She said she wants to “ride this train” as long as possible. It’s like semi-retirement, but she’s not the sort who looks for an ending. There is always something else on the horizon, some new adventure or astoundment.
Among the joys of her days at present she included cooking for me as something she wants to do forever. “Cooking for you,” she said, in a list of lifestyle joys she presently appreciates. I’m not a sort who looks for a tradwife kind of arrangement but if it makes her happy I will not get in the way. In fact I’ve learned already to just get out of the way. There are risks with this. Sometimes I eat very little, or virtually nothing. My daily dietary routines have always been like that. I’m not regular about eating, though I am moreso now with the job and all.
WE had sex for over 2 hours in the middle of the night. I was so tired but we did more the next day. I spent basically the entire day in bed, some of it sleeping other of it not sleeping. I feel so pure and vulnerable when I’m naked with her. In terms of personal demons and even the crudest thoughts I’ve never had anything to hide, but taking that outlook to the physical level is best shared with one, not the public. I wish I looked better naked. I looked good in the past but this job and its inert nature have spawned a gut I never would have thought possible on this once-rail-thin frame. It affects me in many ways, and reminds me that, like a stereotypical male, I am a visual creature in many ways.
Here I am at work on a major holiday. It rained on me all the way from home to the subway but the rain let me alone from the subway to here. There will be severe rain later, they say. The 4 trains ran every 10 minutes and I barely missed the connection. Yesterday was worse. The trip from Ridgewood to home was almost 2 hours, leaving me with little time for anything more than eat and sleep. I took a long shower before bed, remembering a John Irving comment about the smell of sex and how it stays on your body. I felt it yesterday. Getting it off my body is not why I showered. I was sauteed with a mix of sex, sweat, and too much aftershave accidentally slathered on the back of my neck. I was a scentual quagmire.
But none of that contributed to the desire to shower. I needed the hot water on the back of my neck. That’s where I let the water flow the longest. It makes me feel like a child. I shower in the dark, with a small amount of light for guidance coming from outside the room. Sometimes the radio informs me of the world outside, it’s craggy, metallic sound tolerable only for a mental minute. But mostly I relish the nakedness and the aloneness, the reversion to childhood that seems to overtake me.
