Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in tuendy's LiveJournal:

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Wednesday, October 17th, 2007
11:22 pm	There's something I'd like to say here I'd like to say it from the perspective of a few years later, reading these entries as a stranger to myself. Here is what I want to make clear: There are very few entries here that are entirely factual.  When I began this journal, I intended it to be false - about the things I didn't do, about the things I wouldn't do but could have.  Along the way, that morphed some.  Some of the entries are true things I thought - but with a twist.  I did indeed meet this person, and then I imagined the rest of the encounter.  I did indeed consider this action, and then imagined what would happen.  I did indeed discover this thing, and then I imagined how it could have come about.  Some of the entries are entirely true. This journal comes from a time in my life when I was discovering my sexuality for the first time.  I was very concerned with what sex means, what it means to touch another person, how it feels to be admired and wanted.  I spent a great deal of my time thinking about these things and being delighted.  That's not wrong or strange. These entries certainly have meaning.  They are not false to who I was.  They are also not who I was. That use of my journal - I don't need it anymore.  When I explore my sexuality, I do it in comfort and love and security.  In John, I have a confidant and partner for all of my imaginings and enjoyments.  When I explore my sensuality, I do my best to do it lovingly and considerately. I think my original idea was a nifty one, but one that I am not the right person to follow through on.  I'm not into writing fiction except very occasionally - I want to live my life as it is and rejoice in that.  Every day, I choose how to react to situations, how to interpret conversations, how to live and present myself to the world.  If I made other choices, I would end up in a different world, and that world could be secondhelix.  But... I don't want to dwell on a world that's not the best it can be, and I do my absolute best to make the right choices, to set course by the stars of my values. I think I no longer have a use for this journal.  I'll leave it here, but I don't expect to make any more entries.  Maybe I'll find a need for it again someday.  Thanks for reading, and for your care. Here are some things that were truly true about this journal: It is so wonderful to sleep together with a person. I do love to be touched. A little bit of pain is quite the thing. Einar taught me a lot about myself, and I value our relationship. People are beautiful creatures. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 17th, 2004
11:47 am	a picture to best gain the proper perspective, rearrange the underwear so they're facing the correct way first, and then figure out which are legs and which is belly. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, February 16th, 2004
9:20 pm	when you think of bruises do you think of abuse? am I a battered woman because of the bitemarks inside my thighs? I gasped and squirmed away from him, close to him, so that he couldn't bite again, so that he could reach new skin. and when he pulled back the skin and breathed hot hot air on my manytimesthatday fucked clit I was already dripping wetness. He stopped the barelythere movement of his tongue to close his teeth on the skin that isn't on the leg and isn't in the groin and they scraped against my skin and I shook. You can't count the bruises. Today they brushed against each other and hurt just a little bit and I shivered just a little bit my eyes almost closed for just a second. (15 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, January 18th, 2004
12:28 am	melancholic so she's asking me what's wrong and I won't answer her seriously of course not I'll laugh it off every time. I can't guarantee that there's anything wrong. Maybe it's that the world's been rainy or that I feel dirty and too warm or too cold or a persistent yeast infection maybe it's that I have problems remembering to take my birth control and maybe it's that I haven't done my work yet. and all I know is that what I want is too far away. I want him to hold my hand for just a second. I've been making plans with other people and that's not what I want. Neither do I want prickly corneas. She's seeing it when I want the people to go away and know that I shouldn't and say nothing. She's seeing it when I take my sweater off and put my sweater on and turn the heat up and down. and she's seeing it when I sit with my back to the room. Maybe if she stopped asking, I could stop seeing that, too. Something's wrong. I wish it weren't while it is, all I can do is try to hold myself like I know he'd hold me. and close my eyes and turn my back to the room. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, December 4th, 2003
8:45 am	This is how you can recognize me. My hair is brown and straighter than straight. I wear it down so that I can swing it. My shoulders are broad and wellmuscled. This trend continues in my arms. My breasts are large and pendulous. They bounce when I run. My waist is high and small. My eyes are more huge than they are any colour. I tend to look at people I want to like me with my head tilted. My hips smooth into my legs without any difficulty. My hands are small for my size. My back creases in the center. The muscles on either side stand out. I pimple on my chin and forehead. There are scars from picking. I wear my pants large and torn at the bottom. I wear backpacks low. My calves make shadows on themselves when tensed in the sun. The bottoms of my feet are always dirty. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 11th, 2003
