enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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What is really going on?

I'm very tired today, and hence, perhaps, a little bit grumpy! :)

I stayed up practically all night last night watching beautiful movies and thinking. I like this indulgence from time to time, as we know. I truly am a creature of the night.

I got up at, I dunno, maybe 10 a.m. today. And I ate steak for lunch. I pulled out the eggs and they simply did not look right. Steak it was.

I also cancelled my afternoon long run. I'm glad that I can do these things these days without caring one whit. I simply do not feel like running. Fortunately, Amanda does not feel like running either, as she has a cold.

To be perfectly honest - and don't get me wrong, I like Amanda a whole lot - I've been wondering what her obsession is with working out. I can't quite figure it out. When I was so disciplined and, well, *crazy* about running, it was because I 1) wanted to go to the Olympics; 2) had a coach and other people investing in me and didn't want to cheat them or disappoint them; 3) needed to win races to earn money so that I could continue pursuing my goals in the sport. It was pretty simple.

But with this girl and athletics, I'm slightly puzzled. She's not very thin at all, so it isn't exactly that. Perhaps it is EXACTLY that that keeps her going. I don't know. But it seems extremely unnatural to me to do as she does. She skiis both weekend days, all day. She runs two 25 km or longer runs per week. On other days she cycles and swims. She takes vacations that involve cycling no less than 100 km per day. She never misses a beat. She seems to enjoy it, but at the same time expresses the same feelings that I do about missing out on doing things artistic, for example.

Frankly, I thought it was a bit crazy that she wanted to do a long run with me today given that she has a very bad chest cold. I tried to gently suggest that I usually take a few days off so as to permit my immune system to rebound, when so afflicted, but she was having none of it. She wouldn't even accept the idea of cutting to a shorter run.

Oh. And I should have mentioned that she is not competitive. She is not fast. She has no chance of or apparent interest in winning anything.

At any rate, to each his or her own. I'm just glad that I feel comfortable with a reasonable level of sloth these days. :)

See, perhaps I'm a bit grumpy.

What else did I want to write about? Oh yeah. I've noticed that I have limited itnerest in reading writing pertaining to sex or focused on other people's sex lives. I started reading raven72d, but although tantalized by the clear intelligence and sensual appreciation of beauty of the writer, I've found the fixation on a lack of sex and on blogs writing about sex to be...not to my taste. I'm sorry, raven. And of course I do not purport to offer a good alternative in my own self-talk, self-therapy postings here.

I've been trying to dissect why I find writing about sex not particularly interesting. I've discovered this in experiences with many other blogs, with the exception of Miss Hiss's. She's simply brilliant and fun - subject irrelevant. Maybe that's just it: sex in her world is fun. And joyfully delicious - one suspects not far different from the delirium derived from delicious cakeys. This is a world I could readily inhabit myself.

So what are the facts? I'm not a prude, per se. I'm interested to a degree in pornography, have watched a large selection and variety out of outright curiosity. Sex has been an important part of every relationship I've had. I dunno. Sex just seems like a non-subject, except - and herein lies the rub - when there are other things going on that are more difficult to address directly. And sex acts mostly seem rather amusing, when not mundane. This is why so much pornography is pernicious - it's about power and hatred and self-destruction, *not* sex at all.

I find myself mostly interested in what people write about how they negotiate emotions - both Large and Small - and how they meander along and create with both the aid of and in spite of them. Sex is a biological need that finds its place somewhere in, around, between. And to a certain degree it might be said that what I admire most is the conscious decision to take the path into caring about all of the other things that are *not* as facile as *getting off*.

I remember watching V3nus with P3ter O'Tool3 last year and thinking: Yes, of course, desire is with us throughout our lives. We're animals. Why would a man at 80 have forgotten the word, smell and taste of *cunt*? Sex is a part of death as well as of life. Why would this be surprising? I like St3aling Beauty, for exactly the same reasons. In fact I watched it just last night. I've always been puzzled by people labeling B3rtolucci simply a "dirty old man." It's the same reason I continue to enjoy the company of my landlord. He knows the rules of the game and so I remain merely amused and appropriately flattered by his advances. So maybe that explains it all: as long as sex doesn't *replace* other processes of examination and experiences of life and does not cross that fine line from desire to predation...well, OK. Not easy to find.

When I think about not being attractive, I don't think about myself as unattractive for the act of sex. For that doesn't take much? ;) I think of myself as not attractive for the social and dependency purposes for which a fair portion of the men around me seem to use marriage - status, nurturance, ego-massage, non-differentiability. I think it's an important distinction. Still not fair and not helpful as a building block in my own life and development, but an important distinction.

OK. I'm musing here. Perhaps it's the beef in my gut. A biological being am I.

I trust that my honesty will not offend. No malice is intended or targeted with this post. Peace.

Well, good grief! Happy Easter. That is the material point.

12:47 p.m. - 2008-03-23

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