Having an Identity Crisis

Well, not really.

I told the resident male I'm having this impulse -- okay, no, this yearning, to be sweet. Like, just now I was about to type "(ugh)" in front of the word "sweet." But I made myself stop and not do it. And I feel dumb about that and dumb about saying I want to be sweet.

I don't even know why I'm feeling this way.

Holy shit, though, writing about it makes me wonder what the hell I was thinking.

I goddamn love writing like I'm a cynical badass bitch who will snark-stomp you cross-eyed if you give me half a reason to.

So I'm not having an identity crisis, even if I am feeling like I should let my tender, vulnerable side out with my polys.

I guess what I'm realizing is, I have this mask, this persona, that I use to engage the world with. And you know what? It's a fucking kick-ass mask. It's just as much me as the vulnerable, sweet side I'm not sharing here with you right now. Maybe it's even more me, because it's a choice. It's how I enjoy expressing my fucking awesome self. I've made this persona, and I rule with it.

Vulnerability and sweetness are for pussies. But that's cool, because pussies are fucking awesome too. There's a pretty big part of me that's a total pussy -- hidden away inside, waiting, full of gloriously sensitive nerve endings to be touched and filled and kissed and made love to. The part of me that's a giant, soft, slippery-sweet pussy, though, doesn't need to get on the goddamn internet and blab about it how it's feeling and what it's doing.

I need to do that, and the way I like to do it is exactly what I dish out here.

Crisis banished.

And it better not show its fucking face around here again.