Baroque Sandpaper

Twas a quiet, processing sort of weekend. Not enough WinterFire unpacking. Friday night at home I felt a little raw and bruised from the week, working through drop is never fun, and while I was fortunate the drop was mild, and I had the lift from collaring boy m, by Friday night I felt sandpapered. Sandpapered to the point that I found Myself looking at My fleece onesie with interest. 

So I put on Princess’ blue budgie onesie, and two pairs of thick wool socks. I continue to be surprised at the emotional heft of having warm feet. How did I never really notice that before? I hung out around the house feeling snuggly, and in time climbed into My delightful buttery soft flannel sheets from boy m last year.  I spent most of Saturday in bed. Sleep, orgasm. Repeat. I think it was seven orgasms by time I got up in the afternoon. It was awesome. So satisfying.

Then it was up and figured out how to shower properly without a shower working in the house. That turned out to be six different steps of washing involving four different pieces of porcelain. The crossdresser I played with at WF had very kindly offered Me some tickets he could not use. So I dabbled in dressing up a bit and used My nice skin care products, never found the makeup (curses, foiled again) but applied some tinted lip gloss. I arranged with a kink girlfriend and we converged at a small house concert of Spanish baroque harpsichord music with accompanying readings, both Spanish and English, with a very well done printed program I still couldn’t manage to follow. We perched on better quality folding chairs in someone’s living room, where I had staked us out with a view of the musician’s hands.  

The reading performer has a small occasional part on a well known TV show, and was seated at our dinner table of 9, so there was more star fuckery than I enjoy. The dude himself was OK and showed signs of being interesting, but the pretentious suck up sitting between us was a pain and dragged the conversation in the most eyeball-glazingly tedious directions. Still, the music was delightful and I have realized that while I am exhausted to death of the Baroque music I know, I love this Spanish stuff. I want both to hear more and learn to play some. I remember I have long wished for a harpsichord, but let us not get carried away.

At one point, a guest at our table proposed a parlor game, we were all to name the book that has had the greatest influence on us. This of course elicited more pretentious displays of erudition. I was second to answer and didn’t care what these people might think so I told the truth: the Anne Rice Sleeping Beauty trilogy. It was not playing the game correctly but it grabbed actor guy’s attention. I definitely saw a flash of recognition and surprise, quickly wallpapered over. 

I gave heels a try last night, they are seldom worn, and I felt it was time to give the back another go at it. I was in pain already on the way home, and awoke quite afflicted today. 

It was a stark contrast with Saturday’s lying in bed. Today was too much pain for orgasms. I got very little done, but managed to get food and hydration sorted, did some but not enough stretching and only of the most passive sort involving lying on a narrow yoga bolster to open the chest and take some of the pull off the neck.  I blessedly found a dose of tylenol after what seemed an endless hunt. Was it the long night on uncomfortable chairs, the heels? The low grade sinus infection? The drop? Con crud? Fighting a bug? I don’t know. Late in the day, I now suspect the asthma has gotten away from Me again, and perhaps some form of PMS is in the mix, but who can tell? A friend suggested I take a percoset and that was a damned attractive idea. Exactly why I don’t keep that shit around.  Because on the rare occasions I have ever been prescribed it, I have always had a moment of: oh yeah. This is why opium dens and opium wars. Woooooow. This shit is gooooood. I wanna feel like this aaaaaaaallll the time. Hmmmm. Zzzzzz.

So it was Tylenol and lots of Eddie Izzard on youtube for Me. The turning point was a long session with the hitachi on My neck and upper body, which made Me notice the asthma might be worse again. Must find those steroids. A chilly rainy grey day spent in bed.  I try not to think of it as one less day of My life left, but perhaps I should. Perhaps I should have fought harder for it. I didn’t.

I’ve been texting a bit with the fine man who gave Me the big O at camp. He has made clear he is not available for deep relationship for Good Reasons. Still we enjoy each other and we have been slipping in and out of interactions that have a little dynamic to them. I couldn’t tell you what it is exactly, just that it seems titillating and a bit scary in a good way and well, Princess does attach like a barnacle. I re-read all My blogs of the last 12 months, for perspective. I’m trying to keep a close eye on it. NRE can be tough to manage esp., when there are strong orgasms involved.  I know that Princess is pretty undefended, and this is new to her. It is uncomfortable for Me in middle age to feel like a middle schooler with a crush, but there you have it. We are talking about meeting up next weekend but who knows, perhaps it will dissolve by then. 

All I can do is what I commit as I do in yoga each week when we are asked to form an intention: I commit to be present, brave, and compassionate.  The rest must take care of itself.