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Oct. 11th, 2014 06:47 amI'm calmed down a bit, which is good. I've saved fetish ball etc. emails in my inbox for some time, but keep not going. I like the idea of the pervert/sex club, used to go and talk about that fondly, but never actually feel like going. Perhaps if I knew friends going, or perhaps trolling for sex seems less important. Or I'm just much more comfortable at home as I sort of return to my old life?
I need to visit my house. Today may be too busy.
I'm on vacation this coming week with no plans other than my mom arriving mid-week. Glorious rest. I do have to get my estimate on the car and possibly that work done - the rental benefit is only $20...and I was wrong, my deductible is 1k for collision, which being hit in the lot is considered. Glass is $100; what if a tree fell on my car? I probably did that for cost.
I saw the ortho doc, the guy who treats the racist named football team, yesterday. He instantly diagnosed the thing from the MRI, pointing to all the same things within a minute. He also cited the month on crutches, 3 mos PT, and 6-9 months recovery time. When asked why I might do the treatment with him, he noted he had done 4,000 in about 10 years, and that there was a steep learning curve. Only 3 doctors in the area had that level of experience: him, door #2 I forgot, and Dr. (Ochaiai?) who is the person I just saw up the street. He noted really once you get to the 3 of them the only issue was, as recovery is 6-9 mos, who or what office you had the best rapport with. He also really fucked up my world by noting he had one similar patient, an iron man triatholon guy, who didn't do the surgery and suggested I don't really need to. He seemed to imply that lifting weights would eventually degrade my joints (I should have asked more, and need to do more research), and noted that for a 46 year old man what I had was hardly a problem at all - none of the pain issues in normal activity that makes people get the surgery. So he suggested I could live with it, just doing annual MRIs to make sure it didn't get worse, strengthening the back and supporting muscles to compensate.
Oh it's raining, how glorious. So pretty. Dark, raining, just cool outside, and I'm here drinking warm coffee from the press with beans my machine just ground.
Playing the furs now, was in my head, the sound is making my head spin...my GOD how is there still a 17 year old inside me? How can I act so disciplined and still be this person!? I know better but I still have these emotions, this insanity, this stupidity - even knowing better, even feeling better, I'm still fucking stupid and crazy. It's like there is no cure at all. Jebus who the fuck really am I? Layers of onions and tears; what layer is the onion?
The doctor touched a me a lot. He's 42, fit, a doctor (said in my jewish grandmother's voice), and his blue eyes were striking. He touched me in that gymbroh kinda way, or in the fake way a waiter touches you because he or she heard it increases tips. A dentist recently did the same thing, seemed artificial, but I also think it kinda works on me. Works on me except for the fact I constantly question whether it's real or not. Is he just a touchy guy, or is it a trick? He didn't solicit my business though, and suggested I not get the surgery - noted somebody I came from was just as good. It would be crazy if he was hitting on me, highly unlikely and frankly I didn't get any of that vibe at all. I did look at him for a minute, size him up, and realized we'd be a hot old couple. Mid-age adult couple. No interest, but with our matching eyes, physiques, professional lives...we'd be fucking textbook man. Well I was looking for a man to stab me in the ass...
Sex sexing sexcercize sexual identity sexual urges sexual emotions "a world of possibilities" "all of this and nothing"
No, freedom is wonderful and not. I could sleep with virtually any hot person running down the street in a sports bra! Only, I have never, ever, hooked up with someone I saw jogging - not know if they're single, taken, a mom, gay, smelly, mean, too good for me on some other level, and then...compatible at all. At what point did I realize that "I'm pretty, you're pretty too, I like sex, you like sex too..." was not enough of a basis to spend time with someone? Then, as used to my alone time as I am, who is, what is the right basis for a relationship? What is enough, the right compromise and work, vs a horrible idea? Oh doubts, they never leave.
(not lamenting, just observing)
Now I am lamenting. I just woke up from a happy night alone to a happy morning alone, cup o joe, and playing a song that post-dates my actual childhood and I'm literally tearing up. I don't even know what memory I'm having - I know my present, but I have an emotional memory with this song. Who was she, who wasn't she, who or what did I miss that made this song feel like my emotions? How can something so stupid be so powerful? All these thoughts and I'm just a piece of meat. Feelings and algorithms layered with and through meat. Why am I still picking at this scab, or is it rubbing a scar? It hurts and I like it. I know better, could think it through, yet here is the emotional lump as real as if it had a basis or meaning.
I've tried to share this sort of emotional thing with people and it's never quite worked. There is something nice about being stuck in our respective shells, looking or touching hands, with an air of understanding but ultimately only knowing from outside signs what the other is feeling. Sympathizing. Sex isn't that much more intimate, or it is...you hold each other, look into each other's eyes and each touch and motion is felt back, reflected...you can look into each other's eyes, see the pupils dance, hold grip grasp and claw as one or both of you come, but ultimately for all that intimacy you're still just guessing at what's inside. There's something beautiful in that too, though, how many years it takes to see-predict-know what your partner feels.
We fall in love and form lifetime bonds with people down the street, in our dorm, from our group of 50 friends. The planet has billions of people from the same genetic soup.
I have some memories that are so intense that contrary to everything I know, the
hey I never meant that stuff
feeling is more important to me than whether the thoughts that created it are accurate or not. I don't care what the truth is anymore; I'm too invested in that feeling to change now. It used to terrify me to realize that, then to say it out loud.
