A loyal reader (and awesome fellatrix) recently wrote, in response to this post:
*This* is why I keep coming back. I love the endless self reflection, the unpacking. Sex is the lens or the journey, its really about your brain, your fascination with *why* you tick the way you do. Or at least thats *my* take on it. Through my own lens.
And, as she often does, she got me to thinking.
There are two ways to respond to this note: first, as praise; but second, as criticism. “Endless self reflection” can get kinda old. Being fascinated with why I tick the way I do is all well and good, up to a point. But at a certain point, when people we know are endlessly fascinated by themselves, it does get old.
And so this is where I came out, after my thinking (am I an unabashed narcissist? am I intolerably navel-gazing?):
In truth, I don’t think that I am particularly interesting. Or rather, I don’t think that I am especially interesting. I think people are interesting, that the sorts of questions and analysis I put to myself, to which I subject myself, is/are interesting, and I like to imagine that I’d be as compelled by another’s path as by my own. In the immortal words of Jerry Garcia (covering Aerosmith), “Life’s a journey, not a destination.” It’s the journey that fascinates me – not my journey.
perhaps i should think a little before i write, but i rarely do….. so,
you’re right, in a way “endless self-reflection” sounds awful. and its not that i find *you* endlessly fascinating, necessarily, it’s that you get me to think…… about me (which i find a little more fascinating) and ultimately about others.
now, can we talk about your cock again?
Sure. You go first.
You are correct – life is a journey !
*I* think you’re interesting, and that your thoughts about other people/subjects are interesting. DEAL WITH IT. 😉