Disappointment

I reflect on my lack of passionate, spontaneous sex and the losses inherent in any particular sexual configuration.

I reflect on a woman whose reliance on charm and beauty has left her unprepared for her own agency, leading to mutual disappointment and disillusionment.

You just can’t get good help any more! And thank God!

Chronicle of a date’s death foretold.

I’m a master at conjuring disappointment. First, a memory. Really, a memory of a memory. I use women, over and over, to revisit that original memory. The ur memory. I do it constantly. Daily, even. Just today, I revisited that…

Serena is late, and disappoints me just a bit. Turns out, I manage it fine.

Athena’s coming to town, and we won’t have sex.

Thinking about my relationship to fucking, handjobs, blowjobs, and… my father.

I use Persephone to revisit feelings of rejection and abandonment.

When women disappoint me once, they almost always do it again. And again. And again. And still? I keep going back for more. Though less than before.