The Secret Diary of Janey Jones

[Sir_Winston54]

Loathsome....yet i can't look away...

Loathsome? From what point of view???

I think Janey Jones' ongoing narrative of her struggle to find her way through life is extremely brave and ultimately strength-building. If you can't find a way that her search for herself enriches you, perhaps you should look away - permanently.

 

[janeyruth]

Well, Sir Winnie, as the Dude said in The Big Lebowski, "That's just your opinion, man."

 

[sweepthefloor]

Loathsome....yet i can't look away...

There is trauma on the side of the road requiring fast transport to the Level I Trauma Center. The person is bleeding out and bones are busted. You are driving at a slow turtle pace trying to get a piece of the horror to establish your own safety. Emergency Medical Services are right behind you sounding the alarm, and the lights are blazing. :ambulance:

This is human nature. The trauma gets one golden hour to increase the chance of a positive outcome. You don't have to look away. You get two choices: park your car on the other side of the street and keep watching, or get all hands on deck, jump in and begin resuscitative effort. I know what my choice would be.

Well, Sir Winston, as the Dude said in The Big Lebowski, "That's just your opinion, man."

I guess you really like that movie and I fixed your post.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Loathsome? From what point of view???

I think Janey Jones' ongoing narrative of her struggle to find her way through life is extremely brave and ultimately strength-building. If you can't find a way that her search for herself enriches you, perhaps you should look away - permanently.

Thank you.

I have been searching for myself for a long time now. I am looking under pillows and box springs! I am searching in the dryer lint trap.

I stare at the sky and yell at the star that I think is me in the night! I scream: Hey you! Get back here this minute! My voice is small, I can't hear myself so I remain suspended in a way that I can not feel the suspension ropes that keep me hanging.

 

[sweepthefloor]

You know, lack of intuition about whats proper + erections + nursling = one hell of a show.

I just imagined being tutored in neurology. I am still struggling with it!

 

[sweepthefloor]

I am slipping into hot pink rain boots, and slipping into clear rain bonnets, and slipping into chronic wet panties that I deny because I do not want to be the sexual aggressor. I am slipping into slippery self-sex. I slipped into me.

I am slipping on rocks all alone, and I hump the slimy round hard edge when no one is looking. I slip myself off- from the neck up and my mind whispers: put something in my mouth, and I will slip on your manhood, and slip your mind for a minute, or two minutes, or more minutes.

It slipped my mind to remember anything else. I am slippery and disgusting.

Real dirty jeans get slippery after a while too.

 

[eastern sun]

I you.

You are like my daughter's snake, slipping out of her old dry skin and exposing her beautiful freshness only to bury herself in the ground lest she be devoured.

She has stunning and uncanny eyes, too.

 

[PatchIsMe]

It has taken me all afternoon to read the entire thread. I ♥ this. You have a wonderful way with words. Looking for more.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I you.

You are like my daughter's snake, slipping out of her old dry skin and exposing her beautiful freshness only to bury herself in the ground lest she be devoured.

She has stunning and uncanny eyes, too.

I you too. I would like fresh skin, the water has made me rusty and my hair crunchy. I need a mud bath. I will bury myself in the dirt and leave my stunning heart exposed to the sky and wait for some dog to dig me out. When the dog licks my face off, he will see stunning eyes wet from the rescue.

I doubt that will work, but the post-it note stuck to my back isn't working either.

 

[sweepthefloor]

It has taken me all afternoon to read the entire thread. I ♥ this. You have a wonderful way with words. Looking for more.

I am happy you love it. I like words. I am learning to articulate, and I am partially documenting that process here.

I think the next misunderstanding I have with a lover-- I will stop talking, get out my index cards and write sentences. I will hold the cards over my mouth.

And I could spin that into a fantasy: till he slaps me in the face and forces me to speak.

And I could spin that into a fantasy: till he shoves something in my mouth and says: You don't have to say anything at all.

 

[eastern sun]

I am happy you love it. I like words. I am learning to articulate, and I am partially documenting that process here.

I think the next misunderstanding I have with a lover-- I will stop talking, get out my index cards and write sentences. I will hold the cards over my mouth.

And I could spin that into a fantasy: till he slaps me in the face and forces me to speak.

And I could spin that into a fantasy: till he shoves something in my mouth and says: You don't have to say anything at all.

You know the problem with spinning fantasies?

Reality is often disappointing in comparison.

You'll get yours.

 

[janeyruth]

But you have friends. You have a lot of friends. What do you offer your friends to make them supportive? Again, what do you offer your friends to make them supportive? And again, what do you offer them?

 

[Sir_Winston54]

But you have friends. You have a lot of friends. What do you offer your friends to make them supportive? Again, what do you offer your friends to make them supportive? And again, what do you offer them?

She offers up herself, with honesty, and her search for and within herself for us to witness. For some people, seeing the mental morass through which she struggles and her journal of that struggle, it can be an inspiration to work through their own issues and questions - something they would perhaps have been afraid to do without her example.



What do *you* offer to people here, other than judgmentalism and an aura of self-imposed superiority that, from what I can see, is sadly completely unearned?

 

[janeyruth]

a consolidated consciousness resides in a darkened banqueting hall near the ceiling of a mind whose floor shifts like ten thousand cockroaches as a shaft of light enters

all thoughts unite in an instant of accord, your body no longer expellent, as the cockroaches comprise a truth which no one ever utters

did you have a night, then, in which everything was revealed to you? How can you speak again? only the broken hermaphrodite who trusted her/himself alone finds room in reality begging never again to awaken from the nightmare.

they were all there, every last one of them, and they knew your name as you scuttled like a beetle along the backs of their chairs

 

[sweepthefloor]

You know the problem with spinning fantasies?