10:25 am	So, thinking today, here's what I thought: he hates rings, I hate rings. Sucks to the rings. Let's exchange kittens. With this kitten, I thee wed. Don't tell me that kittens die. I know that. Like gold is permanent either? When the kittens are gone, when the cats are gone, when the fur carpets soaking up the sun are gone I'll still have him. (14 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, October 22nd, 2003
7:53 am	nude modeling. The secondtolast pose was flat out on the back, left foot tucked under top of right calf, hands under head, head resting on ground at a slight backwards angle. The window was open. for the full 25 minutes, chills were playing up and down my stretchedout skin. I'm sure you could have seen had you been watching. I'm sure a slight shivering happened on the belly. In that position, full breasts sink into themselves and make jello shapes. In that cold, nipples poke. Once I started imagining that the chills were not caused by cold but by hands, it was very very difficult to stop. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, September 28th, 2003
2:55 pm	This morning He complained sometime last night that his ankles hurt from kickboxing. I'd curled under the thinness of the fleece blanket alone for a halfhour before he returned, and of course I was freezing. I stole his body heat all night. By morning I was ready to throw off the blankets and switch head and feet so that my left leg sprawled over his chest while I knuckled his ankles and scratched the soles of his feet provocatively. It's possible. My skin is pale against his middleeastern blood. Egyptian? Saudi? Beautiful. He admired the musculature in my leg with both hands and twitched satisfactorily when I hit spots. If my skin breathed, it would have been steaming in the cold cold air. I gradually cooled. His calf muscles melt smoothly into that silky place immediately below and behind the anklebones. His Achilles tendon is perfectly shaped and the callouses on his soles are clean. I brushed my hair in front of the mirror and when I stretched, he slipped arms in from behind and nosed at my neck. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, September 26th, 2003
10:14 pm	touchy When I'm sick, my usual barriers break down and the energy that usually maintains them goes into getting well. Usually I do not want things that I can't have yet... not for more than a little bit. Usually if I did, I wouldn't talk about that. These are private wantings. I love and have loved a great deal. being in love is entirely different. I am ready for us to be stable in our lifestyles and I am ready to have loved him for years. I am ready to have children and love them and teach them and watch them for hours and days and weeks and years. I am ready to feel milk building up in my breasts. I am ready to wash babies and wrinkle my nose at their messes and have frizzy hair. I am ready for stretch marks from pregnancy. I am eager for a family. I am ready to vaccuum his living room and to launder his sheets and to eat dinner on my own placemats and wash the dishes together afterwards while letting him learn to love simon and garfunkel. We'll sing along to every song and sometimes harmonize. I am ready to conserve my money to build a life that we want and I am ready to look forward to coming home to my place every night. I am ready to retreat into a world that we build to be together in. I am ready to sleep with him breathing next to me every night and I am ready to walk out of the shower and change to the tune of his appreciative eyes. I am ready to watch his hands follow his eyes to my growing belly. I am ready to laugh helplessly at name suggestions and I am ready to complain about the horrors of pregnancy. I am ready to be afraid when the contractions start because I know that he'll be holding my hand and smoothing the hair from my eyes. I'm ready to bring problems to him and let him help me solve anything. I'm ready to sit in the circle of light from a lamp and discuss anything. I am ready to own esoteric books and to scold him for leaving wires scattered places. I am ready to fold clothing hot from the dryer on our bed and to choose which shampoo to buy. I want to have him more often in my presence than he is in my thoughts. I want to be so used to him that I can not pay attention to him. I want to be able to read together and sit side by side at separate computers sending ims. I want to be childish when we go out to see movies and laugh and laugh at the same jokes. I want to bring him to family dinners. I want my grandmother to love him. I am ready to be unable to imagine my life without him. I know that I'm not ready. I enjoy my life now beyond belief. Sometimes, though, I'm impatient. I live in any moment that I happen to be in and do that well. This moment happens to be a moment in which the future is allimportant. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, September 8th, 2003
