"Then who can but say that women sprung from the Devill, whose heads, hands, hearts, mindes, and soules are evill?...betwixt their brests is the vale of destruction and in their beds there is hell, sorrow and repentence... for a woman will pick thy pocket and empty thy purse, laugh in thy face and cut thy throat..." Joseph Swetnam, "The Arraignment of Lewd, Idle, Froward and Unconstant Women" 1615

You'd think going to a women's college I wouldn't be dealing with this much dick. Diana, Roman Goddess of the moon and fertility, who was occasionally portrayed with six breasts(or more) to symbolize nature's bounty, she's got nothing on me. Well, actually, I can only think of 5 men at my breasts in the couple months, but I have to say, this is getting a little ridiculous.

Nothing is ever simple.

Some people have tried to tell me that if I'm doing what I want, and I'm happy, then it's all good, but I think that's bullshit. What about the needs of all the people I've let in to my vale of destruction? No no. It's no good.

What it all comes down to here is Jung's theories about projection. Stay with me here. I spent 2 years with the same guy shaking my head ruefully as other people slept around on each other and tried (unsucessfully) to form relationships that were purely sexual in nature with no emotional attachments. I never cheated on my boyfreind, or thought of it, but all the time I was clucking my tongue and going on about how sacred sex is, I was also ignoring the fact that sometimes, you really do have this visceral, animal need to just fuck. Probably all those sometimes are right around when you're 19, but whatever. It's all about the inner child. For that you have to go to Freud.

So now here I am in this comparatively strange place, I only know my ex's freinds, and I'm ready to fuck anything that moves, embarassing though it is to admit it. Looking back at things I wrote this time last year, I don't recognize myself at all. Scary that. I've determined that I sort of need to break myself for a while. I know I'll get hurt, and I accept that. What about the people around me? I need it, somehow I just know I need it, the way you know you need iron when suddenly the thought of liver is really appealing. I don't know why this is so, but I'm pushing myself into it pretty forcefully. I think of it as taking a vacation in hell. I worry about getting other people stranded in hell while I'm vacationing however, and it gives me pause. More than gives me pause, it just fucking hurts. I can see that I don't have the perspective or the self control to deal with this situation, in which there are a fist full of men orbiting me like so many unstable moons (half the time I orbit them, although you'd think I'd know better), but here I am and the only way out is through.

That sound? It's my head banging against the desk. God it hurts.