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[d8dreaming]

“Love Your Body”

It’s what we’re told, especially as women, to do now. I fully accept this mantra and fully intend to enact it in real life... one day.  Bodies are never that simple, though. They hold our rumbling tummies, our nervous hearts, our restless toes. They are a canvas of our scars, freckles, and bruises that carry the physical memories of times come and gone. And they’re always... there.  My body and I have a “complicated” relationship. I’ve been a type 1 diabetic since I was about a year and a half old- meaning my pancreas was attacked by way too helicopter-y of cells from its own immune system, thanks! Calm the fuck down, Karens. To top it off, I was with my twin when this happened- we both got the flu- and she recovered, pancreas fully working and unscathed. How rude!  I’ve always been a little boggled by the fact that my body would not be able to survive without the medicine in my machine- yes that luxurious manmade insulin! It’s also crazy to think that 100 years ago, I would not have lived more than 4 or 5 years after my diagnosis (and would probably be staaarrrving). I won’t bore you with the full history, but insulin wasn’t discovered until 1921 and a bunch of doggies were frankenstein-ed (and likely killed) for this. Woof- no wonder I’m a dog lover.  Most days, I almost forget I have diabetes- in fact, I think I kind of do. I was so young when I got it, that it really is second-nature. My machine (pump) has its home in all of my jean pockets. The cord may occasionally snag on a door or my backpack strap, but it’s no biggie. I’m not at all bothered when people ask me about it.  Then there are the moments that bother me- like when my needle hurts my butt while I’m running. Or when I actually look at my butt (just the cheeks!) in the mirror and see all of the battle scars; the regular pokes, the infected areas, my right cheek’s role as the “sensor spot” and my left cheek’s role as the “pump spot.” It’s been 20 years now that I’ve been putting needles in my booty, and it will probably be at least 20 more. It is daunting to see my elephant skin, especially now that having a firm, smooth ass is such a treasure in our culture. Count me out cause that ain’t ever happening.  That moment in particular- the ass scars one- catches me. I sometimes get self-conscious and think about all the men I’ve ever slept with: “Is that why he didn’t text me back?” “Should I keep the lights off?” “Is doggy-style a no go?” “Are my needles scary/weird/gross?” But then I remember, this butt is literally my life. It is a crucial part of me getting my life-saving medicine. Because of my scarred butt, I can live a mostly normal human existence with (hopefully non butt judgmental and consensual) sex, exercise, work, fooooooood, etc. I would not be where I am without my butt, scars and all.  I guess the point of this post is to help me remember that loving my body isn’t always easy, and that’s ok. Our bodies hold our stories, our trauma, our insecurities to name a few. But it is so much more pleasant to show up in this world believing our bodies are a thing to be loved- or in my case, my booty is a thing to be WORSHIPPED. Bow down.  Lol, peace! 

[d8dreaming]

The World is Weird

We all know this right now, especially right now, but the world is one giant fucking freak show. A global pandemic? A long overdue call for racial justice? Donald Trump as president? Wildfires taking over the West Coast? WTF?!  Through all of this, I have tried my darndest to maintain a sense of normalcy. I try to work out every day, call my mom on a weekly basis, maintain a somewhat active social life, keep my place clean, etc. There are some days, however, that the weight of the world feels too daunting to pretend. My mind goes off into a million directions regarding the current state of things: I feel sad for people who have died from co-vid or who have had loved ones die from co-vid, I feel sad for people who have lost their jobs and livelihood for themselves and their families, I feel guilty that I have had neither of those things scathe me. I feel sad that I can’t see my family, I feel guilty for choosing to not see them to protect my own and their wellbeing. I feel needy for human connection, I feel guilty for potentially putting others at risk in order to obtain it.  I find myself on these days feeling weepy and completely alone. It is a hopeless, ugly crying state and there’s usually a rom com and a bottle of wine involved. My tear ducts feel like they will never be dry again. My phone serves as a reminder of how much of a “loser” I am, since no one seems to hit me up on those days. It is a time when I feel extremely sorry for myself and I often awake the next day puffy-eyed and groggy. I am not ashamed of these days. I need them. We all do. The world does. There is so much pain and suffering spinning around that even if it isn’t directly affecting you, if you have any droplet of empathy, it takes you out of orbit. The feelings themselves have a gravitational pull that is so forcefully heavy you’re not sure you’ll ever rise out of them. 

