Barista by day, Slut by night

I might be a little tipsy right now. I did always like it when writers are unusually upfront and uncensored, maybe that's how some of us get there.

So to be clear, I am an ethical slut, directly appropriated from Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy without shame. Being polyamorous is very new to me, and here is the thing, it seems to be deeply unsatisfying so far. Wait... to be fair I'm not really having sex with many people yet, so this is an early assessment, but within a long waiting period figuring out if this lifestyle truly works for me and the pandemic, I'm ready to find out!

I spend way too much time on my phone, hoping texts from lovers will ding away my existentialism. It's devastating that my coworkers are constantly on theirs making my quiet time into a tedious job to being mindful everyday. I know it's all about my own emotional and spiritual health, but let's be honest, who am I without some weed and attention from boys? Just an insecure barista trying to make it as an artist. hahaha I do like making art, but have never made something I am seriously proud of, and I love writing, but my writing could use more than a couple of harsh words of feedback. The one thing I've always had going for me was the ability to be raw and disgustingly unfiltered. Unfortunately, that's not a great look on my resume, and most people find it unlady-like. Maybe they like it at first, as an entertaining yet uncomfortable but often it becomes a quirk they are glad to rid themselves of. I'm ready for friendship. Yes, I'm a horny motherfucker.... meaning yes, I would even fuck your mom.... There I go being disgustingly genuine... but what I REALLY want is friendship. The thing is that my personality has suffered from unquestionable doubt, fierce adventure through 5 different cities and roughly 13 dicks and 1 pussy. Being that what is left over is just a gal who thought was very special but is more like a Picasso; drawing people in while offending them to their core. Honestly, I'm ok with this, thanks only to my meditation practice once a week and the desire to shoot myself but never really having the balls to... or rather never having the drive to even acquire a gun or pills.

The truth is that there's a balance to the existential crisis I deal with on a daily. While I wish there was something to ease my worried of a doomsday and also of my relentless desire to become a mother, there isn't, and I find ironic poetic justice in being humorous about it. To be writing this fulfills the need of friends, the need of children, the desire of sex. Because really all those things come down to connection, which I'm glad to get through the description of my pain in brutal honesty. Not sure if it's within the spare chuckles of others, or the scarce support of family, but it's enough to keep trying. We have to find a way to make it together, or we won't make it at all, right?

In the end, this is what it all comes down to... Laziness.

Yes, I would say so.

Fear has a real part in it too, they are bonded and have become better partners in crime than me and my vibrator. So, in all realness, here I am, hoping to make friends, where does an adult make these?

My employment has often been with a crowd which kindly enjoys my insanity from a distance, as a way to relieve the boring weight of a job they are unhappy with. That's probably not true, but it is how it feels when every day is a boring copy of the last, and no one can make a sex joke in front of a supervisor. Why is it that I'm so obsessed with sex? Is it my mothers inability to cover my eyes during those scenes in my childhood? I supposed the filtering of media might have tamed some of my desires, but it would have also kept my imagination quite timid. This thing is unleashed! It has no boundaries and no respect for others offense. I keep trying to figure out what career could go best for me and it only seems appropriate to find one with zero censorship, but I want to make children's books.... HELP PLZ.

In conclusion, it's evident that I'm likely to spend the rest of my life behind a cash register or a dirty rag, whipping down a table. Somehow, I am poetic enough to be okay with this! but, if I don't find a way to connect with other people during my time off, someday the pills might just be too close to my hand. This is my attempt to remind everyone out there that they aren't alone. Yes, that costumer was a f***hole to you... YES you are unique and we are out here are curious about your talents. YES YOU MIGHT HAVE TO LET PEOPLE KNOW WHERE THE NAPKINS ARE 5,000 MORE TIMES. At least you're not alone. We are here together, apart, but close in our hearts.

Thank you for reading... I really needed to get this out.