Greetings with a hug are always the warmest ones. Neither of us could figure out how long it had been since the last time we'd talked. We tried using various life land marks to put it in perspective (when we worked together, when I was with K, her time at college and her wedding), but the best we could come up with was "a few years". It seems we both have a slightly distorted sense of time. Everything is "3 or 4 years ago" to me.
Goading those memories to the surface was an odd experience. Some seem like a dream on the verge of being remembered. Others are crystal clear snap shots taken yesterday. Others are clips of grainy home movies.
After a few minutes of verbal floundering for where to start, we found our cadence. Walking and talking turned to driving and talking turned to walking and talking. We exchanged the happenings since we'd last seen each other, pointed out the various weird things we spotted on Worth Avenue, I took pictures.
We talked about when we'd gone to the airport to just have something to do, watched Conan O' Brien at my house, the one time we kissed, some of the people we'd both known, the film she's in (it's being submitted to Cannes. [I know a movie star! I wanted to ask for her autograph]).
Later, she said "Have you ever wondered about the things that could have been different? The decisions we could have made?"
"Yeah. We're where we're supposed to be though."
It took me several tries and her help to get that statement out. Fucking homonyms.
A goodbye hug and I was on my way home.

This week has chewed me up and spit out the seeds. I woke up this morning feeling the weight of everything bearing me down, wearing me down, grinding me into dust.
I've been avoiding those who call, those who want to go out and have fun. Unfortunately, I don't have the time for much fun any more. For the most part, this hasn't bothered me, but it caught up to me today. I wanted nothing more than to just give in, but I know it's not really an option.
I take my training very seriously. It's a duty, a responsibility, and it's been burned into my bones. I can't not do it. I've tried - I've said to myself, I'm taking the day off and tried to just relax and lie in bed. Didn't work. I berated myself the entire time, like a drill sergeant. Mentally yelling at myself for being lazy, for being weak, for being a pussy who couldn't eat the bitter¹. Soon enough I was up and dressed, locked in my workout room and steamrolling my way through close to 120 minutes.
Soon enough, I'll be in that room again.

1. Eat the bitter, meaning to do that which is unpleasant, or to do that which one does not wish to do. A saying often associated with kung fu training.

From an email I received a few days ago:

"why the heck are you so popular? what about your site intrigues people to such an extent that it does?"

Honestly, I have no idea. I don't consider myself overly funny, entertaining or interesting. I don't consider myself a real writer. I don't consider myself much, really.
So, why do you people read my weblog?

A flash of recognition passed from her eyes to mine when she walked through the door, then towards my car. I sat, watching and paused the radio. Arbitrary words, "Hey, what's up?", at first.
Black curly hair pulled back tight, exposing the cut on her forehead she'd gotten boogie boarding. Olive skin (like mine) and brown eyes (like mine), she spoke with lilted cream soda-sweetness.
Then the meat of the matter:
She scribbled on the scrap of paper, smiling.
A sun shower pit pit spattered its way into our conversation, darker dots on her dark shirt and the smug, oily smell of water on too hot asphalt. We parted ways with a call promised, plans unmade.

The Newest Lady In My Life

Meet Panteleimon, the newest addition to my family. The spiked collar is oh-so-fashionable. I'm currently the victim of an exhausting workout and the subsequent low blood sugar, so nothing more to say.
Trixiegirl! - my friend Kim serves all your cat toy needs!

Ok, I wasn't going to blog again about sex, but this shit takes the cake. