Cosmic seduction

A few weeks ago I posed the question what happens when I let the cosmos have its way with me?

I go back to Mexico, of course.

By the way, the gorgeous mural above says remember who you are.

Can a man and woman be friends? part two

A snippet of conversation with another male friend...

Me: Are we friends?

Him: Yes. But if you were my wife, I wouldn't be able to help myself. When you walked in the door at night, I'd rip your clothes off and roll you around on the floor. If the door was still open and the neighbors happened to walk by, hell, I'd just kick it shut with my foot. I wouldn't stop for anything.

Me: Wow. Even if I were wearing these chickenshit boots? (I am housesitting for a friend who has chickens and, well...)

Him: When you've got it, it can't be covered up, woman.

Can a man and woman be friends?

Sleeping on an airbed in your ex-boyfriend's spare bedroom will do wonders for self-discovery. In fact, just being around your ex in a non-sexual way will do wonders for said self-discovery.

Last night we watched When Harry Met Sally and at some point, this inevitable dialogue ensued...

Me: Are we friends?
Him: Sure. Although it's not like me with my guy friends and you with your girlfriends.
Me: More intimate.
Him: Yeah.
Me: I mostly don't want to sleep with you.
Him: Errr....

I admit it: I crave love.

This is yummy!

Notice how you feel as you speak the following: "The strong, independent part of me resisted the embarrassing truth for a long time, but I finally came to accept that I'm someone who craves vast amounts of love. Ever since I surrendered to this need, it doesn't nag me all the time, as it used to. In fact, it feels comforting, like a source of sweetness that doesn't go away. I never thought I'd say this, but I've come to treasure the feeling of having a voracious yearning to be loved."

Courtesy of Rob Brezny's PRONOIA Is the Antidote for Paranoia: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings.

Mexico

I am going back to Mexico as soon as I can.

writing, foreplay, reality?

writing.
"...Which is why I am writing this book. To think. To understand. It just happens to be the way I'm made. I have to write things down to feel I fully comprehend them."
--- from Haruki Murakami's "Norwegian Wood."

The same is true of me. I'm not able to write at the moment and it's horrible...

foreplay.
A friend of mine said she continued to have sex during pregnancy, until the final few weeks, when she simply was so full, so hormonal, so done, that she wanted nothing other than the baby to be born. I feel the same. My body is full to bursting (with my book) and all I can bear is a little light foreplay (writing down a paragraph here, a sentence there).

reality.
I am busy losing my grip on reality. What I have perceived as my reality no longer works for me. Why do I say this? I go to places, like my old house, to look for evidence of emotion and find none. Old restaurants disappoint. My friends have moved on. My ears ring with the sound of music from a different place. I can't even fucking wear my clothes anymore: nothing looks like me, nothing makes me feel like me, I hate everything I put on my body. Who I was is gone. Shit. And the old garb, the old ways, are useless.

So, what happens if I let go the iron grip? What happens if I lay down all my weapons, I mean ALL my weapons, and let the cosmos truly have its way with me?

I'll let you know.