Updates/Desires

After being *ahem* heckled on twitter about my girl crushes :)  I had some startling realizations about myself, my esteem and my love life. Whichever girl I like can be awful, mean as hell, or undeserving (in another's point of view), but I'll think she's wonderful. Is that normal? Isn't that how relationships go? Aren't we all blind to faults?

I mean, I don't like being emotionally abused and I won't put up with it, but there are certain things I get railroaded into. I do end up getting into situations where I'm used physically, but I'll need a therapist to work out that one. Point is, I like when my my girl can get a little mean, because I like a good fight. I like stubbornness and strong convictions because I like confrontation and the explosive force that comes from a passionate argument. I enjoy the cathartic energy of airing grievances and finally getting everything out into the open. If we can't fight, are we really communicating?

There's a certain balance to be achieved in a relationship. Sweet and gentle vs explosive and passionate. I want both sides of this coin. I want the soft mornings and sweet words in bed, I want the hallway fights with slamming cupboards, the frequent shower interruptions to ask a question, the giggles at family parties, the frustration at public events when we want to be alone, and the nights on the couch when I am so mad but then at three in the morning I want nothing more than your arms wrapped around me.

Can I have everything? I don't know. But I want it.

Bonus- here's an excerpt of the latest chapter of my first:girl series AKA coming out story now up on wordpress: Mimosas

The guilt ate at me and the mimosas weren’t helping. I’m home. I sent her. I forgot to check my phone last night. I’m sorry I made you worry. Hope you got some sleep. It was presumptuous, thinking that she had been worried about me, but I typed it anyway, hoping.

I waited, drank another mimosa. Nothing. The tears built up again. I felt like a yo-yo, jerked around one way and then the other. How could she be so loving, so caring, and then so completely heartless? How could she see me aching to offer my soul on a platter to her and wave it away like an undercooked meal?

My housemate knocked on my door after one in the afternoon. “I heard something about you last night,” she started, but I shook my head.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” my voice was hoarse from crying.

“So it ended badly. We all knew it would, Tabby. God, can’t you see she was playing you? You can’t trust girls like that. They’re just as bad as guys, pitting girls against each other-” I shook myself out of my stupor.

“Girls like what?” I searched around for the term clumsily given to me in the heat of an argument.

“Butch girls? You’re judging her because of how she looks?” I was in full defense mode. Maybe Gwen had just broken my heart, but she was still everything to me and that meant fighting for her to the ends of the earth.

“No. Well, yes. Maybe. C’mon, Tabby. You know her, you’ve seen her. She’s playing you.”

“Are you saying that all this crap I’ve gone through with you and Charlie and all the others is because Gwen isn’t a nice, normal, Stepford-wife girl? That if she had long hair and a polite smile and drank cosmos instead of beer and whiskey, and didn’t curse, and wore high heels instead of converse, and dresses instead of mismatched plaids-” I choked, those were all things I loved about her. I loved her masculinity. I loved her rough edges, the way she held her beer. I loved the quirky smile and the crooked teeth and the no makeup and the tattoos and all those gorgeous freckles.

“That everyone would have been fine?” I finished harshly.