God bless me I get the intense emotional feeling at 6am with coffee. Curiously I'm no more articulate than 2-4 am with alcohol.
I need to visit my house. Today may be too busy.
I'm on vacation this coming week with no plans other than my mom arriving mid-week. Glorious rest. I do have to get my estimate on the car and possibly that work done - the rental benefit is only $20...and I was wrong, my deductible is 1k for collision, which being hit in the lot is considered. Glass is $100; what if a tree fell on my car? I probably did that for cost.
I saw the ortho doc, the guy who treats the racist named football team, yesterday. He instantly diagnosed the thing from the MRI, pointing to all the same things within a minute. He also cited the month on crutches, 3 mos PT, and 6-9 months recovery time. When asked why I might do the treatment with him, he noted he had done 4,000 in about 10 years, and that there was a steep learning curve. Only 3 doctors in the area had that level of experience: him, door #2 I forgot, and Dr. (Ochaiai?) who is the person I just saw up the street. He noted really once you get to the 3 of them the only issue was, as recovery is 6-9 mos, who or what office you had the best rapport with. He also really fucked up my world by noting he had one similar patient, an iron man triatholon guy, who didn't do the surgery and suggested I don't really need to. He seemed to imply that lifting weights would eventually degrade my joints (I should have asked more, and need to do more research), and noted that for a 46 year old man what I had was hardly a problem at all - none of the pain issues in normal activity that makes people get the surgery. So he suggested I could live with it, just doing annual MRIs to make sure it didn't get worse, strengthening the back and supporting muscles to compensate.
Oh it's raining, how glorious. So pretty. Dark, raining, just cool outside, and I'm here drinking warm coffee from the press with beans my machine just ground.
Playing the furs now, was in my head, the sound is making my head spin...my GOD how is there still a 17 year old inside me? How can I act so disciplined and still be this person!? I know better but I still have these emotions, this insanity, this stupidity - even knowing better, even feeling better, I'm still fucking stupid and crazy. It's like there is no cure at all. Jebus who the fuck really am I? Layers of onions and tears; what layer is the onion?
The doctor touched a me a lot. He's 42, fit, a doctor (said in my jewish grandmother's voice), and his blue eyes were striking. He touched me in that gymbroh kinda way, or in the fake way a waiter touches you because he or she heard it increases tips. A dentist recently did the same thing, seemed artificial, but I also think it kinda works on me. Works on me except for the fact I constantly question whether it's real or not. Is he just a touchy guy, or is it a trick? He didn't solicit my business though, and suggested I not get the surgery - noted somebody I came from was just as good. It would be crazy if he was hitting on me, highly unlikely and frankly I didn't get any of that vibe at all. I did look at him for a minute, size him up, and realized we'd be a hot old couple. Mid-age adult couple. No interest, but with our matching eyes, physiques, professional lives...we'd be fucking textbook man. Well I was looking for a man to stab me in the ass...
Sex sexing sexcercize sexual identity sexual urges sexual emotions "a world of possibilities" "all of this and nothing"
No, freedom is wonderful and not. I could sleep with virtually any hot person running down the street in a sports bra! Only, I have never, ever, hooked up with someone I saw jogging - not know if they're single, taken, a mom, gay, smelly, mean, too good for me on some other level, and then...compatible at all. At what point did I realize that "I'm pretty, you're pretty too, I like sex, you like sex too..." was not enough of a basis to spend time with someone? Then, as used to my alone time as I am, who is, what is the right basis for a relationship? What is enough, the right compromise and work, vs a horrible idea? Oh doubts, they never leave.
(not lamenting, just observing)
Now I am lamenting. I just woke up from a happy night alone to a happy morning alone, cup o joe, and playing a song that post-dates my actual childhood and I'm literally tearing up. I don't even know what memory I'm having - I know my present, but I have an emotional memory with this song. Who was she, who wasn't she, who or what did I miss that made this song feel like my emotions? How can something so stupid be so powerful? All these thoughts and I'm just a piece of meat. Feelings and algorithms layered with and through meat. Why am I still picking at this scab, or is it rubbing a scar? It hurts and I like it. I know better, could think it through, yet here is the emotional lump as real as if it had a basis or meaning.
I've tried to share this sort of emotional thing with people and it's never quite worked. There is something nice about being stuck in our respective shells, looking or touching hands, with an air of understanding but ultimately only knowing from outside signs what the other is feeling. Sympathizing. Sex isn't that much more intimate, or it is...you hold each other, look into each other's eyes and each touch and motion is felt back, reflected...you can look into each other's eyes, see the pupils dance, hold grip grasp and claw as one or both of you come, but ultimately for all that intimacy you're still just guessing at what's inside. There's something beautiful in that too, though, how many years it takes to see-predict-know what your partner feels.
We fall in love and form lifetime bonds with people down the street, in our dorm, from our group of 50 friends. The planet has billions of people from the same genetic soup.
I have some memories that are so intense that contrary to everything I know, the
hey I never meant that stuff
feeling is more important to me than whether the thoughts that created it are accurate or not. I don't care what the truth is anymore; I'm too invested in that feeling to change now. It used to terrify me to realize that, then to say it out loud.
God bless me I get the intense emotional feeling at 6am with coffee. Curiously I'm no more articulate than 2-4 am with alcohol.
