The Heart, It is a Fucked Up Hunter

I think I'm going to start doing some medical studies. Reading up on what makes the heart do what the heart does. Although I suppose I should start with figuring out if it's really the heart that's at the - ha! - heart of all of this.

What the hell am I talking about? That feeling you get in your chest when you look at a picture or read a phrase and it registers something deep within you. That sharp pang that grips you, even if only temporarily. What the fuck is up with that? Is it some kind of instinctual thing?

I get that pang in a good and a bad way. When I see something that's arousing, it's almost like a massage of my organ, sending vibrations down within me. My sexual excitement is very much triggered in my head first. But it feels as if it's centered in my chest.

Then there's the bad pang. That zing... that tight grip. Envy, jealousy, yearning. That pang sends sharp tingles down to my fingertips. It can leave me far more disoriented than the good pang. It's late at night that I get that pang, revisiting memories, walking down roads that I know I shouldn't.

That alone factor again. While I never get any privacy until late at night, after everyone else in the household has retired, I both love and fear this time. My preoccupations are dangerous ones. The only hope that I have is to give myself something repetitive to do. Something to zone out on.

To avoid that zing. That pang. That ouchie feeling when I realize that it was all bullshit. To be one of several, to matter so little.

But hey... nothing quite beats the seize of the heart like the constriction in the throat. You know that feeling, don'tcha girls? That lump you have to swallow down, tell yourself that it's not worth it anymore. Question if you still even have any tears left in you to shed.

Anyhow... She says it better.