Not literally. That is not my kink. Maybe it should be. I’ve had my rear end figuratively kicked by my obsession with power walking. I did another six mile walk yesterday. I felt the exertion in my lower back near the fusion site, my arthritic hip and in my right shoulder where I had my rotator cuff repair.

The shoulder pain is due to my arm swing, I suspect. Actually all of the pain is about moving my body.

I did some serious sleeping this morning, which I needed. The fear that I’ve caught the plague crossed my mind. Then I realize, I have neither fever nor sore throat.

It is OK to be tired.

NSFW Obscene

In this time of exile

As I feel the sequestration press on me like a weight, 

The longings scream inside me, their freedom frustrated.

 “Get naked, spread your ass cheeks, let me bury my tongue in your asshole.”. 

There I said it. Is that asking too much?

I went for my usual power walk this afternoon. Within the first few strides I knew that I was going to have a particularly good outing. And I walked six miles in 87 min: 15 sec. My last outing at that distance was 5 minutes, 44 seconds slower. As the title says “Go Figure.”

All in all I had a good day. I did a good amount of sleeping, then binge-watched shows from the UK series Timeline on the Plantagenet Kings of England and the War of The Roses. I know we like to think of the English as super genteel and classy, but this period was little better than a gang war, only with swords, instead of Tommy guns. Yeah, real nice people.

I fixed some leftovers for dinner, black beans, brown rice, cold red cabbage that I fixed last night.

I’m just stoked from that walk still.

I made this sweet and sour cabbage dish with sweet from oranges, sour from balsamic vinegar. Very yummy. Cheap too.

Thing is, I call it “food porn”, because when I get creative in the kitchen, I wanna have sex real bad when I’m done. Anybody else like that?

Anybody else out there have an abundance of this stuff? I guess we should use it when we’re at table eating our meals cooked at home. Well we could, you know.

Or is malaise a better word? My car battery is dead because I don’t drive anywhere anymore during the day when J is out. Or asleep. (Same difference, when you think about it). I suppose we could give it a jump when she gets home. But here I sit, needing a haircut, in my stocking feet, not wearing my eyeglasses. There is just no need for any of that. You know, trimmed hair, shoes, corrected vision.

Pre-SIP, my world had little points in space to which I would venture, Church, AA, the YMCA and its pool, Weight Watchers. I would drive to the store by myself. Now, not so much.

Most people, especially those with jobs, want this to end. On the other hand, here I am, with an ever-deepening case of the Fuck-Its settled into my consciousness. And I think that perhaps, I’m not alone. The isolation breeds apathy, a false sense of self-sufficiency. There is the virtual community that exists in the internet and on my smart phone, but it’s not the same. The images aren’t the same as real people.

For the benefit of civilization, we humans need friends, family, lovers, partners, associates. We do stuff together. If we are lucky, we will take from this that the shortcomings of the connected world show it to be a scattered, fragmented and lonely place.

It is no substitute for genuine community.

The storms rolled in in the middle of the night, waking me up. Now the raindrops gently patter outside, serene in contrast to the thunder and lightning.

I long to return to sleep, perhaps to dream of love and a lover, of new experiences, unafraid and uninhibited.

The storm did not shatter a serenity or ravage my bliss. To dream again is no small wish.

We got a this on the porch the other day. Our next door neighbours had a surplus of bath tissue, so they shared with us. This is what neighbours do.

That is the summation of my day. 

Sex. Sexual thoughts torment me. 

Just wondering. 

Let it end there

It is one thing to be loved, quite another to be desired.

An infant needs to be loved and held and talked to. When we get older, we still want these things. They aren’t necessarily sexualized. Far from it. We don’t want a sexual charge or spin on everything, because pervasive sexuality dulls, rather than heightens our sensual awareness. There have to be at least a few unattractive people wearing bathing suits at the beach.

Yet when we think of our lover(s), being loved has to be coupled with being desired. There has to be that juncture where tasks and diversions must end and distances disappear along with our clothes.

Otherwise life becomes drudgery. All other expressions or “languages” lose their loving context. We must create the environment of love that we want babies to be born into. That extends beyond that immediate environment of home and family. Sex is an affirmation of life.