Trisha’s posterous

I can't seem to stop eating these gummy bears. 

They now come in a whole new spectrum of colours: red, green, yellow, orange, blue, lighter blue, champagne coloured, and so on.

I like the flavour, but really it's the texture I love.  Soft and squishy, but not too squishy, you know, gummy.

When I was a kid I loved gummy bears.  I've always loved gummy bears.  But the new spectrum is invigorating.  These new bears enhance my life minutely, but powerfully.

Small pleasures.  Life is comprised of small pleasures.  Life is short.  I am bound by nothing.  I refuse to be.

It's like my greatest joy these days is gummy bears.

Also, I think the bears are my compensation for the nervousness, my anxiety, my wanting more, more, more.  Never feeling solid, at home.  Everything feels loose.  It nags at me.

Also, well, sex.

It's the connection I'm missing, my hand tracing a man's skin, a man's body.to be crushed tenderly under the weight of him, to feel so carefully pinned to whatever lies beneath me. 

The sheets are crisp and cool.

Thread count: 800.

I love fine linen, though I'm not high maintenance.

I just love heavy weighty things, good thread count, grand furniture (my old red bordello style couch from Chintz my husband has in his home, in my old life), ornately carved dining room chairs, a big oak table, those two antique green wing back chairs we never did re-upholster.  I love heavy things that are pinned to the earth.

Like me: I want to be pinned down, kissed and loved, never let go of.

Solid things.

I want a solid man.  He has to be older.  I have never once been attracted to a guy my own age; they never seem solid enough, they seem like they're still growing, like they are looking for someone to complete them.

I can't complete anyone.

No one will have me at hello.

I am sort of perpetually unavailable, emotionally.  Nothing gets through.  I want to let it through.

I miss feeling kept and crushed, pinned and moved upon, rhythmic.  And after, soft kisses, me on my side facing him, he's facing me, it's dark in the room, the window's open, raining outside, smells like wet leaves.

I'm happy.

And he touches my face, my lips, then down the line of my body, stops at my waist, where I curve inward, the small of me, touches my soft belly, then rests his hand in the hollow.

I miss that.