she's the kind of person who tells you about her wobbly knees and suddenly you want to kneel down, kiss her knees, and tell them everything is going to be alright... some writers do that...

it is a genuine adorableness that is made of innocence and insight, idealism and vulnerability, truth and imagination, and most of all a sense of being there realism that gives the words a genuine presence... endearing, or what Stephen King calls truth (I suppose reading his On Writing is giving me some of the literary language I've forgotten... I avoid most of the judgmental critique stuff, as if that is not obvious, but some of you DLanders and other online writers do appeal to my literary and nurturing heart to the point where I find myself bubbling over with smiles and enthusiasm while reading)...

and she is another... if I was rich today I would adopt her and set her free from responsibilities, give her back the freedom to be anything she wanted to be... and her sibs too... even her twin sister...

some people just do that, to me at least... maybe it is just me, the nurturer/guardian/gardener part of me who hasn't had any personal nurturing/guarding/gardening to do in a few years (plenty of professional opportunities however, in spite of the anti-nurturing system that permeates the particular psych ward in where I work... wow, a lot of alliteration there, huh?)... and in that case, I could mention a few hundred different DLanders who inspire similar, though perhaps not as intense or consistent, desire-to-hug-them feelings... one of these days I must update my favorites in my various diaries (or maybe come up with a page combining all of my favorite writers, online personalities, and web page builders)...

something was supposed to be rambling here...

...

to segue into a totally different thought that relates, but doesn't, or at least is not meant to, I have noticed a blurring of the lines in my mind and body sometimes between my mind and body, specifically between heart and libido... there is a relatively clear and secure distinction between feeling love for someone and wanting to, ummm, fuck someone (there really was no clearer way to say that... of course there are more poetic ways, but then, sometimes too many words alter the meaning too much... and I oughta know, aye?)... anyway, I seldom find words raising libido (Libbo is very visual, in case you have not noticed or have not been reading long enough or did not review back entries here and in other diaries and journals enough to know this)... and when words do, is is almost always because I have created a visual/physical fantasy of the writer (which is like playing with matches made of C4) and I rarely do that (have not yet gone that fantasy route here at DLand)... so my hugging impulses here are nurture based (as opposed to nature based, I suppose) and come from a longing for literary fellowship (and also from that big old emptiness or missing link inside me where most people have family)...

I am not quite sure just where I was headed when I mentioned segue... I fell asleep in the middle of that paragraph (which is irony enough to roll around laughing at myself a bit... I mean, talk about hugs infantile cuddling and intimate physical comfort as opposed to being aroused, huh?)... it is now Saturday morning and I have not been into bed yet, having napped in the big green chair a few times and throughout most of the night... I see I was differentiating between the love I send when I leave love notes at DLand and in words on the net and the physical sensual sexual love I feel when I masturbate or share bodies with someone in the physical world, but there was something else on my mind in that word segue and it has slipped through the cracks between dreams in sleep (until it next comes around, I guess)...

maybe I was feeling horny as I was falling asleep...

or at least lonely...

anyway, after a daily dose of self-love, I fell asleep and here we are, next morning... I am awake again and the sun is rising and it is time to remember that I skipped yesterday and this body requires more gym time, especially with crazy-buffet dinner plans for this evening... Shelby Lynne sings Buttons and Beaus and reminds me of how much I enjoy the humor and irony of old blues songs (and how much music is missing from this life, especially these lazy aimless days)...

and Precious is off the phone now seeking more conversation so I'll listen a bit and see if she wants to get healthier and if not, I'll listen more when I get back... maybe, when I get back, I'll remember whatever it was I was going to write before, or in the last few interrupted and incomplete entries... hope your day is starting with a smile...

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)