Still Mad

Last night's post didn't do the job for me.

I discover this as I'm on my way to work, taking trains, seeing all the pretty men. And by pretty I mean handsome, of course. So many my type. Especially the straight ones with their women.

Even if I were an out and free homosexual, I couldn't HAVE the straight ones. And even if the straight ones would for absolutely no reason whatsoever give or show me what I want to see, I couldn't have as many as I want anyway. This constant craving kd lang sings of so proficiently, I'm hereby officially requesting in writing that it be played at my funeral. It is the literal story of my life.

I'd like to believe this is my own fault. That I shouldn't have watched my mother's porn back during the summers in elementary school. That I brought all this sex awareness and premature attraction of any sex on myself. That somehow I deserve this torture because I'm a sinner. That I deserve Hell and why am I wasting any more time on Earth trying to do any good when that's where I'll end up for eternity anyway. And that since I'm going there eventually why wait? And I think too that these blogs of mine would make for a pretty grand and extensive suicide note.

But I don't think I'll do that. I think instead I'll stretch out a little farther and join this blog to an Internet community, if I'm allowed, and try to broaden my access to some peer help. Because I damn sure could use some help.