Slipping, slipping.

I'm okay. I'm doing okay.

But I'm on the edge.

I can feel it. I can see it.

It's a terrifying thing, this cliff edge.

I've started writing erotica to deal with the emptiness of depression.

I feel like I can most accurately access pure eroticism when all my feelings are gone.

It was something stupid that triggered it, today.

I was curious about a relatively new actor, so I looked him up.

He had pursued his dream of acting despite his wealthy parents' wishes, and got cut off as a result.

I didn't. I wanted to act. I had a dream. But I let myself be bullied into going backstage to appease my mother.

When I was back for Christmas I ran into an old family friend. He looked a bit nuttier than he did before he lost his newspaper. His hair was long and unkempt, and he had a toque perched on the top at what would have been a rakish angle for any other hat, but with toques, it just looks silly.

He asked what I was doing. I told him. He shook his head.

"I always thought you'd be in front of the curtain, Rosie," he said. So did I. It made me sad to hear it from someone else.

The other thing that depressed me about this particular actor was that he was two years younger than me. He's been successful, and he's two years younger.

He's also married, but that's a minor note.

I get lonely sometimes, but I'm okay being single.

Single is better than being in a poly relationship, in my mind.

(DISCLAIMER: I have no problem with polyamorous folk. I'm just monogamous. Tried the poly thing, and for me, it sucked.)

What was I talking about?

I can't remember.

I got stoned and ate some crackers and I feel okay.

Now I'm going to lay in bed and watch the Ph1neas and Furb movie.

Because I'm THAT cool.

.

Rosie.

Before&After