Seeking inspiration tonight:
An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools.
– Ernest Hemingway
I drink to talk to assholes… including myself. -Jim Morrison
I’m actually going on week three without liquor, but that should change soon…in moderation. I may quit altogether if I can’t be in complete control.
Feel tension? Listen to Lewis Black or Billie Holiday. One expresses it, one soothes it. Instead, I was watching Kinsey which helps lend to me OK as AGAIN sexually frustrated me. Like seeing a warm beach scene when your standing out in the cold rain…makes it that much colder. Or like PDA and valentine’s day when you’re single makes you feel more single. Or dreaming about love and waking up to a cold room and a hungry cat makes the cat that much more a pain in the ass, and the room that much emptier and colder. That last one was my recent morning, prior to Kinsey, and this whole day of solo pleasures, deliberating, teeter-tottering between exhaustion and energy. So I’m no bonobo chimpanzee, or hippy, or Kinsey prodigy, I can’t deal with polygamy; I’m emotional, sticky, complicated and devoted, like an old, blind dog….thus picky but horny, I miss cuddling, sex, making tents out of bedsheets…in this mood pansy and prissy chic lit irritates me, PC talk makes me gag…in this state of being I break things with nerves… my greatest talents wasted, lost to pickyness, to bad dates, for shame. True there is always my ballet yoga dvd, and music and walks…an occasional social outing for inevitable conversations with dull sots…in these times Elliot Smith songs and Sex and the City episodes plague my hippocampus. I eat too much chocolate frozen yogurt. Bake too many organic chocolate chip cookies. Dream too many fantastical dreams (like last night’s where I owned a giant castle but it was disappointingly located on a movie set). And I watch things like Kinsey and wonder where a romantic monogamous sex fiend (the emotional restless, you’d think I was a Gemini) finds peace.