Cutting Flowers Bruises

The pink peonies I have here are, I think, the most beautiful flowers I've ever seen. It's been a strange day today-- one that I'm ending with cigarettes, wine, my black slip that I feel fat in and a very familiar sting on my thigh...

A weird day that began with a lack of sleep and then a rainy walk to physical therapy. Then, Rochester jumped on my back and left his claw-mark in a three punctured wound. God, how it hurt. But, I became strangely possessed to lengthen them... drawing red stripes out and around my torso... as impossible as that may seem.

Then, to my voice lesson, met up with B at "Rice Bowl" and came back here to laze around hardly doing a shred of the work that's oppressively weighing on my chest.

Then B left to go out to drinks with friends.

I feel like a different person when I'm with him-- both a lighter and heavier person at the same time. Both lovable and detestable.

Anyway, part of me is resentful that he'll never invite me out to do things with his friend,s but I still invite him to do things with mine.

After he left (and an episode of "Law & Order") I got Secretary on PPV. It both impressed me because it avoided cliches and it annoyed me with its rampant cliches.

Afterwards, I felt nothing but crestfallen and an urge to cut that I could not bite back. It's not fair that people have such a problem with my cutting! I mean... it really doesn't hurt me or anyone else for that matter, and I just love it aesthetically and feel so beautiful and satisfied when I can see the marks there.

I couldn't resist one simple, beautiful line on my thigh, although I wish it were on my calf or arm.

Afterwards, I wet the wound and smeared the blood around so it looked bruised and bigger... although I wouldn't dare do anything more permanent or noticeable.

It's because I'm always being fucking inspected! So... I've resolved to drink a bottle or two of wine to numb this frustration. Is that really better, though? It's just not visible for people to pick up on tomorrow.

Arghh!!!

I want to be painted by Heathcliff... especially around the eyes. And I want to stop thinking about my thesis, finding a job and who the fuck I am.

Just to be bruised and loved.

I don't care if people think it's fucked up. I know where the line is in my head and I"m not afraid that I'll cross it...