Reality is often disappointing in comparison.

You'll get yours.

I think I am getting a small dose of reality shoved down my throat, and there is no love making going on around here.

And keep eating this drug that I like-- when I make it all up in my head in bed at night to fall asleep.

The side effects of him wear off, and I am just left with this bruise: that will go away too.

 

[sweepthefloor]

a consolidated consciousness resides in a darkened banqueting hall near the ceiling of a mind whose floor shifts like ten thousand cockroaches as a shaft of light enters

all thoughts unite in an instant of accord, your body no longer expellent, as the cockroaches comprise a truth which no one ever utters

did you have a night, then, in which everything was revealed to you? How can you speak again? only the broken hermaphrodite who trusted her/himself alone finds room in reality begging never again to awaken from the nightmare.

they were all there, every last one of them, and they knew your name as you scuttled like a beetle along the backs of their chairs

I am resilient like a cockroach and I anticipate my hard shell being crushed under some large shoe. It is only a matter of time, and that is the fate of all disgusting cockroaches like me.

 

[sweepthefloor]

While begging inside for his kiss- I turn my head and offer the cheek every single time, waiting for him to rape my mouth like he did that one time before. And all of my lust revolves around that one time. It is not sustainable.

He wanted me then.

 

[sweepthefloor]

As I sit here listening to my ten dollar watch ticking- I hear his ten thousand dollar watch not ticking. I never knew the worth of the 'not tick' till I heard my own tick.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I have ‘prostitute’ written all over my face.

Sunday morning my phone rang and it was my dear friend the plumber. He was yelling into the phone that he has one of his workers at my old house, waiting to move my washing machine to my new house. I forgot.

I covered up the speaker on my phone and scampered out of the bed because I did not want my lover to hear my friend yelling at me.

I raced to my new house to grab my hand-truck because intuitively I guessed this minion worker didn’t have one, and then I raced to my old house. It was true he didn’t have a hand-truck. I guess he thought he was going to carry it up the steps on his back.

I looked like hell with no sleep. I didn’t have any lip-gloss, and I was staring at this over-weight plumber and his large ass crack unhooking my washer.

He gets the washer on the hand-truck and I am like: Do you have a strap? My mind whispers: or what?

He trampled up the steps out to his truck and came back with the strap.

My mind started whispering: What if this big fucker starts beating me with the strap! What if he ties me to this hand-truck and shoves his small cock into my mouth! What if forcing his little prick in my mouth makes him feel large!

I was smiling and laughing, but he didn’t know what was funny.

He gets the thing to the steps and tries to pull it up and he starts grunting. He said: I think I need another guy. I said: I guess I got a pair of work shoes in my car, better than these flip-flops.

So I got on top, and he got on the bottom and I started to pull. He says: I don’t want you to pull it, just control it. We go up three steps and I said: I don’t want to fucking control it. I am sick of controlling it. Do you know what I am talking about? I was nearly hysterical.

My mind was whispering: Of course he doesn’t know what I am talking about. I am a lunatic.

And we stop in the middle and he said: What the fuck are you talking about? His face was all red and sweaty. I imagined his manhood to be very small and easy to swallow. And then I said: Let’s just get to the top before we get hurt. I am weak and might drop this washer on you.

We got to the top and he said: I am glad you brought this dolly. I said: It is not a dolly. It is a hand-truck. I am the dolly.

Then I remembered. He is getting paid. Not by me, but by my friend. He took his time, and then he asked for my number.

I gave him my number. He started to text, so I informed him that I had his pliers safe in my kitchen. He forgot them.

Today I asked him if he wanted to come over and help me move the rest of my stuff with his big truck.

He told me: I will -- if you pay me with sexual favor.

I didn’t respond. I also didn’t move a thing.
I guess I just have that kind of face.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Me: How are you making out with work?
He: I miss your cooking.
Me: Would you like me to cook for the week, and you can just heat it up when you get home from work?
He: I love your cooking.
Me: I love your healthy eating.

My mind whispers: What about the blowjob? And can you get me your lab results from your fasting lipid panel? I need to know your LDL.

And when I first started cooking for him, I was nervous. The way he stood in the kitchen watching me rattled my nerves. The way he picked food out of the pan, circling around me, and even telling me what to do.

Me: Can you get out of here?
He: You kicking me out of my own kitchen woman?
Me: Yes. *blush*

 

[sweepthefloor]

I wear these ballerina flats. It feels like I don’t have any shoes on. I don’t know how to walk anymore and they got ruined. I can’t walk so I crawl back to neglect. It is just easier here. Easy to fall back into the hole in my head, at least I have enough dirt to stuff the hole up with.

And it is all about the dinner, cause he says: any girl can blow me.

 

[sweepthefloor]

My mind whispers: We are not a sex match. That is ok, if you could just beat the drive out of me with your belt…we can make this work better. After that I will continue to focus on cooking your dinners. And we will live happy ever after.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I have a pulse and I am breathing. My eyes blink, and I gag-cough-swallow. My cranial nerves are intact. I do have brain-stem integrity and my wonderful reticular activating system leaves me conscious.

I am conscious according to the neurology textbook, but I am dreaming. I am sleeping inside myself- in the daytime, so please pinch me to wake me up. He did that once.

He did that once: and I was the girl you see running the negative feed back loop. I will refuse to be a bitch, and he will refuse to pinch me, and we will just spin cycle away like a pair of dirty socks in two different washing machines.

You know how easy sock pairs split up. It just happens, and I am not the best mental housekeeper, so we are lost again.

I am circling the washing machine drain hole for pain. The water keeps running but I never fill up and I never get clean.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Well I just got dumped and he blamed it on me.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Apparently I am selfish and that is the first time I ever heard that in my life.