I won’t lie, I got caught up in the political landscape of our country leading up to the election, and that turned out to be a nightmare for me creatively. And sexually. The pain of the loss of possibility and potential that I experienced that night will stay with me forever, I assume. It came on like a physical ailment, like slipping further into a terrible fever as state after state slipped backwards into the cesspool of social conservatism. By the time the networks were calling it for Trump, I was despondent. My partner offered sex to lift my spirits, but in a rare state of malaise, I TURNED IT DOWN. That’s not like me at all, but the classic “not tonight dear, I have a headache” line was literally true for once. I sought the refuge of sleep, alone, and welcomed the deadening darkness that overtook me.
And that lasted, like, one day. By the end of the week, I was back to firing on all sexual cylinders. Some time the following week I got the bug to start writing about it again.
I am worried for our country and for the world in general. I don’t think we are OK, and I don’t think we are going to be OK. I hope kindness, understanding, and love win the day, but their representatives are not in charge at the moment. We could be in for a long haul, so it might be wise to shelter in place with a good book, pen and paper, and something hard and throbby.
My favorite things are reading, writing, and fucking.
I’m going to do as much of that as I can while it’s still legal.