Ernica de Guzman's web floordrobe
Queen, courtesan, and patron of the arts
So sometimes when I feel something, anything, say for example, sadness, I question myself if I’m really feeling it or is it like a reflex because I know people are supposed to be sad after something bad happens. And the fact that I’m consciously questioning myself while I feel said emotion scares me. And I’m just feeling scared because I know that’s not normal.
And what the fuck is your problem? I try to be nice to you but WTH dude.
So I call the boy, while crying, and I try to tell him what my problem is without really telling what it is.
"There’s nothing wrong with your life! You get laid all the time!" he says.
And I keep crying.
"You get what you want all the time!" he tells me.
"I think there’s only one thing I want and I don’t have it," I tell him.
And he tries to shake it out of me. And when I think he has given up, he says, “Grab a pen and paper and let’s deconstruct this!”
At once I’m afraid. He’s a fucking Philosophy major who won best thesis and got an instant job offer, for chrissakes. But I find a pen and a paper anyway.
So we try to deconstruct at 11 at night. And all of the other problems come pouring in.
And I keep crying.
For some reason, he finds this as the perfect opportunity to tell me he still likes me.
"Why do you think I’m staying with you?"
“‘Cause you don’t have a choice,” I say automatically.
"That’s not it."
"I know you like someone else."
"You really don’t know, do you?"
"But I’m still blocked in your Facebook!"
"But that’s Facebook!"
And so, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the boy has deconstructed my problem without really knowing it. I just wasn’t telling whose.
Sherlock and Irene spending a weekend in a boat in deep ocean (probably during the Great Hiatus) and they have some smutty swim at night ;)
"So why have you decided to kidnap me and keep us in the middle of the ocean on a yacht that you stole?" Irene drawled lazily as she basked in the sun, her sunglasses perched on her nose as she bathed naked, right before him as he steered the boat with no real destination in mind just yet. He knew exactly where they were though. His eyes raked over her golden skin from the sun and smiled a little, not answering her question. It was quite fun being a fugitive, he had to admit and he was slowly understanding why she liked it so much, why she liked being on the run. But the days they had spent together on this boat were really quite satisfying and sadly, drawing to a close. They had work to do and they couldn’t stay there forever. He watched her pick up a strawberry from the bowl next to her and pop it into her mouth, her sweet lips sucking on the fruit before she devoured it easily, licking the juices off her lips without so much as opening her eyes. She was dangerous for him and brought out far too many sexual thoughts and actions from him. The only reason he was excusing it was because they were not in London. His brow lifted as she looked up to him with an accusing stare. "Is this where you murder me?" She asked and he merely smirked at her, moving his gaze from her and looking back out to sea. He had the pleasure of listening to her chuckle before she went back to bathing in the sun, once again closing her eyes so he could stare at her without her accusing him of perving. That had happened a few times, once in a very public cafe in the middle of Budapest where she, of course, exclaimed it in Hungarian, just so everyone would understand her. He had to take her back to the hostel to punish her for such behaviour.
The boy is alive. His back and shoulders are burnt but he’s alive. And thankfully not so suicidal anymore. He said he wants me to join him in his next climb. I feel I’ll say yes.
Ever since I find out you’re in another island group, I feel like being anywhere but here.
"How are you?"
"What’s been going on in your life?"
Here it goes…
I’ve been so busy. I’m involved in several volunteer organizations (HCSY, TLW, LDLK) and KNN is back so yay! I’m also being groomed to be a board member in STAA and I’ve been assigned to maintain the STAA website.
Regular day job’s finally becoming more exciting. Aside from that, regular rakets from SPOT and Pacifiqa. And other non-regular writing rakets, too.
On top of all of that, I also have to worry about the boy who is currently LITERALLY missing somewhere in the Sierra Madre. His last text was that there was a wildfire and they were not allowed to go down yet and that I shouldn’t worry because he’s safe. If he’s lying about it, I don’t even think I care anymore. Do I worry? Of course I do. Will I stop caring anytime soon? Maybe.
If he dies, I’ll sell his GCs and move on with my life. What’s another death, eh? Will I miss him? Of course I will. Do I want him back? I don’t know.
But there’s just so much to do and no time left for worrying or caring.
It’s only when my media player goes bust or the streaming stops when I’m eating that I remember him, that I remember everything, and I’m sad.