Happy (American) Thanksgiving one day late. I celebrated minimally, with my family plus one older member of my family outside of our “bubble.” We ate outside, under not-particularly-necessary earth-warmers. The food was delicious. I felt grateful for much, even as there’s much to lament this year.
My desire ebbs and flows.
My words ebb and flow.
My desire is barometric: sometimes, it fixes itself on a person in my life. Sometimes, on a fantasy. Sometimes, on a porn genre or web site.
And sometimes? It just dissipates.
The last stretch of time has taxed me, and has crowded out nearly all of my desire. Porn has remained a constant, but not so much in the form of a thing I crave as in the form of a way I remind (persuade) myself I’m alive.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Or maybe two, or even three, lights. January 20 approaches, which will end (this chapter of) my country’s (and the world’s) nightmare. I’ve, once again, hired one of my “hot trainers” to help me restore my relationship to/with/in my body. There’s challenging (not bad, but challenging) stuff going on in my family that’s hard, and that feels endless, but it isn’t, it won’t be.
And of course, COVID. Ugh. COVID.
Over the summer and into early Fall, I had a bit of a revival of “the old days.” Marina, V, and Sofia – and another one or two women from my past about whom I write here less – all conspired to wake me up a bit. But then the present asserted itself. Marina moved on. V moved on. Sofia moved on. Each had accompanied me differently; each moved on differently. In all three cases, I was sad, and happy, at the end. In each, the “end” may not really be an “end,” so much as (yet another) inflection point.
Time will tell.
My relationships rarely end; they tend to feature multiple inflection points and transformations, always becoming.