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Dispatches From Dystopia

~ "What man by worrying can add one cubit to his span of years?"

Dispatches From Dystopia

Tag Archives: Feelings.

Less Negativity

12 Wednesday Feb 2020

Posted by David in Uncategorized

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#Dog Show, Feelings.

Watching the Terrier Group at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. This is Dog Porn. Nobody’s dog in the Real World looks like these. This smooth coat Fox Terrier in the ring now is gorgeous though. I have a hunch the Standard Poodle will win Best In Show. I could be wrong however. Neither of the beagles, both 13″ and 15″ won Best in the Hound Group. The Westminster Show isn’t the same without Roger Caras, who was the announcer for years and years.

They just showed the West Highland White Terrier. From the perspective to be of personal prejudice,we had one for 12 years. I loved him. Beagles and Westies are always Best in My Show.

The Christopher Guest “mockumentary” Best In Show is a great send up of dog shows.

I wonder,when they hold agility trials, if they have the dogs jump on a bed.

I just finished swimming about 8:30. I feel much better. I did 1750 meters. I’m just glad I went. I have laundry in the washer.

I might eat something in a while but maybe not

Feelings Return

21 Saturday Dec 2019

Posted by David in Love and stuff

≈ 2 Comments

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Feelings.

I am waking up. And as I awaken, I begin to feel and then to trust my feelings. That sounds, at first hearing, like so much psychobabble. But depression and grief deprive me of joy. I literally punish myself with negative feelings until I determine that I have suffered long enough. Crazy? For sure.

Yesterday brought friendship, good food, exercise, Christmas preparation, albeit limited. The grief and loss went on hold, but have not left. I went to bed expecting the dynamo of activity to keep humming Friday.

And yet…. I got tired. And then the fear of backsliding into the pit of sloth, unfulfilled sexual longing, of good humour descending into unending riffs on those hated Christmas tunes, Frosty The Snowman, and Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer. I perseverate on those ditties, to J’s dismay and, I suspect, chagrin. I see myself sinking into curmudgeonly crankiness

I was set to swim again tonight, but I admitted to being tired. (Oh No, not that!) I slept, because I needed that sleep more than I needed a workout. And now I look forward to tomorrow and swimming. The activity will continue, with an interruption.

The weekend will restore J and me. We will prep the house for a canine visitor. #1 son’s pit bull Lila*, will stay with us while he and Roberta, his wife, go to Philadelphia for Christmas. J and I will do stuff together because she has actual time off from work. I need this time with her. I will let her know.

*Lila is the sweetest dog one could ever hope to meet.

Baseball. Blue Balls

21 Sunday Jul 2019

Posted by David in Sexuality

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Feelings.

I’m sitting here watching baseball. J is taking a hot bath because of generic back pain, most likely one of the scores of teeny tiny little kidney stones in her medullary sponge kidneys has worked itself loose.

I read some pretty good naughty, dirty stories on Word Press. I feel like I’m not enabling the perverts of the world by reading this stuff.

Meanwhile, the Red Sox and Orioles are going at it in Baltimore. I keep thinking how it’s hot and thoughts of Maryland twenty-five years ago pull me back to the days of early recovery.

Now I wonder if I’m not a sex addict too. I fight all these feelings and thoughts. Sex isn’t an entitlement but sex sure feels good. Expressing my needs and then get ignored, or feeling like I’ve hurt her by acknowledging my need in the absence of any libido on her part, just makes it too painful. Being with a woman when she comes is so incredible. Having my own orgasm too. Then eating breakfast together the next morning after we’ve made love the night before. And she’s glad I’m there and I’m glad she’s with me. If we’re someplace special like the beach in the off- season or Manhattan, that day together is even better.

This part of Summer when we’ve almost turned the corner on the hot weather, and thoughts turn to Fall increasingly are nice. The thought of the seasonal change and how, in your mind’s eye, the leaves turn perfect shades of red, yellow, and orange, the wood fires in the fireplaces smell perfect, are such pleasant thoughts. All that stuff.

OK. Back to Summer and I’m still horny.

Off She Goes

14 Monday Nov 2016

Posted by David in Classical Music, Love and stuff, Sport

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Amtrak, Catholicism, Communication, Feelings., Insomnia, love, Montreal Canadiens, Relationships

Monday, I wake up around Six. I fell asleep in the other bed, in the other bedroom, around Three. At least I guess I did. Earlier I woke up around One A.M., lay in bed, the big queen size bed, till I finally acknowledge my need to urinate. I climb out of bed, walk to the bathroom, flick on the light, raise the seat, and void.