9:58 pm	wrestling when people who don't wrestle see it for the first time, hear it, experiment, there's almost always giggling. You want me to kneel WHERE? MOUNT you? What?! I was in his guard. He's beautiful and strong and lots of the things I want to be he was explaining and absentmindedly brushed several strands hair from my face. I lost track of the explanation for a moment, realizing where I was and with whom. A tingly moment and then an internal headshake and an admonition to self to pay attention. his explanation never faltered. I wonder what he was thinking. (Comment on this)
Thursday, September 4th, 2003
2:56 pm	email from me to him from me to everyone. The story of yesterday includes delightful skinnydipping in rather cold water that did not diminish the obvious attraction that the body of one Brady felt for that of Jean. She giggled inwardly. He, having a total lack of bodyfat, shivered and shivered when he got out of the water. Taking pity (and inwardly delighting), she warmed him fulllengthily until a man appeared on the other side of the river and their bare buttocks went flashing through the woods. More giggling. He laughed and asked her if she were... seeing anyone, and grew delightfully frustrated at the confusing sorts of answers she delighted in giving. He nipped at her ear while laughing and couldn't resist, later, stopped at a stoplight, turning around to attempt to steal kisses. Green means go, Brady. There's this thing I do, right? I meet a boy, and I am my most Jean ever until I find out that he likes me (like, LIKES me). At that point, I go PHEW inwardly and start to discourage overmuch attachment. I watch in mirrored surfaces for him to watch me while I walk away, but would be more discouraging later if he did, though I'm disappointed if he doesn't. What do you think about that? Do you do it too? I figured you'd been skinny dipping - jean swimming in underwear sounds wrong. Sounds like a good time, though a bit of a tease ;-) I've seen the thing you do. Or, rather, heard about it. I find it interesting as to what it could mean, as you were not your most jean when you met me, but continue to be more and more jean each time we spend time together. This seems to go opposite of what you normally do. This is easily explicable. I knew already that I didn't particularly like you when I met you first. In addition, I do not do as well with people when I am introduced to them. I prefer to meet people on my own. I'm not sure what I think about it, exactly. I shall venture a guess as to why you do it, though. I think you fear people not liking you, as you've made yourself. People not liking Jean. Because of this, you shower them with how wonderful Jean is when you first meet them. I think the reason I don't know exactly what I feel about that is because I think that eventually, and eventually being soon, someone will be hurt by this, and because of that, you'll be hurt too. I think that you'll find that in college, where everyone is new and there are no premade friendships, there will be many more sad Ryan type faces than the other places you've been. Even still, I wouldn't want you to change. I think that fear is too strong a word. I don't like it when people exclude me from their lives when I WANT IN. I want YOU to love me so that you'll let me love you. Needing love isn't just about being loved... it's all about being allowed to express your own without things turning weird. I have a need to love and to be loved. Constantly. I think that in a right world there would be no sad ryan faces. I attempt to live in a right world and draw other people in with me. How do you think I can avoid hurting people? to you, specifically... Heard about it? I am curious. (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, August 14th, 2003
2:21 pm	rewrite. My version. They'd met again, of course. And of course his arm fit comfortably in a curving line that ended on her stomach or thigh if she turned slightly to listen with an ear against his chest for his heartbeat. His heart beat. She listened. Two heart beats graphed on two clear planes. Two sin sorts of waves. Offset. The intersection is predictable and comfortable. A mad scientist moves the transparencies of the two graphs linearally. When they match, he'll ducttape the edges and move linearally towards insanity, considering how two lines are one line. Two lives are one life. They'd meet again, of course. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 12th, 2003
2:18 pm	the first weeks I don't know what you do. When I meet a boy, I picture living with him for the rest of my life. With him, a mechanic, I'd make iced tea and talk calmly about mathematics over dinner. With him, a farmer, I'd bake, grow country muscles, know all my neighbors intimately and comfortably and build fences with him. With him, a cityman, I'd go to museums and libraries. I'd decorate our home precisely and probably have few children. Every him is a different lifestyle, and I can see myself living all of them. Every him seems like a perfect life, ESPECIALLY especially in the first weeks after I've met him. We're still learning about each other. No habits have become annoying, every delightful thing is being discovered. He is always perfect for me in the first few weeks. Always. After that, I fall into friendship with him or dating with him. It just happens. It's never planned which way it'll go. Dating relationships break up when they have to, amicably. Friendships renew themselves when I see him again. It's lasted beyond the first couple of weeks. I've already pictured the rest of my life with him, just like I've pictured the rest of my life with each one of you. it's a good picture. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, July 18th, 2003
