I wish I could say my day started at 8:30. But that is merely the most recent time I woke up. Maybe it started at 1:51 when the pain of being in one position for too long jarred me awake. I thought it would show some sort of noble effort if I tried to go back to sleep next to MrsCorC?; that I actually wanted to be there with her, her, wearing her beige cotton granny panties and her forest green turtleneck with little gold Brooks Brothers sheep embroidered on it. But no. Her nightwear is whatever remains on her body after she takes off her trousers (khaki) and bra (beige) after work. Reality speaks volumes when I awaken in the dead of night. I do so desire to love you, have you, goddammit, FUCK you.
I get up, go downstairs. I’m sort of hungry. I rummage in the fridge for the log of goat cheese I bought at BJ’s, find it. I ignore the little bit of blue mold growing on the leavings of chevre already consumed, making slices to add to the rice crackers, gluten-free, I bought at BJ’s yesterday. Crunchmaster. A Master, forgodsakes! Is there a Crunchmaster General? Is there some little Crunchsub, out there, eagerly yearning for the Crunchmaster to take him/her in sordid, kinky, gluten-free cracker defilement and depravity? I digress. I have my little snack, topped off with dates, purchased at BJ’s. (Where else?) for some insane reason, I fix a pot of decaf, thinking I might just drink some.
Then I go to my tan leather Danish reclining chair and just sit. I don’t read, turn on the TV, or make an attempt at The Rosary (Thursday: Luminous Mysteries). I just sit and revel in the stillness and the silence. Finally 3:00 AM rolls around. I go back upstairs with a mug of decaffeinated coffee I won’t drink. I go to the other bedroom, take off my pyjama top and scapular, put on a CD of Schubert Lieder, sung by Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau. I am reluctant to take off the pyjama bottoms and sleep, completely nude! Why? Is sexual repression contagious, like some bizarro-world version of the clap?
Next thing I know it is 8:30. I am awake. I hear the shower running. Mrs CorC? is getting ready for work. I get up, embrace her. She remarks that I am strong. I infer that that comment is an acknowledgement of my sexuality. My hopes are raised Maybe we will be lovers again.