I just can't help myself.

Dear Freda,

Now that you're gone, all that's left is a band of gold. All that's left of the dreams I hold is a band of gold and the memories of what love could be if you were still here with me.

Love always,

Wally

P. S. I wait in the darkness of my lonely room, filled with sadness, filled with gloom.

What do I look like!?

Do you ever get the feeling that you're just an object? I don't know if it's my Women's Studies course or if I'm just batty, but I think that I lack so much substance so much agency in people's eyes. In short, I feel like all people see are my nipples.

I love my piercings. In fact, I want more piercings and a tattoo! I like body modification. I was kinda against it at one point in my time, but I've grown accustomed to it. (Oh Rex Harrison!)

I like the idea of being able to make my body into something I want, customizing it. Different marks on my body, different scars, already symbolize times of my life. This is just an extension of that.

So I don't understand why it's so shocking that I have it done. Why does it matter? Does it change who I am? What kind of character I have? I don't think so.

And anyone that does can get off my dick.

Oops

Yeah, yeah, I did it again, I stopped posting.

Well...loyal reader (oh hai Alyssa!), I'm going to make an effort to start posting again. Starting now.