How about a donut and a fuck?
Amidst the second round of my Special K diet, I’m going fucking nuts. There is a Dunkin Donuts two blocks from my office, and I swear to you, it’s calling to me. Fellow dieters frequently tell me to squash my craving for an everything bagel smothered in delicious, fatty cream cheese by having just a bit of one once and awhile. But, moderation has never been my style. Come to think of it, abstinence hasn’t really been my style either.
Maybe it’s time to renew my faith in staying away from things that are bad for me. Like any good addict, I make excuses for my self-destructive behavior. Lying about your life becomes second nature, because in the beginning, the lies were true. Even you keep forcing yourself to believe the bullshit long after the excuse turns into a lie. Yes, I am happy with the way I look. No, I do not mind paying $5 per day on a habit that will eventually give me cancer. No, I do not want to have meaningful relationships, as they’re too boring and conformist. I’m happy with being on the fringe because it allows me to see what you’re all missing.
Last November, I decided that I wasn’t happy and that I could do something about it. Moderation failed me, so I took up abstinence. The last two weeks aside (birthdays don’t count), I haven’t had a donut or a bagel in something like 9 months. Pretty impressive, right? After the first few weeks, I stopped fantasizing about them altogether. And it paid off, as those who actually know me can attest. Up next on the hit list had been my filthy smoking habit, but I’m reconsidering. Perhaps I’m trying to find an excuse to keep smoking, or perhaps there’s another part of my life that, while cheaper, is more bothersome.
There’s a lot to consider in this decision. Dating and fucking at absurdly high levels has been my life for going on three years now. In that time, I’ve amassed a wonderful collection of stories and an incomparable amount of experience (for girls my age). But there’s nothing that I’m really proud of in all that time; nothing accomplished. By now, the possibility of learning something new or reaching into the unknown has long faded. To be honest, I’m not even interested in the sex anymore. The only moment that still holds any appeal to me is the moment when I first know that I’m going to get to have sex. All the moments before that are filled with awkwardness and often, panic. All the moments after that are filled with awkwardness and often, more panic.
From The Blondie tonight who oscillated between staying on the date, going home with me, or going home alone three times to The Roommate who used me like a fucking blow-up doll to The S who’s taken to using his dominant-submissive language and tone outside of the bedroom with me, I fucking hate dating. I should stop doing it.
Maybe it’s time to renew my faith in staying away from things that are bad for me. Like any good addict, I make excuses for my self-destructive behavior. Lying about your life becomes second nature, because in the beginning, the lies were true. Even you keep forcing yourself to believe the bullshit long after the excuse turns into a lie. Yes, I am happy with the way I look. No, I do not mind paying $5 per day on a habit that will eventually give me cancer. No, I do not want to have meaningful relationships, as they’re too boring and conformist. I’m happy with being on the fringe because it allows me to see what you’re all missing.
Last November, I decided that I wasn’t happy and that I could do something about it. Moderation failed me, so I took up abstinence. The last two weeks aside (birthdays don’t count), I haven’t had a donut or a bagel in something like 9 months. Pretty impressive, right? After the first few weeks, I stopped fantasizing about them altogether. And it paid off, as those who actually know me can attest. Up next on the hit list had been my filthy smoking habit, but I’m reconsidering. Perhaps I’m trying to find an excuse to keep smoking, or perhaps there’s another part of my life that, while cheaper, is more bothersome.
There’s a lot to consider in this decision. Dating and fucking at absurdly high levels has been my life for going on three years now. In that time, I’ve amassed a wonderful collection of stories and an incomparable amount of experience (for girls my age). But there’s nothing that I’m really proud of in all that time; nothing accomplished. By now, the possibility of learning something new or reaching into the unknown has long faded. To be honest, I’m not even interested in the sex anymore. The only moment that still holds any appeal to me is the moment when I first know that I’m going to get to have sex. All the moments before that are filled with awkwardness and often, panic. All the moments after that are filled with awkwardness and often, more panic.
From The Blondie tonight who oscillated between staying on the date, going home with me, or going home alone three times to The Roommate who used me like a fucking blow-up doll to The S who’s taken to using his dominant-submissive language and tone outside of the bedroom with me, I fucking hate dating. I should stop doing it.
posted by The Husskateer at 8:35 PM
2 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
"The only moment that still holds any appeal to me is the moment when I first know that I’m going to get to have sex... "
Yep, I'm right there with you...
Post a Comment
<< Home