The Erect Woman

Structure, structure, structure... every day is the same. It needs to be this way. I wake up, force myself out of bed, slide over to my desk and it begins... the marathon has started. All positions, please. The objective is to run as fast as I can, losing myself from the stresses that surround me... video games, the internet, DVD's. I'll keep running all day and all night... time is of no value here. When my body can run no longer, I'll swallow down a handful of pills and slide back into bed... when I awake, the next race begins. Seeing how I play a lot of video games, this generally means I am forced to interact with people a great deal of the time... this is highly problematic, at best. I am the puzzle pieces that a toddler has suckled upon... swollen and nibbled through, with no place to fit. Men make me very uncomfortable... we have nothing in common and the "fuck it or kill it" philosophy has no room in my life. I hate sports and competition. I don't drink or party... those days have done enough damage. So that leaves women as the other choice of socialization in video games. New problems arise. Although I function better with women... I have a penis, so that automatically means I want sex, right? This flaccid flesh disqualifies me from that avenue. I am a woman with a penis in the eyes of the cyber world... the erect woman. My mother told me long ago, repeatedly my entire childhood, how disgusting, fat, ugly, stupid and worthless I am... it is second nature now, so there is no need to flatter me with such words. I know all of these things... so, I'm not going to private message you for sex or throw myself upon you in such a manner. I haven't been intimate with anyone in quite a long time and I have no interest in that kind of adventure... I just want to play a game with someone. Things are rarely simple, but eventually I will find someone that will want to play with me. Time passes on. As you spend time with people on a regular basis, "friendships" form. I use quotes around the word friendships because this concept continues to baffle me. Friends are suppose to care about each other and caring about each other means loving one another... see this tangled web? I have written about love several times, so this is nothing new... love is a fucking nightmare. In my mind, I can't tell the difference between the various types of love... the ability to feel and process these emotions are long gone. Vibrations are then translated as caring about someone... so naturally you share this epiphany. The friendship crumbles, as I violently choke it to death, in a bout of miscommunication... the cycle resets itself and begins anew. Moustached women with their petticoats and umbrellas mourn the setting sun. In times such as these, I wonder when I will find you... where have you gone, Serah Weaver?