There is nothing more awkward than hospitality and nothing more guilt-tripping than feeling awkward about hospitality.

So I've been staying with my best friend and soon-to-be roommate since Saturday night. It was cool for a while but right now I kind of feel like a freeloading bum. This guy already pays for me every time we go out to eat because he's super rich and is like a Sim you used the money cheat on...but in addition to that he lent me this huge chunk of money when I fucked up with the bank so I wouldn't have to call my borderline mother.

So, first of all this is obscenely awkward because at 20 it's weird to depend on someone else for everything. He gets me up and then I have to ask him about what's happening for food (that's staying with someone else for you,) and chances are we're hungry at different times and that's awkward, and if I need to go anyplace I have to ask him to drive me (because this city is not very walkable) and that's awkward, and I have nowhere to put the like three outfits I brought with me in this place so everything's a mess on his mom's sewing table and THAT'S awkward, and then his parents have asked us to help with some chores (fine) and they're paying me, a guest, to help with chores and as much as I appreciate it, they helped pay for my first rent and bought us cable and have paid for enough else that I feel like I should just wash the frickin windows for free and now I feel like a conniver and so THAT'S awkward. And then feeling awkward about insanely generous hospitality makes me feel like a douchebag, so that's awkward.

Also I think he's a bit more willing to take his time moving into the apartment because this is his house, meaning he can masturbate here. All of my toys are at the apartment we're moving into and even if they weren't I can't exactly masturbate here because first of all: rude sauce and second of all, I mean yes his family is probably rich enough to have flood insurance despite living in Minnesota but GEEZ. That would really be awkward.

I took a nap today at the apartment while waiting for the cable guy and I was so tempted to be like "NO NAP, COVERT SELF-STIMULATION" but I was seriously freaking tired. I woke up early to talk to another astral rape survivor (first one I've found who actually wants to talk) via phone, to prove to her that I'm real. It's weird knowing someone else has had that experience though I think she went through way worse than what I am, especially because I'm technically "free" at this point, knock on hospitably placed makeshift nightstand wood.

Oh and here's just a general list of things I'm stressing about right now.

1.) I seem to be here for an indefinite amount of time and I don't have an indefinitely patient system...I've been here close to a week plus the hospitality, I'd feel less rude and freeloading if we just went home not that I don't like his parents and brother and cats but sheesh I feel like a freeloader.

2.) I have to submit this mess of therapist bill to my insurance which probably won't pay for 90% of it because the bill is HUGE. I think I'll probably tell the douchebag "good things wait man..."

3.) I have to fire the douchebag and I hate firing douchebags because douchebags always fail to realize they're douchebags and rearrange reality to make ME feel like a douchebag...it's sort of like breaking up with my girlfriend who was also a douchebag I technically had to "fire" except I wasn't paying her to be a douchebag so it's kind of different.

4.) My parents are being themselves.

5.) I want to find a new frickin job.

TOUCHA TOUCH ME (Quietly...)

With the exception of the strongly religious and the radical anti-sex organizations, more and more people are embracing this sex-positivism (which I will rant about another time) that encourages the belief that masturbation is a healthy, normal part of being human. Brushing your teeth is a normal part of being human, and most apartments provide sinks. Eating is natural, and most schools offer meal plans, and apartments have kitchens. Sleeping is natural, so every living arrangement has a bedroom of some sort. Accepting that these are natural things to do, it would seem silly if at EVERY point in your life, circumstances made it mind-numbingly, off-pissingly, wanna throw thingsishly difficult for you to do these things. Then why is masturbation (this natural, wondrous exploration of my literal 'inner womyn' so different).

I started masturbating when I was sixteen, mainly to convince myself that I wasn't in love with my almost-sort-of-well-it's-complicated rapist, and maybe to some degree to try to prove to myself that I wasn't gay. Neither of these things worked. I was fairly careful about masturbation, I'd do it late at night, in my bathroom, with the door locked. I swear it felt like every other time my mother would get up, pound on my door, and go, "I forgot to give you a goodnight hug!"

I'd tell her not to come in, using every excuse under the sun and moon. "I'm naked, I'm getting in the shower, I'm on the toilet," usually all of those in unison...sometimes all of those in unison were true sadly, and she'd say, "It's okay I won't look!"

Creepy.

Why didn't I do it in my room, you ask? Because I tried this, and learned the VERY hard way that I'm a female ejaculator. I was wearing a pad, like you'd wear for a period (even though I wasn't menstruating that day). Not just ANY pad, a kotex OVERNIGHT WITH WINGS. A frickin diaper if you will...and by the end of my masturbation session, my underpants, the pad, the pants I was wearing (I was masturbating through the clothes), my bed sheet, and several layers of blanket on top of me were positively drenched. Think I'm exaggerating? I WISH!

Then when I got to college, my roommate was one of those people who I'm pretty sure never masturbated in her life. Try as I did to be quiet, she would subtly cough or start thrashing like I had just hit her with a cattle prodder if she heard the slightest sound on my side of the room. Worse, I fancied vibrators during that time, and had to go to extreme measures to mute the noise AND keep anyone from noticing me throw my towel robe on and crawl off the sopping bunk at night.

Even in my own place...the walls are paper thin and my new vibrator is loud as hell. Plus my air mattress is awkward and doesn't like to be treated like a bathtub. I swear...bedrooms should be like churches were for Quasimoto. You should be able to walk into them and shout, "SANCTUARY!!!!!!!!!!!" and not have to worry about your porn, your vibrator, your squirt, etc. because it's YOUR ROOM. But...alas...we do not live in such a perfect world:-(