I go downstairs, decide a cup of decaf is in order, start one with the Keurig machine, listen to the pressure push the stream of hot water through the plastic pod, then take my cup of hot Dunkin’ Decaf.  I sit in my leather recliner,check football scores, the arrival/departure status of Amtrak trains and sip the coffee.  I start to feel tired again after reading and  pondering the state of the world. I say a Hail Mary, putting emphasis on the phrase “Full of Grace”, being too lazy to get out the Rosary and invest the twenty minutes it takes me to pray five decades.

Back upstairs I go. I position the pillow against my back, start the CD with Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau singing Schubert Lieder. I last remember the fourth song. Next thing I know it is Six A.M.  I brew some real coffee with caffeine, read the obituaries, (my mother’s morning habit), then the sports page. Les Habs, the Montreal Canadiens, lost last night 3-2 to the Blackhawks.  I start a DVD (CBS’s World War I), paying half-attention to Robert Ryan’s narrative of the Pershing Expedition to find Pancho Villa in 1916.  I text with my friend in Connecticut over nothing in particular.

I hear Mrs CorC  moving about upstairs, starting her shower, then trudge upstairs to chill with her as she gets dressed for work.  I tease her about the foods she dislikes, veal, lamb, okra (gumbo), promising not to put okra in the soup I’m planning to fix in the next couple of days.

She is dressed for work, her teeth brushed, her I-Pad charged. She kisses me good-bye, half-heartedly, fearful this morning, of infecting me with some imagined virus.

She did not remind me to be a “Good Boy” today. I never ask what would constitute bad behavior, (looking at porn sites perhaps?)  If she only knew of the porn playing between my ears whenever I wished to imagine it, she would realize the futility of her admonition.

One day, in our ongoing but sporadic dialogue of why we don’t make love, she stated that menopause stifled her libido.  I can only speculate as to why she has made no inquiries with doctors, or psychotherapists, or even friends on how to restore said libido.   She is not, after all, singularly, uniquely, and solitarily afflicted with this dilemma.

“Why, my Beloved, am I NOT worth the effort?”

Off she goes……

Streaks

20 Saturday Aug 2016

Posted by David in Love and stuff, Sexual Identity

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Fears, Feelings., Pope Francis, Relationships, Streaks

Love is nothing without forgiveness and understanding.-Pope Francis

I wanted to tell the story of my two cousins, now deceased, who were both born on 21 August, but 10 years apart. That is going to have to wait.

I have to write about streaks. We all have them. There are those times when everything is going well, or not so well. It seems that the good stuff, or the bad, will go on forever. Then it stops. All of a sudden, our mojo isn’t working any more or starts again, just as enigmatically.  I was cruising along, swimming every day, dropping weight, feeling good , taking my vitamins. Then it stopped. You might say I got too deep “in my head”, wondering.   I’ve been feeling not so good since the colonoscopy. My first swim after the procedure the following Monday ended at 100 meters when some nausea  came on. The next day I did a decent workout. The next day, Wednesday,  my  younger son and I had dinner at my sister’s and I was all jazzed up about seeing him.  Then Thursday brought the trip to Baltimore.

Baltimore includes The Things  about which I haven’t written. How I wanted to reconnect sexually with my wife. How it did not happen.  Is she afraid? Am I? Are my fears in a dance with hers?  I am afraid she will reject me sexually, verbally,  with finality, and I will be left with pieces of a life to reassemble at age 65.  I am afraid, in that case, I lack the courage to move on.  I am afraid that my sexual needs, wants and desires  diminish what we do have. Laughter. Conversation. Family.

Then again,  how much longer am I going to step over the garbage? Literally. That’s what it is when you live  with a slob. And slob-ness is infectious.  There is crap accumulating in my respective micro-habitat. Kitchen has crumbs. Trash can is full. Sinks and toilets need a once over.

What’s up? Swimming with tears in my eyes, for sure. Coming back home, doing something to make the house a little cleaner.  Avoiding the pop psychology “Self-Esteem” game, but, rather, doing the next right thing,  whether I feel better afterwards or not.

This  morning on Instagram was a post from Pope Francis, not that he went online and posted it himself.  “Love is nothing without forgiveness and understanding.” Thank you, Holy Father, for another  growth experience.

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