Might be burnout time for this job. The job itself, and a sorry discovery that the illustrious “bennies” don’t cover squat. The dental coverage is as minimal as possible. I’m getting addicted to BP and anxiety medz. The fascination with these little glimpses into everyday and not-so-everyday lives has not soured, I don’t think. That could keep me connected. But the new setup has calls coming in continuously, with no time to breathe. A 7-second pause between calls was described as a time to catch your breath, a time to breathe. It’s more like a time to hyperventilate, and from the look on the face of the person who introduced the 7-second pause I think it was no secret that this little flourish was better for the system but brutal on the people
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Mind was awash this AM. Waves of small memories, little disappointments, eternal failures. They crawl all over each other, trying to erase each other. I imagine what my mother would think of my current livelihood. I don’t have to imagine. I know she’d love it. She would know how perfect it is for me, to tune in to the world around me from the discreet distance of a telephone. I can hear the breathing and almost taste the breath but no one touches me. I want the touch. I shook someone’s hand last night and, without being gay, felt a sensuousness to the touch of a human hand. I wanted more, though not from this individual. I joked about it, saying “Don’t give me your Covid.” He laughed, faked a cough, and we moved on to talk of how his dog food app had just been hacked. Someone sent $60 worth of dog food to a Colorado address. I had tales to tell of identity theft and compromised accounts but I kept all that, and any shred or even appearance of “advice” to myself. I don’t go there anymore. I don’t make myself look smart. In so doing it may well be that I make myself look smarter than ever. I don’t know. Someone once said they could tell if someone had a college degree from the first seven words that person says to them. What are those seven words? In college and beyond I was something of a grammar and vocabulary snot. When someone “axed” a question I winced, internally. Throughout grade school I always remembered the kid who, seemingly articulate for his age, once blurted out “I DIDN’T DO NOTHING!” All I can recall of the context was the silence that introduced his announcement. He thought about it. He detected the gossip, the chitter-chatter, the covered mouths and hidden chuckles. But what had he done, or not done? I don’t remember. It was just that not-quite-literate assemblage of words and the dopey defensiveness, thrust into a discussion that had already moved on without him. I don’t think there was a signal point at which I stopped being a snot about this sort of thing but if there was it might have been when the woman I loved but let get away spoke of her having to go to the “Laundrymat” and her occasional use of phrases not unlike “didn’t do nothing” or similar. I am surrounded by people “axing” questions and I’m all in with the anti-grammarianism. How can you care about those things? I mean unless it makes communication impossible or difficult, but that’s another matter.
Oh dang, I’m looking at a beautiful woman who I thought just shot a smile my way a few minutes earlier. She has a rock. A ring. Who gets married anymore?Spend your entire life with one person. I saw something about jizz jewelry today. SOmeone is making pearl necklackes out of mens’ semen ejaculata. Someone in this article said it was an inside joke between lovers who wanted to remember their pre-baby sex life. Glad I never had kids, although I’m as certain as I can be that I actually did father a child. She’s in her 20s now, and from anything I ever detected of her online presences she is a real bore. The physical resemblances are uncanny, though. If that is really my kid I won the gene war, fathering a white child from a Chinese mother.
Word just crossed that my boss will be out for 3 weeks, dealing with Long Covid. That’s bad. I hope she’s alright. I’m getting boosted next week, or whenever the next round of boosters are available. I think this batch was never tested on humans.
I was thinking about pussy the last couple of days after someone sent me a photo of hers. She’s from upstate and we’ve flirted off and on for over a year. She’s strictly sex, no sleepover, no hosting, just a motel room somewhere. She looks beautiful in the pictures she sends, I’m not sure how far I’d travel for sex with a stranger. I’ve done it before but there was plenty of rapport built up. I’ve been doing it recently, though “travel” isn’t really applicable when the destination is Staten Island or Cypress Hills. The farthest I traveled for sex is probably San Francisco. I also flew from Atlanta to Detroit for a much-anticipated encounter that I felt failed to live up to the hype. But we lied about it, saying it was all kinds of tremendous. I think of her sometimes she I shower. I see her breasts. This memory comes from a time we were in her shower and I opened my eyes to see her breasts right in my face. I feigned shock, and she laughed, fake-elling “BREASTS!” I watched her shave her crotch and breasts and legs. She was very hairy, or rather she would have been very hairy if she didn’t shave for 20 minutes every single day. .
Memories like this don’t exactly torment me. They are simply there, supporting the complete absence of memory from countless corners of my life. I was reminiscing about the day after Thanksgiving encounter, asserting to myself that no one could forget a night like that. But I corrected myself Certainly she could have forgotten it by now, as I have to struggle sometimes to remember that I had any encounter at all with women I knew long enough that you’d think I could not forget them.
My history with women is not vast. I don’t think it’s unusual for one never married and never wanted to be married. Two or three women a year with some dry spells. I typically welcome the dry spells with claims that I feel safer alone. It’s not a claim. It’s a truth. I dated women who’d suggest we meet up or go out and I’d make up some bullshit excuse just so I could stay home and masturbate. I always laughed at those situations, but only to myself. I never revealed that masturbation was more fun and satisfying than sex with a particular woman. She was a horrible kisser and made fun of me for kissing every part of her body. “How do those feet taste?” she’d ask in a cockeyed manner. Years later we had sex again. Her kissing had not changed. I imagined that her experiences in between our encounters would have changed something about her performance (oh how I hate that word in this context). But nothing changed. It’s like she was born knowing how to do things the way she did them.
