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I hereby do solemnly swear in the name of all things Glorious and Good that I, Alison Berreman, will not enter a relationship of false or unclear intent with Kenneth Burnette, or anyone else for that matter.

Prior to our current entanglement, I told him of The Josh Situation, as it related to my previous relationship. So, unless he has forgotten, he surely knows. He, of course, advised against the situation. As have many of my friends. Especially the men.

But then, this girl listens only to her gut, unless having expressly asked for advice. So, I shall continue. It aligns with my personal value system, and with my notion of who "I" am (regardless of what I've read in the Tao te Ching).

However, as I am want to do, I have no intentions of ending my current relationship with Ken. Instead, I will make no commitment to him without first having the discussion that, "hey, you know, I've got this other thing that may or may not be going on, so I'll commit to only banging or being intimate with you, so long as you accept that come the end of May, I'll most likely be bouncin', and so long as you do not ask me to stop communication with Josh."

But man. There was that girl at the library who I didn't call because he didn't want me to, and that girl from the bar and from campus who every time we see each other I can't help but smile the biggest, dumbest smile you've ever seen. I almost stopped and asked her for her name again today, but I told Ken I wouldn't do these things
So I didn't.
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Oh lord. It had been hardly more than a week before I hopped on another fucking dick. Jesus. I will always find some way to justify it, but here goes this one.

He likes me. He likes the way I'm inwardly focused. He likes the way I think about things. He likes to be around me and do things with me, and it doesn't have to be exciting. He have good conversations. We're "on the same page". Mostly, except that he doesn't like country. And doesn't really like to analyze the fuck out of some literature. But he likes to read.
And he's got that hair. That beautiful, beautiful hair. Coarse, black, curly. He's like a Brian-Roger-Nate mash up. It's hawt. Fit as fuck, too.

He does yoga and studies Taoism and Buddhism and somehow it doesn't make me cringe. He writes well and loves nature and "gets" feelings. He's chill where I'm neurotic.

The only bad thing is the sex. For some reason it doesn't work out. Maybe it's that I JUST got out of a relationship, and I'm freaked out about having the first new dick in my vag in a year and a half and it's weird. If it would have been just once, it would have been different maybe. But then he persisted and we've spent like four nights together since last week, and all of a sudden there's all these feelings, and I'm not ready for the feelings yet. But I like him. Being around him is easy and the conversations are stimulating. I feel more like me, in a lot of ways. I feel like he'll accept feelings. So I try to express them. I force out of my mouth my insecurities. But then we're fucking and I feel bored. Or self conscious. Or both. I'm good at banging, but for some reason, with him I get all hyper aware and weird. I have had to stop mid bang twice, half freaked out and half turned off.
If I'm real, part of it is his dick. I mean. It's not small, per se, so much as Elijah was 6'6 and was proportionate. You know? Which then I feel weird for having a loose pussy. Like I'm a failure if I cant get this guy to come after I get too wet and the friction disappears. Jesus.
But he's leaving today for Yellowstone til Monday, and I'm glad for the break. He was sad about it, like it was some big deal to be gone for four days.

I think I've fucked up by dating so many people. Not that we're dating. Not yet, anyway. But I think it is a mistake because it hardens you and highers your expectations. I've dated so many fucking people, I can find a flaw in each one and someone else who didn't have that flaw. So no one ever stacks up. And sex with so many people means the sex could always be better. Someone comes too fast. Someone doesn't come at all. Someone fears touching my ass. Someone touches my ass too much.
Whatever.
I'm numb. I'm too feeling.
I'm empty. I'm full.
I'm everything all at once.
And though I am mulling it over, analyzing it, feeling it,
it's not touching my center
or it's touching my center, and I'm okay with it.
What I'm saying is,
I'm okay. I'm just learning. I have conflict, but conflict that I can handle. The good kind.
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My mom sent me a link to some shit, "30 signs you're an empath", and I was like, "Duh, ma, I'm empathic as fuck. PSYCH(IC)!" but then I realized, that's exactly what I was trying to say in my last entry. Or at least part of it. I often can't tell if I am loving or if I am feeling love vibes. I often can't tell if I feel something or if I am simply feeling what other people are feeling. A big ol' sponge.
But then, somehow, the opposite of a sponge.
I feel feel feel everything all of the time, to the point where relationships of all kinds are taxing as fuck (unless I put out my feels shield, but then no one likes the frigid bitch that turns me into and I lose the friends), but simultaneously am the most disagreeable person ever.

Nearly all of my characteristics could be said to be the worst, weakest, nastiest qualities, or the best. I have "refined tastes", or maybe I'm pretentious. I'm empathetic, or maybe I'm "too sensitive". I'm political, or maybe I'm PC. I'm independent, or maybe I'm frigid. I'm reserved, or maybe I'm awkward. I'm accommodating, or maybe I'm indecisive. I'm contemplative, or maybe I'm withdrawn. I'm serious, but maybe I'm just no fun.
Or I'm just everything all at once and who gives a fuck. Can't please everyone
so might as well pleasure my self
;)
GITFUCKED
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I love often, and truly, if not always deeply. I enjoy nothing more than to lay my head on that soft spot between someone's arm and chest, to give phenomenal back rubs and orgasms, to provide for people a sense of total acceptance and love, pouring affection on those parts, internal and external, that others might not think so beautiful. I love to make dinner, and treats, and bring home little gifts. I love to forgive, to compromise. I love to tell people about how damn good they look, or feel, or behave. I love having that person, or people, with whom you stop watching what you're saying, stop feeling like something you say is going to fuck everything up.
I want to endlessly give and nurture and love.
I love to love. But then, I mean love like a verb. The noun is something much different. I can act the part, love the part, totally fucking relish in it - so much so that almost every single time I forget that I'm acting it. Because when you have it, you usually act it, too. The acting it is the part that builds and maintains relationships. It's the part people can see. And I love those relationships and my actions so much that it often takes a very long time to realize that the noun version of love - the kind I dont know if you can articulate - that, I don't have. I feel love because I am doing love and I empathize so totally with the people I am loving, but the empathy, that's not love. At least, it's not being in love.
I want to always have someone to touch and to care for. To impart all of my tenderness towards.
I dont serial date because I want another person to love me. I serial date because I want to love someone else. Everyone else.
So right now I have Ken, and I'm crossing my fingers that it stays on this friends with benefits train. It seems ideal. All the tenderness, all of the dick, none of the man-eating bullshit I end up pulling erry other day.
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I am not sure how to feel about this whole situation.
Breakfast, a hike. Cuddles in the night.
I want the cuddles. I want the hike. I want the breakfast.
But I want no relationship.
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sonnielee
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