Re: Anon Emails
Oh, love. I'm not. I just like getting off when I'm not paying the other party to be interested in it. Pragmatic realist with a selfish streak. [...] No, that's not the point. Destiny was looking for the man at the party to show up, one painfully awkward sandwich later and she'd confirmed it was not the case. When I'm myself, I don't sleep with women under pretensions of being someone else. I instead have a deeply depressing series of conversations that prompt the desire to drink.
Extremely good sex and it seemed like a good idea at the time. I was in and out of town.
No, sobriety means you're going in raw. Drink, drugs, it's all lubrication. It means it's desperately easier to put yourself out on the ledge and dangle over the brink, because you're shit-faced enough not to contemplate what that actually means. Most people don't, by the by. And most people do not appear to notice feeling fucking raw because they've not insulated for significant portions of their life. I've been reliably off my face since the age of fifteen, I've been sober a grand total of a handful of - well, days given that night, but weeks at best. I can't fucking write unless I'm drunk, when I spent the better part of four years drunk and not writing. I'm shit with people, but that's been a reliable constant even when drunk, I just didn't give a shit. Now, I do. And if you add that last to the puppy thing, you'll regret it ever seeing the light of day.
My point, Dahlia, is that you're not a fucking drag. You're just you, unbloodyvarnished, and if you tighten up faster than a nun's cunt because of it you're hamstringing yourself. I can't deliver on my own advice, but christ I can give it.
No, I don't get it. But the point isn't how fucked it is. It's how willing you are to look at it, and say 'all right, I see it's there, now what?' Sounds like you are.
Make the bloody move. Sit there rotting in indecision for long enough, you'll make yourself miserable and she'll move on.