a man, a plan, a canal.

by dorarandom

i know, imaginary reader. i know, i know, i know. for about a month, i couldn’t talk about anything but LP. and the month after that i couldn’t talk about anything but The Procedure. and now i’m turning into a vaginal monomaniac. oh the tedious depravity of it all. i want to want to talk about something else, really i do.

however. in the pre LP days, the posts are sparse and i spent a lot of time curled up in a ball because i couldn’t talk about anything. so clearly i’m on the right track. i’ll get to more elevated topics eventually. probably.

in my `defense’, let me say that even if i wanted to, it would be impossible not to think rather a lot about the v. because i have to keep a log. a daily log of the objects i insert into myself. i have to keep track of times and rate sensations on a scale of 1 to 10 and enter this fascinating data into the beautiful table i made—(i don’t think i’ve ever had so much fun with LaTeX)—it’s a whole discipline—(a very unmonastic discipline)—it would make any lady very mindful. it’s rigorous mindful TMI.

i was telling my friend O. about the log and she couldn’t stop laughing about it. `he’s a man obsessed,’ i said. `i think there is like an 80% chance that this is a made up condition and your doctor is just a pervert. who wants to read your log.’

(she was joking, obviously.)

anyway. it’s a fun project. keeps me off the street. and i’m very glad i have a mind for minutiæ because otherwise dilating (ugh, the word) would probably be depressing (‘hmm i’m spending a lot of time getting ready to have sex….and yet i have no one to have sex with…’) or just a big chore (in which case i would never do it). it seems like most(?) (a lot of?) post-Procedure women find it either tedious or scary. (frighteningly tedious?) (‘first it was terrifying! but now it’s just really boring! stay positive! [insert more sad stuff here]!’) and my God, i’m so glad that i don’t find it scary—and i feel so sorry for women who do—but at the same time i am really proud that i am not a phallophobic nutcase.

`proud’ might be the wrong word. i guess the fact that i am not afraid of inanimate objects makes me so bold as to wonder whether maybe i wasn’t crazy. like maybe i just happened to have a hypertonic muscle. like i happen to have very high arches. like maybe the whole fear of penetration neurosis narrative is psychotic misogynist garbage and every person who encouraged me to believe that i was a nutcase (about this, anyway) is horrible and should be punished.

wow. okay, maybe that’s a bridge too far.