, everybody. I feel a little less like suck now, and a *whole* lot less like alone. Thank you, for excellent advice and thank you most of all for the love. You guys are not only gorgeous and smart and funny and talented, but so kind.

Ya'll make me feel like a human being again. I'm a strong black woman damn it! (i'm going to keep saying that until it sticks! )
*hugs everybody real hard*