Icing up the Cervix

The last time I had sex was exactly a year and two weeks ago. Rather depressing when you think about it. I don’t remember it that well, except that it was unemotional. I remember a lot of red. Yes, blood. I used to be so ashamed to talk about it. So far, I’ve told a few girls and some guys. My gynecologist said that there was nothing much he could do about the bleeding after sex except ice up my womb’s neck (or cervix).

Ha, imagine me bearing a child. I would bleed to death. Suppose I’m not ashamed to talk about anything. So what if people know everything about me? There are a million things that you don’t understand. Anyway, I don’t usually talk about these things except when they randomly come to mind. It means I trust you. Sometimes. Is that the kiss of death? I don’t think so, Johnny. Honesty is the most offensive thing in the world, but there are untold secrets to be revealed. And I hate secrets. If I could, I would tell everything and unleash all the secrets of the world, especially yours. Many friends are keeping shit behind my back. But I don’t care anymore.

I also signed up on some dating websites to get singles to email me. I was curious and wanted to see what it was like. You could state that you were looking for a relationship, affair, one-night-stand, etc. I ticked the last two and would get over fifty emails a week. Why did I do that? – Because I SUCK at looking for what I want, it’s easier for me to be found.

The men were twats, sending me pictures of their dicks or them having sex. That was gross. And they would say things like, “Never fucked an Asian before.”

However, there were also nice ones who wanted to get to know me and asked stuff like, “What are you currently reading?” or “Who’s your favourite writer?” I posted half-naked pictures, which was why I received responses from people. Anyhow, I didn’t answer ANYONE. It just didn’t click. They were fucking Germans. What do I want from a German? After a few months, I cancelled my account on that page.

Yet, masturbation is no fun; it’s exhausting. I fall asleep during it because I have no energy these days. Most of my energy is consumed by work, stress, and the treadmill. In the last thirty minutes, I’ve yawned over fifty times because I have trouble breathing. Is this a sign of a panic attack?

It’s happening again because I’m dealing with more stress than usual. All thanks to “people.” I feel a lump in my throat and pressure in my ears. Someone fuck my ears.

Oh God, will people please just QUIT talking about ENGLAND! I don’t want to hear a FUCKING word about it anymore.

I haven’t had a decent conversation since Dan, and that was bloody nine months ago. And that was a conversation in the most beautiful language of all.

German makes me sick. Some German friends offered to speak English with me – no way. I only speak English with native English speakers. My English gets bad when I talk English with non-natives because I unconsciously adapt to their level. Terrible. Disgraceful. Degrading.

I have no day off this week, so I need to cancel whoever wanted to meet up with me tomorrow. And Sunday is mine. Don’t even dare to call.

I want to see how Bunny Munro dies.

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