starkyshark

Ever since I read Jesse from Macho Sluts, which is to say ever since three weeks ago, I have wanted to write a “dirty” story. Something just really sexual. But I don’t know how or where to start. And then I’d be worried about people conflating characters and trying to read into my own personal sex life—because, let’s face it, in a fiction workshop, everyone thinks your stories are somewhat autobiographical (and sure, I do write autobiographically to a certain point, but after that point it is fiction).

But after reading all those “women’s erotica” or “pornography,” for my Women in Popular Culture class, I was really left empty. Nothing really left me satisfied, so to speak. I don’t think I would be good at writing porn, but I do want to give it a try someday.

I’m really glad to be going to grad school here, but I will never want to live here forever. I miss rain… snow… well basically all seasons and weather. But mostly I am so sick of the traffic and stupid freeway design. I’ve lived in DC, which has some pretty bad traffic, and a stupid Beltway that’s hard to figure out. But nothing can compare to the really moronic way freeways collide into each other and exacerbate the already horrible situation. Oh, and on top of it, the public transportation system is virtually non-existent. What’s wrong with L.A.?

Just three more years of grad school. Hopefully. Three years. A drop in the bucket, right?

Most days I think I know what I want. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to have kids. But my husband and my family keep asking me how can I be sure that will be what I want in 10 years? I feel like if I haven’t wanted them up until this point (being 25 and all), then what could magically happen in 10 more years? But until I know I am 100% concretely, absolutely, tubal ligationally sure, I better give this one up.