Always I think I don't need White Stripes. I don't need Mr. White, right? It ends up not working out that way. Perhaps I was too much about the Stripes all the time. Listening to the Dead Weather in my car. Last night I had a choice. I could plug into Discworld and go to sleep, or sharpen the pain of separation and listen to JW. You know who won.
So I woke up hungover and cleaned the kitchen. What a lame way to live, but what can I do? To know is to want. And to want is to make the want more intense. I could ignore it. Ignore the thoughts. But to what end? I'm madly in love with the best husband ever. I want to ride him. I want him to climb on and fuck me. I want to hold him in my mouth, and be sitting in front of him on a chair. If I push that aside so that I can think rationally, what will I get. I have to martyr my emotions to be this wife.
Sometimes I feel I drink too much while my knight is away. I don't do it to forget. I drink to sharpen the edge of desire. I drink to make the cut into my body and soul clean, the blood fresh, the heal easy. I open wide for my knight to heal me when he comes home. I am saved from the blade.
