“When you have nobody you can make a cup of tea for, when nobody needs you, that's when I think life is over.”
― Audrey Hepburn

I've moved into my own apartment now, which is a really great change of pace. I'm finding I like cooking my own food, not needing to make light conversation about things I don't care about, watching movies til late into the night on my laptop.

But I'm also finding that I'm pretty lonely. I used to have access to a car, which made meeting up with people easy- now, I have to depend on public transit or the kindness of friends, which cuts down on my social time somewhat. And it's made me very conscious of how I have two lovers and yet most of my time is spent on my own. Which is, of course, fine in theory... but in practice, I have this queen sized bed all to myself and no one to share it with 90% of the time. It's a bit of a letdown, though can't be helped. It's a holding pattern, and I know that, but telling my heart that proves difficult at times.

It's led me to have a lot of time to think, too, which means the head weasels have been out in full force. I find myself wanting to demand more attention from my lovers, but also more conscious of their time commitments- my sole timesuck being writing, writing, always writing. And yet I find it hard to focus. My mind wanders, and I find myself checking Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Fetlife- all these social media sources providing little pangs of FOMO and jealousies. I keep hoping if I immerse myself in it, grimly, I'll begin to get over it or even have compersion, but instead I find my heart sinking and no amount of logical scolding will prevent it. It's hard sometimes to feel popular or beautiful when my much-more-conventionally-attractive lovers are out having fun, hooking up, flirting and I'm trying to restart my business, write about consent culture, or doing my work for SWOP or C&G Productions.

I'm feeling selfish, and I'm ashamed of it.

And I know it's ridiculous. I hate feeling bitter. I hate having nightmares wherein one of them turns on me and I wake up confused and feeling unloved and not even really being able to say why except "I had a dream and you decided you were done with me and tried to murder me and now I feel weird", because that's crazy, right? My lovers have been perfect at taking care of me, they've made time for me, so how ungrateful am I? Both of them are lovely about stroking my ego, and have been really sweet about my emotional flailing- they've probably overindulged my need for reassurance, and I feel guilty for needing it in the first place. But I don't know what to say, or what to ask for to feel better, because I know what I think I need and it's unreasonable. I just wish it'd go away, as this isn't helping anyone. I wonder, in fact, if it's a minor depression, because it doesn't seem to be based on anything actually happening, except, perhaps, this sudden living alone- the first time I have, ever.

And I also know it comes from overextending myself when it comes to activism. Feeling drained does this to me.

Strangest of all? I miss working. I miss the ego boost and how beautiful I feel and having an outlet for pleasure and the novelty of seeing someone new. Restarting in a new city is always hard, so I'm taking the time to improve my website and redo my photos. But I miss the companionship of clients who worship my body and my mind. I miss the sense of connection. I miss the ease of touch.

I know what I need to do. I need to have a couple of one night stands and shoot some porn and some new sexy photographs and get out of my head back into my body for a while. I need to write some real-life porn about hot sex I'm having... and I need to have the hot sex to write about. I need my muse to stop being anger and start being sultry. It's spring, goddamn it, and I need to shake off these frigid winter blues.