"...Of course I'll be alright. I just had a bad night"

I'm unsettled...and really fucking horny.
I've taken to writing smut at work. I've completed two "stories" so far. It helps me cope with the lack of cock in my life. Is that crass? I don't care. Not that I don't enjoy the ladies, mind you, but I miss the penis. I plan on publishing these "stories", somewhere, on my own if I have to.

Tonight is the Red Balloon To-Do. I have a piece of photography on display. The owner of the studio actually wanted me to bring all four that I submitted, as he liked them all, but it wasn't his decision and it might be a little underhanded. A very nice compliment though. I've made business cards, and they are effing cool.

Last night was bad.
Mini-breakdown. Was supposed to go out, but then felt so needy/lonely that it would have been a bad idea.
Called Ian in a botched attempt at "booty". Couldn't ask for it. Cried for awhile on the couch, then had some wine and watched Rocky Horror, fell asleep watching Eddie Izzard.

He needs to be completely out of my life at this point. I don't want this undefined bullshit. I don't want to care what he's doing or who he's doing it with, not that he is...but I don't want to want to know. I did the breaking up. I'm the one who doesn't want to get back together. It should be easier.

I am one swirling mass of estrogen and testosterone and the balance changes daily.

I miss my friends in far away places.