[d8dreaming]

Does a Red Flag=STOP?

So, I’ve been single since October of last year and have been on a handful of dates since then. Some were more of hookups than others, some were more fun and some were almost unbearably awkward.  This concept of the “red flag” has come up for me a lot. First of all, what qualifies as a “red flag?” My not-yet-researched interpretation suggests: talking about one’s ex, not asking the person you’re on a date with any questions, not having any close friends or family. But I want to see what the internet says... Ok, so I consulted this article: https://theeverygirl.com/dating-warning-signs/ that identifies 6 early warning signs: 1. Cancelling without rescheduling. 2. Being “too busy” 3. Aggressively criticizing someone, specifically an ex 4. Giving the romance too quickly 5. Sharing things that don’t “add up” 6. Being rude to anyone in the service industry I definitely agree with these and have definitely let people who have done these things to me stick around... and have regretted it. Mostly #1 and #2. It’s been hard for me to find people who are actually willing to commit to some time. If they can’t do that, how are we going to have any semblance of a relationship? Unfortunately, I took the actions of these dudes out on myself and thought that I had done something wrong or there was something wrong with me. Classic girly fun! My wardrobe of self-criticisms is fit for a queen. Body shaming? Got that. Over-analysis of my own actions? Plenty here. Thinking over and over about anything I said until I drive myself nuts? Frick yeah!  It all stops now, though. if I want to value myself, truly, and find a “good guy,” I’ve gotta declutter and clear out these flaky mothafuckas. But for now I do enjoy using them for sex and occasionally buying me beer. :)

[d8dreaming]

Up-date

Well, this week has been a doozy! I live on the west coast so the fire/smoke scary shit has been so real. Too real... Get outta here!  Trying to maintain any sense of normalcy has been especially exhausting when the world looks like it’s ending outside. But alas, we go on. Kind of. Which is how everything this year feels like. We’re trying, but it ain’t easy. And nothing feels very good.  Buuuuut sex does. At least for me. I’ve gone in and out of wanting and not wanting a serious, committed relationship over the past few months as the triggering question, “Will I die alone?” has popped into my mind far too often.  If this pandemic has taught me anything, it is that human connection is super important to me. Physical touch is great, but I also need those mutual-caring friendships and hotties with bodies.  Relying on people can be just as dangerous as relying on substances, though. I can appreciate the times I have with them. I can get intoxicated off of the laughter, touch, and excitement, but I need my space from them and they need their space from me. It can all be unhealthy. 

[d8dreaming]

Horny 4 a Smooch

Can you be horny for a kiss? The answer is 100% a resounding YESSSSS!  Let me give you some backstory. A dude I have been hooking up with since January 2020(but no one’s counting...) came over last night for our weekly hang and bang. We usually talk, sip on some white claws, he often brings an old, gory movie that we watch, and then we fuck.  Last night was no different except that he felt a cold sore coming on, so “no kissy kissy.” An immediate sense of disappointment hit me. I loooove kissing him. We made it work, but it was hard for me. I’ll admit, I tried to sneak a few in there out of habit (and ok, desire too). I sucked his dick so I could place my mouth action somewhere else on him, which seemed to be a pleasurable alternative for him.  But I did feel a tad incomplete. He made me come, which was awesome, but there’s something that I love about the intimacy of kissing. Maybe I’ll get a smooch after some dates this weekend... 

[d8dreaming]

Hey! What is this?

Hi there! Thanks for checking out this blog. The name is d8dreaming because it’s basically going to be about my adventures as a white, 25-year-old female living in the US. So freaking original, I know riiight?  But I promise you it’s more than that, too! As any cheesy love story will remind you, you have to love yourself before you can love anyone else. I know that for me, this has been extremely hard to live out. I can find so many things and people to blame for why this is: my mother (bless her heart), society’s ridiculous expectations on women, the countless mind games my inner critic feeds me (bitch), etc.  But this blog isn’t about blaming anyone; rather, it is a place to give space for all the thoughts, feelings, and weirdness this dating world brings up. It’s about trying to love and accept myself through all of it and give myself a voice in the process.  If anyone ever reads this, I hope it is helpful. If no one reads it but me, then I hope I find it helpful.