Guess that whole procrastination resolution thing didn't really pan out, huh?

I've been craving the feel of a girl. Any girl. Well, just about any girl. I just want to touch her. Rub her like you would one of those veloure-like stuffed animals that are on every shelf of every store Every-friggin'-where. It's not really even the emotional comfort I'm looking for. It's like how, sometimes, you can take out one of your silk scarves and run it delicately along your skin until it leaves goose bumps in it's path. That's what I want. I want to wrap myself in her and feel how soft she feels as she glides delicately across my skin.

Sigh.

(I'd go into a long diatribe about how long I had to wait to for the server to free up so that I could post this entry but the odds of this entry being worth that kind of a diatribe are minimal.)

So, it's a brand new year, huh? Let me see, what can I do with a brand new year?

Well, for starters I could start eating better. Yeah, who am I kidding? That's probably not going to happen. If it does, I'll post it along with all the other miracles that are happening around the world, like the Cubs winning the World Series.

I could buy a pet (which I'm actually going to do and which you won't get to see because I'm too cheap to upgrade this journal to GOLD!) See, here's an interesting tidbit that you don't know about me: I abhor pets. I don't like the hassle. I don't like them making messes. I don't like the way they smell. I don't like the hair they leave all over the place. (Yeah, Jeffery- my red beta-fish does that all the time.) Couple that with the fact that I'm generally afraid of dogs and it would make nothing but sense that I have chosen to purchase an english bulldog. Let's face it, if I'm going to get a pet, I might as well get one that's really just too lazy too do anything but eat and sleep. Right?

I'm also going to buy me a new pair of dancing shoes. Oh, I'm not going to try to lose any weight or anything silly like that but, by god, I'm gonna go out there and dance. Of course, I'm only going to get about half way through one of those really cool songs that promise the hope of being "licked, licked, licked from my head to my toes" before the wheezing begins and I'm going to have to hoist myself onto one of those bar stools and gulp down my screwdriver like it's gatorade until the panting goes away- but I'll dance.

I'm gonna write more. Yeah, that's probably a lie but it at least it's a hopeful lie. Actually what it is a half truth. What I am actually going to do is write more for the next couple months- maybe weeks- okay, I'll be honest, I'll probably only write for the next few days, after which pulling a journal entry out of me will be like getting me to take the new dog for a walk, but it will be- at least- a step in the right direction.

Far more importantly, this year, I'm going to find true love again. Sure it will probably only be with the new dog, as he's probably the only one I'll be able to get into bed with me, and even then I'll have to do all the work, but at least the promise of getting licked from my head to my toes is possible. Wait, that just went very awry. Any way, wish me luck on that whole true love thing and I'll see what I can do about the rest.

I want you here, beside me. I want to feel the weight of you in my bed, turning in the night. I want to listen to the patterns of your breathing before they lull you into a deserving sleep. I want to spend those few remaining moments before sleep claims me to listen to how well we breath together. I want to reach over and touch your cheek, ever so lightly, while I whisper unheard oaths in your ear. I want to fight the urge to curl into your arms for fear that I might disturb your peace. –And I want to revel in the wanting.

So here's what happens: I find a nice guy or girl and we like each other. I want to express that by doing nice things for them. They either like those things or they don't and they either continue seeing me or they stop. Now, if they take the first tangent then, slowly but surely they move into my life. A little at a time at first but, you know how it is in the beginning: you like each other so much that you can't get enough of them and you want them there. You get each other. No matter how cool you are on the outside, there's a part of you that is bouncing around the room like a toddler saying, "See me? See my stuff? Play with me. Play with my stuff. Like me. Like me. Like me. Like me."

And then, their presence on your couch and in your bed becomes a second nature- they belong there. They become a part of your routine and your routine changes to accomodate them. And like everything else, at first, it makes you giddy. Until.

Until they start complaining about the meals that you cook for them. Or about how fast you get their laundry done or why you don't make more money or whatever else, really- they are all things they are willing to complain about while they are sitting on your couch watching you do it. And, clearly there is a point where you know it's going wrong but instead of saying, "Hey, buddy, back it up a bit. Let's not forget who's sitting on who's couch." But, of course, you don't because you blow the first one off as them just having a bad day or the two of you having your first, little spat and, hey, doesn't every couple have spats and (excuse, excuse, excuse, excuse.)

And now, here they are, like that old couch that they sit on all day long. They are a part of your routine and it's hard to remember what you did before they got there. And, much like that old couch, you can't think of a good enough reason to get it out of your house.

Like I said, I hate being taken advantage of. Hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it. But I open myself up for it every time.