9/25/22

I am adequately hung over right now and I'm not enjoying it. 

This week has felt like one long mind-fuck. At the start of the week, I was pretty ok. I think I've talked about it before, I'm not 100% sure, but my Monday schedule low-key sucks ass, I work until 12 and have a class in Tempe at 1:30, which means I have a little hour break for coffee and a cig or whatever I feel like doing. Which is usually what I end up doing. But, as I'm broke and have no license I take the shuttle from Phoenix to Tempe, and the SHUTTLES FUCKING SUCK. The drivers just like don't care about anything, they're mean, they take the longest way possible every time, and they quite literally just fuck everything up for everyone. So Monday, they come every 15 minutes, so I was waiting for the one to leave at 12:45, giving me 45 minutes to take the shuttle and walk to class in Tempe, accounting for any hiccups, and still make it there on time. But this time, for some fucking reason, the 12:30 and 12:45 left at the time, so everyone who was trying to catch the one at 12:45 had to wait until 1:00, but, as I said, EVERYONE who missed the shuttle was trying to catch the next one, as well as the people who meant to catch the 1:00 shuttle, all trying to get on at the same time. What does this result in? Not having enough seats! They were all "oh, we don't let people stand you'll have to wait until the next shuttle" MOTHER FUCKER I am not waiting I already waited please cordially suck my big fat juicy cock. No, I got off the shuttle and walked home, blasting COBRA in my earbuds and emailing my professor that I'm missing class. But on the plus side, I got to not go to class :). But that literally wasn't even the worst part but ill sum the rest up so we can discuss other matters.

I got in a fight with one of my professors because I did everything I was supposed to do and she didn't communicate the actual criteria and wanted to blame it on me. So basically, I know I've talked about what a tech pack is (the thing designers turn in to seamstresses to assemble the garment), we have to make one for a pair of jeans, a button-up, a T-shirt, dress pants, and a blazer. She, the professor, sent out a shopping list for what was needed, including all those garments we have to buy ourselves, and the things each garment have to have to be used for the assignment. This week was the one for the denim jacket, too which I bought, granted, a pretty lightweight, but the only requirements were a hemmed sleeve cuff on long sleeves, a collar, and a chest pocket. But when I submitted the jacket made of denim to my professor for approval, she did not approve. I have three theories as to why she has such a large stick up her has;

She wasn't clear about the requirements but has too much of an ego to admit I'm not in the wrong,

She was perfectly clear but expected me to read between lines and know exactly what she wanted despite not clarifying.

She has never been loved and wants to make me suffer.

She's also fucking french and a fashion professor if that says anything about the kind of person she is. But basically, she told me she wasn't going to grade my assignment because it wasn't the right kind of jacket. I told her I'm broke, it was the cheapest jacket, it met all the requirements, and as I still don't have a laptop, I've been walking 20 minutes to campus to use the only computer with adobe and excel, and I've been trying too hard in life right now to continue getting shit on by the universe. The universe and I have had so much beef since the start of the retrograde. Broken laptops, spilled coffees, angry professors, 12jhukm,. (cats walking on the laptop),  but worst of all is the way it's punishing relationships. Which is the meat of what I really wanted to discuss. 

I am not a slut. There's a certain perception of me that I think is what is largely communicated amongst myself and people who don't know me. I think it really started during high school, when I downloaded Grindr I exposed myself to the hypersexuality of so many gay men all at once, I forced myself into a mindset of connecting my worth to my appearance and my sexuality. The way my body plays a role in my life is something I've grappled with since I was around nine. I noticed my rolls as I sat on the ground, the way my belly folded under my own weight, I noticed the way my calves swung if they were hanging downwards, or the slenderness of my arms, the way the upper and lower half of my body didn't feel connected. These things pile up inside my head, and the more my own sexuality is forced upon me before I'm ready, the comments from family members and friends, the touches, the pictures, I got this idea of how everyone is seeing me, and the role I play. I begin paying more attention to myself and my body, how it looks, how I can make it look better. So once I got to Grindr, I was already well endowed in the thought process of equating my body to my worth and my sexuality to my life. What makes it hard, and relevant currently, is that I've never actually felt very sexual. Whether it's a result of the trauma from previous experiences, the way my brain works, or something else, when it comes down to it, sex doesn't feel like it's for me. What's more, I really only have an interest in actually pursuing meaningful connections with people, emotional intimacy over physical. But that's where it becomes convoluted, I don't like to have sex frequently, even less when I don't know them, but how else do I find my worth? When the sexiest I can feel is knowing my body is still wanted, to be looked at and touched, how do I navigate that, and wanting a relationship, when it really feels like everyone else only wants the former? I'm not a slut because I have sex, or talk about sex, or think about sex. I'm not a slut because I have an onlyfans or twitter. I'm a slut because I think people aren't used to people with boundaries. I can post a video of my masturbating on my only fans, or a picture of me in a towel on my snapchat story, and not be a slut. Because what it boils down to is that I know myself. I know what I want and, I think, I know who I am. I'm not a slut because I look like one, I'm a slut because that's what people expect of me. Groom a 9 year old with sex and constant questions about what gender he wants to fuck, he's going to end up thinking about sex more than he wants to, let alone more than he needs. Now a decade later you have an almost 20 year old man whos never been in a serious relationship because he refuses to let his relationships exist on the basis of sex, but a man whos a slut because you can see his underwear peaking over his jeans, who likes to talk about art that represents these thoughts in a complex manner, like, my love, John Galliano.

That's all I have for today, I love you all very much, I'm so glad I got to post two weeks in a row again, that hasn't happened for a while. I hope you all had and have fantastic weeks, I hope your luck is better than mine and seemingly everyone else around me right now. Mom, I'm sorry for talking about masturbating. Love you,

~Christian Reid.