I don't even know why this is a post

Went out to dinner last night, had a lovely time. Wore my corset, so I enjoyed how I looked, but not nearly as much as I enjoyed my companion.

I am so beyond rusty, it's not even funny. It's like my post-relationship brain is like a post-baby body, because that shit did NOT just snap back to how it was. I have no moves, because apparently my brain fucking broke and now I have to BE MYSELF, which is moderately terrifying because I actually want to be myself for the first time ever. So I WANT to share myself, but my way of sharing things is to force them on people, and my ex did NOT like that, so part of me is like "OH GOD I AM SO SORRY FOR MAKING YOU LISTEN TO WEIRD THINGS THAT I SAY." But I know that is absurd, so I just keep SAYING weird things and I don't think it'll ever stop even though I actually DO know how to hold my tongue. And then I think about all this stuff when I'm watching Revenge and I'm like, "You know what? Victoria Grayson totally would want me to just be myself, the way she was with that artist dude from way back in the day before she married for money." All my best ideas come from fictional characters. I don't even know. I'm way less anxious these days with way more disorganized thoughts. But BETTER thoughts, like if you had a box full of beautiful, tangled chains. How poetic. I have the soul of a poet. I keep it trapped in a ghostly mirror. Frankly, this post is garbage, but it's also very honest, except for that part about having the soul of a poet. I would never trap something in a mirror, in case it got out and tried to steal my life.