VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22). When things work out the way you want, it feels like destiny is sending you to the heart of your dreams. When they don't, it might feel bad at first, but it's still destiny, sending you to the heart of your dreams, but on a different route.

(irritating)

Update: I learned a new word, what my own sexual orientation is called. So I take it back, I'm still on the "pro understanding" train. Albeit impatiently.

Theory 1: I am extremely demisexual, i.e. it's a kink. 

And I'm straight. Which is a challenge. Needing meaningful emotional connection before fucking magic can occur + reliant on MEN = no wonder I finally lost my god damn mind.

I don't know what it's like being with a kinky demisexual, which I do want to fathom if possible, what the other side of that is (🐾🙄). All I know is what it's like to live with it - unsatisfying annoying surface level bullshit exchanges stultifying for the seemingly endless stupidity of what is on people's minds (the soup, AGAIN, really?) + totally lousy half-assed often drunk-enough to tolerate it sex that results. 

No.

Since I have to blow everything up anyway, I'm trying to figure out how to create the conditions for my sexual orientation to thrive in the rebuild. You have to "embrace" your orientation if it's some kinda weird. So, I'm embracing it. I'm hardcore demisexual.

I want to know what you're really thinking, what you're really really thinking, really really really really. Dark humor is useful for this, what a person laughs at tells you so much. And there's so much playing with my food in being this way that there's time to decide NO, for whatever reason, which I usually do = a lot of guy friends whom I've (mostly) never touched. My vagina just votes NO and that's that. And she's not wrong. You gotta dig for the gold, and usually you're just not going to strike it. 

Theory 2: Unknown Font is also a demisexual of some kind, and I was the food he played with, and he learned that shit from me. (?)

Maybe if I was the romance demi orientation, then I'd just have shitty sex and talk about soup. But no, the sex IS the romance. Bringing me flowers is not going to make me WET. I mean, I like flowers a lot, but not like that. 

NO. 🤯

It's too late for Nebraska to back up half a decade and us to cultivate a friendship that eventuated (miraculously) in my wanting to eat his soul through his cock. And that has been a problem all along, that no such process ever occured. And the more upset I got, the more flowers I got. 

A disaster.

But, although I think it might be breaking him, for the moment he's insistent we "keep trying". I am at full 🤯! Soooo much yoga lol (thank you my angry kinky little body), a 30 pound 6 month tantrum is epic. A slow burn. Like the frog in the cooking pot. I'm hot af.

Now it's the holidays. Time to put all such pesky things aside and put up lights. Which I do. While Nebraska watches fretfully and my kids are just like 'yeah, she does this 🤷🏻‍♀️', goes kaboom while also moms. He knows better than to mention soup, he's nervous saying any thing at all, which is good. Directly answer direct questions only and practice your edging skills like my root chakra's wellbeing is your sole purpose for living (which it is atm). While I think.

------

When I try to understand how and why we tried again, I know I instigated that, I didn't "take you back", I took your ass back. I talked to everyone around you, conjured a net of words, and scooped you back up. Like rescuing someone out of devils hole in my mind's eye. And then as soon as I had you in my hands, my demisexuality quickly metamorphed into a unique private language we could use. So we could talk for hours again. Even though in the end that failed, in retrospect it seems like a pretty loving way to work through grief without any help. Most couples just cave over kid related pain(s), they don't develop an enviable private language. (I'm being *demisexual positive*.)

------

So. What are the universal principles? One thing is that I absorbed Font's particular fetishes/proclivities as my own. So I presume that is something I do. What was in his mind infused my body, and I internalized it. Since then it's been in keepsakes storage. Mothballed. 

I need to figure out where and how to live more urgently. But I can't do anything much on those material fronts, and Nebraska is between my legs, and every self-help remedy book I get stresses the importance of sexhealing to a witchbody. Sedona healer said same, stuck at the root. I need like 10 life-saving orgasms STAT. Or 100 solid ones, easier to tolerate longer course of treatment. But SOMETHING.

So.

What would my orientation look like with a different person? One answer: I would absorb his fetish/proclivity as my own. So let's try that. Tell me, blow by blow by blow what a "spanker of women" meant/means. Interesting answers that I will never internalize as my own. But!, I could take them. Not absorb, but take. 

What if he could only have what he craves if another man watched? Another man got it as well? Another man was the only one who got any, and all he got was to watch? Do you like it when I fantasize about someone else like this? (This is kind of fun 🤔...)

That's when he started to break. It appears that might kill him. And/but now he sure ain't gonna get over me either. (Sigh. Welp. #slapstick)

Speculation: This relationship is going to give Nebraska mounting panic attacks the more authentic I try to be/live/work/love until he taps out. I look 20 years younger, he looks 10 older. 

Theory 3: Being with me = Tap out or stroke out. While I'm looking for bliss out :/

Basic guiding formula (1): what it is comes from him (whoever he is) and what I want is to own whatever that is.

Play me a song?