Earlier today I was hit with a sudden burst of creativity, and I opened up the novel. Hey, remember that? That novel I’m sometimes (more not than often) writing. I wrote 4 pages. See I’ve been stuck. No muses. Uninspired. I haven’t been able to write anything. I know how the story ends, but I can’t figure out how to get it there. I feel like I have to dissolve everything to reach my intended outcome. It’s as difficult as if I were literally dissolving my pages in acid. Anyway, creativity hit me and I was so engrossed in the story that my heart was pounding, and I was practically shaking. The power of words.
In other news, I am so damn horny that I want to cry. I can’t do anything about that. The prince isn’t here. I’m staying with my mom, and if there is a rare moment when she isn’t here, I lack the equipment to take care of myself properly. More than anything else I need attention, and there’s no one here giving me the kind of attention I need right now. I need to feel wanted, desired, coveted. Nothing like that happening right now. I even took some sexy pictures of myself, but I didn’t even post them anywhere so even the internet is not telling me what a babe I am right now.
God I want to have sex so bad! Ugh! Scratch that. I need to be ravaged. I don’t think either of those things are in my distant future. Last time the prince traveled here, he was too jet lagged to have the sex, and we’re staying with my mom except for the night of our anniversary. Yeah all that screams sexiness. Hashtag sarcasm. Woe is my poor neglected lady bits.
I’m going to go to bed and try to have very graphic and vivid sex dreams.