Morbid

Man, I'm in a morbid mood today. I can't stop thinking about the shape and feel of my skull under my skin. I keep bringing my hands up and cupping my forehead, wondering about what's going on under there, what it all looks like. And now I'm looking at my hands as they type and picturing the white bones clacking against the keys, seeing the metacarpals jump under my skin like watching the hammers inside a piano play Beethoven. 

And it's totally fucking cool. I love the idea of our structure, the basic components of who we are as walking, talking, breathing creatures, surviving long after our meat rots away and our electricity goes off to feed something else. 

I suppose that's not really morbid, per se. I have been a bit obsessed with death lately, for reasons known only to myself and my cats. But not in a "Oh god, I'm going to die and my life has been wasted!" sort of way. More in a "Huh. What will I do if I find out tomorrow that I have 6 months to live? Not a whole hell of a lot different." sort of way. And that's actually been making me feel really happy and positive. I love my life lately. 

Except for the whole feeling like, and acting like, a monk lately part. I haven't been even remotely tempted by sex for what feels like months now. In reality, I think it's been about... oh, maybe two weeks? Top? I'm not sure. Hmm. When did Z get all mushy gushy? I think that was about 2 weeks ago. Huh. I wonder if there's a corollary there??? I'm not gonna think about that too hard, because it's an incredibly depressing train of thought to follow. Hello, body. Why yes, it's perfectly ok for you to shut down all pleasure centers because you got scared of emotional commitment. I'm sure it's for the best, anyways. Who needs a good fuck to distract themselves from the lies of "I love you"? Not me, that's for god damn sure!!

Man. Fuck you, body. Going into monk mode at the most inconvenient of times, with no warning. Asshole.  

Along those veins, I've got 4 dates this weekend. Maybe 5. Starting tonight. Maybe. I'm supposed to meet up with Anthony. Anthony is a man I saw a couple of times over the summer. He's a beautiful man, with beautiful eyes, beautiful hands, and a BEAUTIFUL god damn dick. Impressive in all ways, from size, to color, to shape, to girth... Just lovely. And yet. I'm having to force myself to even contemplate going over to his place to "watch movies" and "cuddle" (his euphemisms, not mine. I believe in calling a fuck a fuck). Last time I was there, it was... kinda boring.  No spark. No bang. Or not enough bang. And he made me feel self conscious, which is hard to do during sex. Normally, once we get going, I stop thinking about my flabby belly and flat butt. With this guy, I never lost my sense of reality. And that made sex not much fun, regardless of how skilled he was. INTERESTING! I never thought about it like that. I have to lose myself in the moment to truly be comfortable during sex... Huh. Again, something I'm not going to think too hard about. :D

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