I’ve been trying to put an entry up here for almost a week now. I have a half done entry about the ex, and a couple of thoughts that have become three sentence place holders in my drafts file. But of course, the more you want to pin the butterfly of thought to a board, the less still she sits.

It figures then, that my times of greatest thought are my times of least communication. I find it amusing that afterward — when the thinking’s done (much like the sex) — I want to talk about it. I want to process every little detail, and relive the whole experience through the vicariousness of my words, of sharing it with someone else.

That means one of these days you’ll get to see the posts.


It’s crossed my mind a lot, recently, that it’s been more than a year since I did E. I kind of miss it, in that “it was fun, but not worth risking my health or freedom to try to arrange it happening again” kind of way. Still, when you have a brain that moves as much as mine does, anything that gets you out of the head and into the body is something to be aware of.

Maybe it’ll fall into my lap again. Maybe it won’t.


Cusak’s mother now knows we’re “serious,” whatever the hell that means in the normal, white-bread world that is the place his parents live (existentially, not physical location). Have I mentioned how nervous I am at spending the holidays with his family? I mean, let’s break this down. I’m a Jew, I’m from the west coast originally (which is not where I’m currently living, obviously), my favorite colors are black and pink, and my favorite bands are the kinds of things grandparents yell at kids to turn down. How am I going to keep a straight face while sitting across the table from generations of old people, staring at a trussed up turkey, and wondering if he can replicate that kind of tie when we get home because I think it would make a great sexual position.

I have a hard enough time being “normal” around his immediate family, and they’re the liberal ones.

…the holidays, I’ve always thought, are sort of a purgatory for people like me (us?). We go back to these nests of people who would disapprove if they knew who we really were, and what we really did, and we pretend to be like them. We hide our deepest truths under the superficialities of our lives, and pretend like we really are the people we send to work, we take out of the box when dealing with sales people, the faces we hide behind.

And they believe it. Which makes me wonder how much our families ever knew about us anyway.


Maybe I’ll get to another sex post one of these days.


One Response to “miscellany”

  1. I like your posts no matter the subject.

    I think you ought to relax and be yourself. Families see what they want to see. If they want to see a happy, serious couple, then that’s what will appear before them.

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