I'm glad I reduced my credit card limits to $500. I'm far to unrestrained.

I am also going to buy more merino wool yarn for my knitting this ridiculous but very nice scarf.

I so want to give it to Tromley. I so want it to be his. Just isn't in the cards. Well, it was in MY cards, the cards I read, but I guess not in his. Anyway.

Someone nice will wear it one day I suppose. What a silly little girl thought/sentiment this is. Anyway, enough about men.

Or is it? I think I figured something out today. Maybe it's an excuse. I'm a bloomin' baby machine. I have hips and a vagina that are OPTIMUM for birthing. I have an overabundance of all kinds of hormones, especially the HCG one human somethingorothergonadotrophin which makes the egg stick to the wall of the uterus, which means I'm not likely to have any miscarriages, AND I'm a fertile myrtle. I'm just uber-womanly in terms of genetic make-up.

So I'm a baby machine, which means that I need a machine operator, IE man, to run it. Not in THAT sense ladies, what I mean is that I think about men and guys and sex and things A LOT because I am physically and biologically focused on having babies.

I'm 27. This is the time when my sex drive ramps up to my peak, and at the same time my body begins it's downward slide away from optimal making babies age. My body is like FUCKING HAVE SOME BABIES WOMAN THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE BUILT FOR.

So how can I not have a little bit of preoccupation with sex and men?

That makes sense right?