Giving Everyone Names

It's too difficult to give anonymity to anyone in my life, past or present. If this becomes a legal issue fine,but for now, it's just the price these people pay for fucking me at all. I should have a label warning on my cunt, but I don't. And a New Years Resolution...er...in June, is that I need to start speaking up. I need to start filming not just my own projections on the wall, but real things to the people I see and talk to each day. This time around, it's gonna happen for me and Joe. 

So, whatever, if you're a SpaceHey reject like me, you know already from inferring for years, that Andy and I were in fact, Andy and I. But it didn't start out like that. It really didn't. I was enduring my first ever long term relationship with anybody ever and I just needed friends. And I'm really caught in what David believes and what I want to believe of it all, myself... Andy could really fall in love with something so fucking twisted and prickly because he's deep or something? But then, there's also the male loneliness epidemic, and men becoming women at an exponential rate and I'm just not going get into all that, okay?! But I think we fell for each other mutually for a good year 1/2. 

I believed the sex was real and safe and beautiful but the moment things shifted in my mind for good, I felt betrayed by it all and weird about it all too. Completely ignoring the fact that there was another guy in the next room confused and gaslit while I haphazardly planned my grand escape with push pins and for some reason more use of my vibrator? Well, what David so classically calls Indiana Boys were easy to seek out, I guess, after all that soap opera shit with Andy. Thee Indiana Boy. The one that got away. The one I never really had but acted like he was this blue butterfly in a jar inside my heart for decades of my life? I just had to open it one day for it to like kiss me on the cheek or something? Meanwhile, he was procreating, making out with really cute girls and totally living his best pop punk life. As the best Indiana Boy should, I guess. Anyway, Nick is my current obsession and I hate that for myself. 

Really, all this typing led to wanting to write about that, really. How madly misplaced all my feelings and future feel tied up in this one dude who didn't mean to have jet black hair like my dad and didn't mean to be this likable, charming, fuck whose demise isn't necessarily predetermined by parallels of my father's life trajectory. Besides, if anyone is going to die in bad weather after a night of drinking, it will so be his baby mama. That's another thing too. Such an established life. A salary job. I'm still a fucking year in 1/2 away from that myself. He still texts me about his dream apartment he just got. It is amazing. The ceilings are so fucking high. Fucking him there was amazing. But the olive couch sit down was belated and counterproductive to what had already transpired between us within the last month 1/2. Everything is halfway there, halfway down this morning. I hate it. 

Be your own dad! I didn't ask. I didn't really ask. And Nick isn't a fuck boy. He would of told me if I just fucking straight up asked. But instead, I wanted to pander. I wanted to pretend if I was cute enough, if I was funny enough, if I was quick enough, I could have him for real this time. But he was never for sale.