2:00 pm	did that really happen? really? oh goodness. phantasmagoric means filled with a progression of dreamlike and odd things. (7 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, June 2nd, 2003
11:17 pm	That's not a definition of tacky I expected. Sounds like you mean tactless. I agree that what I write might hurt someone somewhere someday, but I think that I am saying honest things, and the intention behind my writing them is not to hurt. I suppose that that's a dilemma people have to work out for themselves, how much bluntness and saying what you mean in interesting and/or possibly offensive ways is appropriate in any given situation. As for possible audience? I'm satisfied with what I've said and been saying on lj. I think that I am living my life in a good way. If the people who are reading about it or seeing in person what's happening think that something about the way I'm living life is wrong or bad, I'm alright with that. I'd rather have them know and be able to talk about it than try to hide whatever it is. Maybe I'll agree that it's wrong and change; maybe I won't agree. I know that people who disagree on things can still be friends, can still be family, can still love each other. I realize, of course, that too much graphicness is upsetting. The purpose of secondhelix is to make reading about some parts of my life a choice. I don't know if any children are ever really comfortable with talking openly about sex with their parents. Maybe they are. I'm not at this time - not detailedly, not like I do with my friends or on secondhelix. I didn't tell or plan to tell you about the journal because I thought and now know that you wouldn't want to read it. I'd prefer that you (plural) don't. Mystery? I thought the point of relationships was to dispell mystery and discover who the other person you're interacting with is. I will, of course, be thinking more about what I'm writing now. I don't know if I'll attach more of an internal censor to it. I value bluntness sometimes more than tact. I'll be more aware of it, though. I do, I really do appreciate your concern. I feel, though, like you're expecting me to conform to your vision of me as your daughter. I am that, of course, but I'm also just me. I know that's the eternal teenager's complaint. I like who I am, complete with a certain level of tactlessness and a sexlife. Right. I'll be thinking about what I'm saying. love, jean. Iceland Review recently noted a case where five lambs were born to one ewe. They cited improved nutrition. Responding to your query, your Mom and I do feel priviledged to be able to share in your LiveJournal experiences. I agree that some of your writing is observant, sensitive, and worthwhile reading. The things that I thought were tacky occur when your internal censor is off and you say things, that if read by others would offend them. I know your point about Joanne was a positive one, that she is faithful in writing to you and supportive of your trip, but I think she would be hurt to find herself described as "low-class" and having her misspellings publicly revealed. In the age of Google, this is kind of a permanent kind of comment. Even if Joanne doesn't have the Internet, the probability is substantial that somebody who knows Joanne might read your LJ entry and report it to her (over the next x years). Your grandparents have experienced some distress over the comments regarding Einar's bed. We're glad you're open with us. In some ways, any future boyfriend you reveal your LJ to will be able to look up all the past events in your life and determine a lot about you. No mystery anymore. Your additional more sensitive journals seem liable to hacking, also. Just as an example, Mamarabbit's friends list includes access to secondhelix. I found this connection one time and have not followed it again. I'm glad your grandparents don't follow Internet links all that much. When you mentioned having your arm up to the elbow in the sheep vagina, I expected a picture to follow. In this case I think words are much preferable to a picture, and am willing to settle for the lack of online access. In short, I think you should be aware that your intended audience for your public journal may be much broader and permanent than you think. I say tacky when what you say might unintentionally hurt the person reading your comments. Third cat has been rarely sighted lately. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
