We traded notes on where we are in our lives. I know little to nothing about his personal life but tea-leaves seemed to suggest he moved to Astoria to on account of a woman. Or maybe it was a job. Or both. I don’t know, but my interest-level is high enough to warrant speculation only because I came close to a romance with the woman I suspect he wanted to be near.
All these never-happened romances intertwine, creating intrigue that goes nowhere.
It was a nice, settled conversation. He is happy where he is, I am happy where I am, and we both seemed happy for each other’s place in life. He works a job where virtually nothing is expected of him. I work a job that keeps me busy. For now, at least, I relish being busy. Makes me feel something I had not felt for many years: Relevance.
…
I’ve been gravitating toward the bathtub a lot thesse days. It’s not because of the hot summer. The heat has mostly passed, giving way to cool breezes made even cooler by the shower water. I do not run the water much, at least I don’t think I do. I’d heard much of the state was on drought watch, so I do my part.
I don’t know why the shower tub is suddenly my place to be. I’ve had dark thoughts in that space. I drink coffee in the morning from a glass or ceramic mug. When a little bit of coffee is left I run the shower water into the cup, causing the coffee to flow onto the shower floor. It looks like blood to me. Blood circling the drain and disappearing forever after a wrist or neck was slit.
It also cleans the coffee mug for reuse the next day. That is the real efficiency.
I can spend an hour meditating, or reaching about as close as possible a state of mediation as my sometime flickering, spastic mind allows. I masturbate, which can be synonymous with meditation. It can be a soulful, searching, cathartic sensation, this stigmatized act that could not be more natural, more safe.
I tried explaining to someone how I’d rediscovered the sensations of being alive. This was about 4 years ago, after I tried to hang myself. I did not intend to follow through with the act. I only wanted to know if it was as easy to do as had been stated so often. Why was it the method of choice for so many?
It was shockingly easy. I came within centimeters, I think, within seconds, milliseconds. Everything could be gone, save for the twinkling of life left in the brain that knows your body is dead. This trickle of light is a source of dread for some, a possibility of pure peace for others.
I know how cliché it sound but after the incident I rediscovered the sensations of being alive. I masturbated like I was 14 years old again, my erections virtually never abating throughout the day. I didn’t stay rock hard but the pressure was always there, and sporadic incidents of sudden erections occur to this day.
THe body is filled with elusive energies, muscular discretions, intellectual and mental tics. We subdue most of them but I’ve been letting them thrive.
It’s not a matter of singularity. I’ve had some woman the last 4 years. One of them was into everything weird, it seemed. But then what is weird? She liked watching me shower, shave, pee, and masturbate. She never watched me shit and that’s fine with me.
No more time for this morning mental stramble. Happy to be here but wish I was in a shower just the same.
