Yes Sirree, Boy! Where did the time go? It seems like only last week I was hip deep in the muck of a Presidential Election, but that was 11 months ago. Now…
It seems like I was just buying Hallowe’en candy to give away to the urchins pounding on my door, (or, most likely, eat myself).
It seems like only just the other day, I was wondering if I would ever see my abdominal muscles again or weigh under 200 lbs, much less 185. Had you told me six months ago, I would swim two miles, without stopping, and think nothing of it, I would have laughed. Since April, I have shredded a lot of notions I held about what a 66 year old retiree is supposed to look like and what his capabilities are.
I have also become quite comfortable living with conflicting ideas about politics, relationships, the very nature of love itself. Try truly not caring about what somebody else thinks, but just love them, not in a superficial and/or a sentimental way. Love someone in the sense that you care about their welfare, that you want to see them live another day. Love someone, expecting nothing out of it for yourself.
Right now the figurative elephant in my cranium I’m avoiding writing about is sex. My sexual imagination is rich, deeply influenced by ideas of domination and submission and their accompanying ritual acts. Yet my sex life is chaste. I wrote a little story House Boy , detailing a fantasy I had. There are more up there.
Would I like to act out? Hell yes, in the worst way, but I know how the real world operates. I also love the woman I am married to. That Love and that vow of love I made controls taking any action that contradicts that vow.
And you wonderful people who stop and read what I write, thank you. I read what you share. I am in awe of your courage and willingness to sit at a key board, pound the letters, and sweat blood.
I am on my way to becoming a writer of online erotica, the least likely job/avocation I thought I would have. It will be fiction.
“Don’t try this at home, kids!” will be my motto. But sometimes it just needs to be written.
It is after midnight. I am tired. Yet there is no desire to go to bed. There is a psychic hurt. I do not wish to sleep beside my wife.
I am watching an old travelogue about Buenos Aires from the late Forties or Fifties on YouTube. It is public relations produced for the Peron Regime.
There are worse things to do.
Sometimes the bear eats you.
I had my six-month check-up today. Weight at the Doctor’s office 186.8 lbs. BP is 120/80. We are waiting to hear about the blood work. Maybe there are no more statin drugs in my future. The cost for the generic is not great, but it sure would be nice to have one less pill to take. Weight Watchers meeting is today. I weigh 183.6 lbs on their scale. Even better. Goal weight 179 lbs is only 4.6 lbs away. We have a great meeting, very positive.
I go swimming, a little tired, but I go. And it feels like I’m crawling through concrete about ready to set. I finish. And I’m hurting, sore and aching. I go home. And I want the pain to go away. So I’m resting with ice. And Advil.
Life is good. On balance.
Actually, it is a lovely late summer day, only a few days away from the Autumnal Equinox. There is no real fog. But in my head, it’s another matter. I’m engaged in the mental wrestling match, pitting Desire against Inhibition. I realize that my fear of rejection has me keep silent in the agonizing climate of sexual negativity inside my marriage. If I state my needs, her issues will be expressed and they will override what my desires are. This sucks.
And my usual outlets, based on a rich fantasy life and the accompanying auto-erotic self-stimulation, don’t work any more. Those outlets are about self-centeredness and only exacerbate the loneliness.
There are only so many games to watch on TV, laps to swim, and cold showers to take. I’m giving Anne Rice’s Beauty‘s Kingdom another read-through, seeking some respite in the sumptuous, but implausible, decadence.
Would I walk away from my world and my values, just to feel better or different right now? Stay tuned.
Sirach 18 : 26 – From morning until evening, the time will be changed, and all these are swift in the eyes of God.
Mr. Good Catholic here managed to sleep through any chance of getting to 11:00 Mass. There is always the 4:30 Extraordinary Form (Latin ) Mass.
I woke up fully embracing the gift of being alive. I should eat something, I suppose. The sun is shining, the temperature is pleasant.
This is the first Sunday of the NFL season. Pro football is one of my guilty pleasures. I admit it. Other guilty pleasures of mine include fried salt herring, Looney Tunes from the 30’s and 40’s, and Krispy Kreme Donuts.
As near as I know, our Florida friends and family are safe. Several of them are in law enforcement, so I suspect they will be needed. My brother-in-law’s mother lives in Bradenton. She is around 90 and her daughter took her to her home in Georgia. We just hope she has a home to return to. Praying for the folks in Florida.
I have been up since 3:30 or thereabouts. I went upstairs last night to be with Mrs CorC?. She was watching The Andy Griffith Show episodes, then shows on lottery winners shopping for new houses on HGTV. OK. That was nice, I suppose, but the house-hunting millionaires inspired such chagrin in me I can’t begin to describe it. I have a house, I have a pretty good life. What do I care about the desires of lottery winners?.
Usually at this hour, I take time to pray the Rosary. Now I am watching a movie in Greek about the poet C. P. Cavafy on YouTube. Since I don’t understand Greek, I must follow the story through the images and visual narrative. This is always a rewarding activity in that it gets one out of a customary way of seeing the world.
I feel sleep wanting to return. I’m debating whether to return to the “big bed” where my wife is sleeping or to sleep alone
Who can describe the pain of loneliness and the burdened heart? Blessed Mother you know me so well. Let me aspire to dream at your feet, enveloped in your pristine love.
I hope I don’t have some sort of sexual dysfunction. I remain attracted to women and my physical responses are still present. There is something going on however. I no longer delight in tales and anecdotes of sexual escapades.
I have looked at my sex life and my interest in sexual matters. Revulsion is now the operative word. Not guilt over what I have done. Truth is, what I’ve wanted is love. Human sexual activity may or may not be about love. And in 2017 America it ain’t!
I see nothing loving in adultery, even when you slap the word polyamory on it. I see nothing loving in promiscuity, even when that is rationalized away. I am repulsed at fetishising sexual chastity, when chastity is debased to a super-thrill. Brutality is still brutality, even when it is “safe, sane, and consensual”.
Human sexuality is the playground of the selfish and self-serving and has been for a long time. The rules of the Judeo-Christian marriage, chiefly monogamous, lifelong unions between a man and woman make more sense than the values of the “hook-up” culture. Among those dubious values are divorce, cohabitation outside of marriage, and artificial contraception.
I’m sure many of you are shocked by these statements. Or annoyed. I just want off the Sexual Fantasy Island. Because I see the misery out there living the Free Love Lie.