I’ve been reading all these books on low libido lately- mainly because I have more interest in salmon spawning, books, and food than sex, and have for about, what, two years? Three?
Anyone who has known me long-term knows how incredibly unusual- if not surreal- this is. I have been a slut for a long, long time. I even started early.
But- so things go. I’m working on the issue- trying yoga, dancing, aromatherapy, meditation, couples therapy, family therapy, individual therapy, a healthier diet, a diet of sensual aphrodisiac foods, homemade beauty products, tighter jeans, a new haircut, hot scented soothing baths, sci-fi erotica books. It’s a serious fucking effort to work towards wanting something that I used to want almost every minute of every day. Particularly at inopportune times, like Behavior Modification class or while driving to work.
I don’t even think about sex anymore. Just about why I should be thinking about sex. According to my mindfulness cognitive-behavioral therapy self-help workbook, this is called rumination. Instead of ruminating, I should eat oysters, let the sex come to me.
So, I read a memoir by someone else who went through this. The woman had at least two chapters dedicated to trying out quickies in lieu of “real” sex, the idea being that she could get through sex faster with less frustration, and thus keep her husband even though she’d rather eat a cupcake than fuck him. This was professional advice- to take a deep breath and hustle through.
I’d say leave him for a cupcake chef.
But here’s my quickie today: a quickie blog-post. Ain’t that hot. I try to do a couple each week, with one long slow blog post each weekend to make it seem spontaneous.
Unrelatedly (I hope), last night I dreamed that I birthed a tadpole out of a wound in my thumb.
P.S.: Please Submit to Specter(s) Blog of Specter Magazine! I’m the editor of the blog now. See the call here.
P.P.P.S.: I really, really want this Ray Troll drawing on a t-shirt: