how are you dora? just give me 500 words.
i would be glad to. in fact i think it would make me feel better. not that i am feeling particularly bad. a little jangled; the Gift Horse just trotted off. we really have spent too much time together. conventional wisdom be damned—and in fact i don’t know what the conventional wisdom is—it’s been too much for me. he’s kept me from you. and sometimes from myself. he is not a person with a natural sense of boundaries and graceful privacy. he asks what i’m thinking all the time. i believe i have always answered truthfully. for some reason. when i could say anything. it startles me and i think it is strange and invasive but i’ve turned it into a kind of cognitive game for myself—verbalizing those meandering staring-out-the-window kind of thoughts—the things i’m not saying because they do not compel me to express them.* i’m half-paranoid he had a glimpse of this blog last night and realized it was mine and is reading it now and will rake me over the coals for it later.
huh. well, ain’t nobody got time for that, so i’ll just put that worry aside. (ain’t nobody got time for [hypothetical] blog inquisitions, i mean.)**
he is also a big one for making random grabs at one’s junk and out-of-the-blue groping. and sometimes this is a pleasant surprise but usually i think: “this is strange and invasive!” but not verbally enough. though i probably should. though he’s gotten better about that. at times, i think, i meant to say something, but it gets me all dissociated. and then on some level one has been conditioned to think of such business as “flattering” and i blame the patriarchy and blah blah blah. (‘you know—i’m sorry i just randomly grope you sometimes. you’re just so fucking hot and you’re like half-naked all the time*** and i’m turned on all the time! it takes effort to keep my hands off you.’ ‘well…i guess i’m just really glad you’ve stopped doing it in public.)
but all the fun! and i really like him! but bad mood: my mother lunch + christmas candy + i foresee big mad frustration.
but let me get it out my system first. i really really hate being asked if i am enjoying a particular sex act.
his self-awareness is nothing to write home about.
* why do i sound like a weird translation of exegetical literature this morning?
** also untransliterated greek epigraphs.
*** i do not care for underwear. on account of it’s stupid. and i have never ever had a single yeast infection or UTI or any clinical disruptions to the ecosystem of any kind. and i believe this is because i somehow realized at an early age that underwear was stupid. (i am sparing you my full anti-underwear diatribe.) in my experience, women-oriented men generally think this practice is porny hott and [want to] think it is special just for them. i don’t mind about the first; of course that can be fun and convenient. and of course they might think it’s all special just for them at first but for God’s sake, after they’ve heard the diatribe. please don’t make me explain this to you again.
incomplete on account of the mother’s arrival; but that’s 543.