I have not really felt like sharing deeply personal things in a while. It's hard to share intimate thoughts when that seems to be what equally attracts and repels people. It's as though people are drawn to the rawness, but when they get too close to it, they cannot stand the carnage. I warn them they don't want to get close. It is not a self-fulfilling prophecy, it is the pattern I see. Maybe, I'm just designed to be alone, to stand ever independent. When I AM alone, I really don't mind it at all. On the surface, I feel that separation, that longing. But underneath, I'm comfortable. It makes me wonder if the whole relationship thing is just a habit that has been forced upon me, wonder if I've been acting out a part that doesn't really suit me. And the more I think about it, the more comfortable I become with solitude. I see that sex has always been a technical pursuit...one that I have studied and discussed and put what I learned into practice--much practice. Despite my mastery of sexual arts (aside from seduction...I am probably the least seductive woman on Earth), I rarely actually ENJOY sex. My mind is always more fixated on the mechanics of what I'm doing than it is on experiencing. Oh...but when a guy speaks to my intellect and draws me in with witty banter, somehow I forget that I'm not made for such a profound relationship. My heart goes all aflutter, like I'm some foolish teenager, and I'm drawn in like a moth to a flame. Perhaps I should leave little sticky notes everywhere... ..."I am the Titanic; this ship WILL sink. Don't leave the port."