Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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I'm losing my mind, like certifiably going insane. I'm fairly sure man is gonna show up at any minute and hand me a straight-jacket - though, I guess I couldn't really put it on myself if I'm wearing it. But, you get the point.
I've been up for hours - how many? Don't ask. I woke up very early this morning and this entire day has been a world-wind; and of course in typical tired as hell fashion, I've also managed to become crankier than a toddler when they're told the word "no". Which is how I find myself sleeping in bed alone - yet, I can't actually sleep; so, I'm just laying here, staring at the popcorn ceiling in Erik's childhood bedroom and wondering what kind of corporal punishment would be fitting for the person that invented such a disgustingly ugly ceiling choice.
Death by listening to your mom say "I told you so"? Having to watch your crush swap saliva with someone else, while you glare from nearby. Having to sleep in a bed that has exactly one crumb located somewhere, but you just don't know where that is.
All of those seem like reasonable options; none of which are how I currently am thinking I'll go out. No, my current form of government-assisted death includes one of heartbreak; the worst kind of punishment out there - dying alone. I know most people say they would rather be alone than with other people - mostly introverts.
Even I used to be someone that would opt for the overdosing on a polar bear's liver than having to spend more than an hour around someone - other than Mr. Fluffypants. But somehow, over the last few months, I have become addicted, fixated, accustom to being around another human being.
And when I try to fill that void; the warmth beside me now gone cold, with a few blankets shaped in the space of his body, it doesn't work. I'm seriously considering Amazon-Priming one of those pregnancy pillows, but I doubt it would get here in time. Though, then again, Jeff Bezos does own a spaceship. Maybe instead of flying to the moon, he could spend his time on more useful things like getting me something to replace my boyfriend.
And I don't mean his bald-ass head. He's way too old for me. And now that I'm free and never again have to put up with middle-aged men hitting on me, that's a road I will never again go down. I would rather eat a spider's feces than ever flirt with someone in their forties.
Don't ask? Okay. I don't want to talk about it or the things I once did when trying to promote my Only Fans. Some of which include leaving flirty comments on Subreddits dedicated to dads posing nude with their junk flapping around in the air. Did I mention I need therapy? Because I really do.
That's the hard thing, though. Not finding a therapist - though it's easy to find someone to listen to your complain for $200 an hour; what isn't easy, is talking about your feelings. Talking about the deep down dark feelings that surround your past and cloud your future.
Anyway, I'm getting to philosophical because I'm way too tired right now. The point is, that I need Erik's giant, wall shaped body, back in bed beside me. Because a) I left Mr. Fluffypants at home, and b) I can't sleep without him.
