I've Hit The Wall, I'm Not Happy, I Don't Care, I Want A 'purpose'

I am 29 and I have a degree in Journalism. Like most journalist I don't have a job in journalism. I work as a proofreader and a fact checker for the public relations department of a corporation. I'm gay and I socialize in a tight circle. At one time or the other we all surfaced with our orientation. We have been a support group for each other. None of us is the activist type and we depend on our sisters to do all the work for us. Thank you, but I'm not demonstrating.

I am also Hispanic. I'm female, not male. My first language is Spanish. It's a long list of descriptions. I'm brown not light brown, I'm short not tall. I have thick jet black hair and very dark eyes. In my heritage is Mexican aboriginal Indian. I am sexually aroused from oral commentary or written descriptions, I don't get aroused from visual imagery. Bitch is a term of endearment. Shaving my c**t is an apt description. Fucking is an active verb. You fucking c**t, is an expression of inclusion.

I have a few tattoos but they are hidden. Nothing that attracts attention to my persuasion. I have a lover and we are having problems with our relationship. It's just not there anymore, not that I have feelings for another girl. I just want something more permanent. I'm tired of living in a shared apartment with three other women, granted two lesbian couples. I would like one day to have a bathroom to myself, and not one with four toothbrushes. I would like that my girlfriend pick up her underwear, I'm tired of walking over them. I'm glad she's into color, but pink or orange dirty underwear is dirty underwear.

I'm getting old. I no longer have the fire in my belly. I don't care. Who cares? really. I want to go the mall and not come across lesbian. I want to blend in, if a man flirts with me, not lose my temper. I'm on the train to nowhere. I want a destination.