2005-03-01 - 8:40 p.m.
"I'm not going to let you end up the spinster on the couch!" Sookie - Gilmore Girls
Hey! I'm on the couch!
Totally not appreciating the not-so-subtle subtext here.
I wonder if all my suspicions are right, and sex (or rather, the lack thereof) is like withdrawal. Crushingly, mind-blowingly agonizing in its first flush. Gradually lessening, though the craving still comes in infrequent waves until finally one is inert. Sexless.
(Gah...even the word sounds ugly!)
And in the end, is one like an alcoholic...not truly *healed*, but merely in some perpetual state of recovery?
They say that people become like their pets, over time. Certainly I feel like I'm going through some feline version of heat. This indelible cycle of relative sanity, followed by swamping waves of craving, a hormonal insanity of want that makes me want to curl up on the carpet and yowl.
I can become resigned to spinsterhood. I mean really...what's the loss of one more dream? E pluribus unum, yes? But the lack of sex, the lack of intimacy... The lack of *orgasm*. The absence of kisses. The dearth of aftermath.
I hate this. I hate the inability to change this. Maybe it is my stars; certainly it doesn't seem anything within my control, by thought, or word, or deed. Certainly I don't seem to be able to brake this fall.
But since when is that anything new?