Sometimes I actually surprise myself. I really like when that happens.
The Jubilee weekend had some excellent moments, quite a few thanks to a very lovely man that I very definitely need to see more of. In a non-committal, we're just hanging out and having a lot of dirty fun kinda way. It reminded me of how much I need certain things, can't and don't want to be without them, and it's something he can do extremely well. Or maybe we just match.
I also went to Planet Angel, which was a bit meh. The music is always too fluffy for me, I'm a as-close-as-you-can-get-to-EBM PsyTrance girl. All that love you all, hands in the air, come on and hug already, while certainly nice for chilling, just doesn't do shit for me on the dancefloor. If anything, it makes me angry. So we left as soon as the trains started running again and eventually made it to the afterparty. Which was pretty amazing as far as afterparties go. Met new people who stroked my mind, we went to the park to catch some sun and did I mention that my mind got stroked? 'twas lovely.
Sunday and Monday were a bit of a write-off, because people scare me the day after and there were way too many around. Monday was just plain lazyness. Actually made it out of the house on Tuesday and went to Camden, where I got all excited about some hippie clothes. It happens like that.
Work between the bank holiday and the weekend was like being in the office between Xmas and New Year, loads of people had taken the week off and it was nice and quiet apart from a bit of a panic on Thursday when everybody around me seemed to realize that, shit, we have to do some work.
Last weekend was on the side of unexpected and interesting. Went to a party that I had pencilled in as a civilized affair, i.e. go there, talk to people about the p*rn I'm writing (because I like talking about it, and I'm excited about it, and I'm actually quite proud I'm doing it, and it's not that I have a reputation to lose), have a few laughs, maybe have one or two drinks, then slouch home around 3 on a nightbus or two. Yeah, that didn't quite happen. I started off being civilized (except for the talking about pretty boys fucking bit), but then someone suggested I have a drink, then suggested having other stuff, and maybe there was the odd balloon or 20. Suddenly it was morning and I was sort of clinging to a friend that so far has stubbornly resisted my charm. He didn't this time, so maybe I'm a tad more convincing when I'm fucked. I didn't get much sleep. And it was ok, I wish it had been better, because I kinda like him. I'm a bit afraid that I'm getting jaded, because I have had such amazingly mind blowing sex in my life that just having normal, yeah-that's-kinda-ok, stick it in and wiggle a bit, sex just doesn't cut it anymore. I want it all and I want more of it. Now.
Please.
Talking about pretty boys fucking, I've written a few more fics. They're currently part of a anony-meme writing thing, so not yet posted anywhere else. I've got two interesting WIPs, a sequel and a second point of view, also working on two more prompts but the boys have gone all shy on me and just don't want to get it on. Hate when that happens.
In terms of 'Wait, what is she doing this weekend', my bags are packed and the car is rented for the journey to Glade tomorrow. The weather forecast looks shitty to say the least, which means I won't do much happy hippie bouncing around and probably more of the warm coat and wellies emo thing, but who knows, it might actually be fun. Festivals in my head are always sunny and feature me looking cute being a hippie. Yes, I know I live in the UK and stuff like that just doesn't happen unless I go somewhere else (Burning Man, y'know), but tell that to my head.
Hope, apparently, dies last. It might just float away in a downpour of rain.
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