Love instant cell phone-photo blogs. I want one! Spent most of last week on a road trip with my other sister through mountains and mountains and mountains and plateau plains and deserts and creeks and red rocks and it was beautiful. I had to drive in the dark on a mountain path and that was scary but the rest was so easy and fun. We watched ‘Buffy’ episodes and drank a lot of beer. Visited the street fair, played pool and drank tequila, talked. I feel different. Vowed to be relaxed about perspective.

It’s hard to be online, because the people you’re talking to are often really really different. Lots of bored military wives and mothers, pre-operative trannies, people with disabilities and mental disorders and personality disorders, sexism, racism, nationalism… everything. And I just don’t know. Something about assuming faceless people are like yourself just because you (think you) get turned on by the same things? I don’t know. It’s great to be different, but hard to compare myself to such extreme different experiences. Doesn’t really work to define your personality based on what you find. When everyone has a different definition and so much fake seems real and real seems pointless. When graciousness seems like a privilege for the lucky, when you can choose to not be pitied or hated. Not like reactions are always balanced with reason or promiscuity is forced on anyone or is some kind of contest. And maybe I don’t believe in insanity. But my migraines were never that bad. My problems were never that bad. At least I’d like to think I haven’t been a complete asshole. But that’s relative. Hopefully the reason people don’t take me seriously is because I have taken myself too seriously. Their conspiracy to keep me out of jail.

If I were to suddenly lose a major body part tomorrow or something similar or really go nuts, then I’d be glad slash and painkillers were there to save my life. It probably has helped in the past. I mean, loneliness is bad. It can make anyone crazy-like. But we’re not all that different. But I don’t need porn like that anymore. I don’t really want to. I have to alter my consciousness or dig deep into nostalgia-ville to really feel it like I used to anyway. That used to make me sad, and still kind of does. Because I have moments where I really want to be there. And there is some core of myself that responded in the first place and there is a reason for that. But whatever turns you on should not be an end to itself and for the sake of everything. Or, it shouldn’t be more than that. It’s probably a bad idea to use porn as your emotional escape for everything. Sex is probably the trickiest thing there is. Not reliable, not even masturbation is reliable. But it makes sense that people used to painkillers in general would love slash. And work in offices.

Maybe this is my usual instinct to simultaneously rule and abandon anything I like. Happens all the time. I’ve been here, similarly, before. When I am in a good mood. I want to be more independent and not have to own all I love. I want to teach and be proud of my job for once. Use my time wisely and only obsess when I need to. Not for daily entertainment value. Am thinking of teaching in other countries. Need to travel productively. But I have a kitten and contracts with gyms and cell phone companies, so maybe I’ll end up married with a house or something similarly committed when I didn’t mean to get there at all. But what do I know. Should have figured this out at 19 but whatever. Stupid time and responsibility. What is this, the eighth time I’ve had this rant? In the past year. No, I’m not trying to talk myself out of a porn addiction. I just wonder what will happen to everyone else stuck here. What will the internet be made of in twenty years? What is the next evolution of the porn fan?