2:07 am	overs I haven't particularly felt like talking about it. I lay awake in the cave and thought about nights of sweat and orgasms and beautiful profiled bodies. We spent 2, 3 hours once talking about animals in Iceland and Pennsylvania. There are no Icelandic amphibians, you know? When he kissed me, there was always an edge to the taste. Smoke. I don't know if he ever noticed when I shaved and bathed and brushed when he was coming. I know that he was just as loving when I was dirty. The first night he ever spent being here, he was bearded. He bit my neck softly from behind and A Perfect Circle repeated endlessly all night. We talked and talked and talked about what we'd done and what we thought and what we would do. He invited me halfjoking to come back to Iceland and marry him if I never found so good a man at home. We only ever said love perhaps three times. Didn't really have to. We said other things that meant love. He never understood my recreational complaining. 'I'm hungry' when we were on our way to get food. 'My hand hurts' when I don't plan to do anything about it. He never managed to stop smoking. He'd move two, three tables away in a restaurant before doing so. When he was drunk, he would compliment me outrageously. Sometimes he would cover his mouth with his hand and shrug his shoulders a little bit when he laughed at something small. um. so much, you know? The last night we slept in the same bed, he wrapped his arms completely around me. My back fitted into his chest and he slept. When we met, he couldn't sleep touching someone. That night, I slept restlessly. I woke up a halfhour before he'd leave. He was still holding in that sleeping sort of deadweighted way, so comfortably heavy. I cried a bit. Difficult, without jerking or expanding your ribcage. I managed. If you'd have asked me, I couldn't have explained why I was crying. Tears trickled itchily down to make a damp and salty and toowarm spot on the pillow. I waited, awake and uncomfortable, until he woke up and left. He was too hot. Sweat collected between us. My side hurt from lying on it. He slept. I wept. Rhyme, certainly, but no reason. I waited and couldn't think about anything that would make hothot tears stop itching in my eyes. My arms were trapped so that I couldn't rub the corners and stop the feeling. Of course I could have wriggled out and left for the other bed at any time. Of course I didn't. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, May 16th, 2003
9:42 pm	ménage à moi. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, May 12th, 2003
8:59 pm	Hair. When I was younger and smaller, I had darker hair and paler skin. I think that the sun makes live things darker and dead things lighter. One summer, I developed golden streaks in my almostblack hair. I sprouted freckles. That winter, the total haircolour mellowed to dark brown while the skin moved away from total white. The next summer, the freckles proliferated again; the gold streaks were less noticeable. I've mellowed out to copper hair in sunlight, though under discolights people may mistake it for something darker, especially in the winter when my skin is lighter. If the tips are left unclipped for too long, they conspire to refract light in shades of gold. When my hair is clean, I cannot resist tipping my head back and shaking to feel its silkiness on my back. I delight in being able to do this again, since my hair has been growing out for two years now and is just now long enough. I turn my head deliberately in shoulderless tops to tickle the hollows behind my collarbones. If I'm ever talking to you and start to slowly shake my head with halflidded eyes and almost a smile, it's not because I disagree with what you're saying. I've been accused of being catlike, especially in my enjoyment of touch. My sheets are white this month. Every two or three mornings, I pick up the hairs that have managed to fall out in the course of several nights. Either I shed more when sleeping or merely stay in one place longer, giving my scalp time to work loose hairs and deposit them in one place. The hair of my boyfriend is curly when he lets it grow, so he doesn't. He cuts it when it becomes grippable. I slept at his house for the first time in several weeks two night ago. In the morning, I left him sleeping off a hangover. I picked a hair off of my arm while getting dressed. It was long and blonde. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, May 11th, 2003
12:02 pm	Damien Diablos: so did you win at naked squash? Yllisi: I was playing with myself. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, April 28th, 2003
12:17 pm	I hate running. I hate running in the sort of way that I don't like physics this year. I'm sure I could understand it if it were in my language, but as is, I don't know if I'm enduring or a wimp. When I run, I develop what I think are shin splints very quickly. I stop being able to breath. I hear, I read about people pushing through stuff when running. I fail to be able to run a mile. I keep on going for a while through stubbornness. When I'm done attempting to run, my ears are always hot and freezing, and my legs prickle if I've shaved them recently. My leg muscles don't hurt, never, but my lungs feel bruised and my shins die. My eyes dry and my throat contracts like crying. Is it psychological? Could I run if I tried? I read so much about people who enjoy running. Why don't I? I'm stronger than lots of people. After an intense burst of physical energy, though, I die. I breath like an asthmatic (I'm not - I have the largest lungs I've ever had and can hold my breath for minutes) dog, panting. Sweat dribbles through my hair. Standing makes my hands shake. but for that burst, while I'm wrestling him to the ground, while I'm scrambling into a tree whose lowest branches I can just barely touch while jumping, while I'm dancing... for that burst, I am the most graceful, strong, coordinated, and muscularly beautiful thing alive. I don't understand. Is my lack of endurance built-in, like with cheetahs? Am I merely lazy? How can I be lazy when I'm so strong for halfminutes at a time? whywhywhy? (12 Comments |Comment on this)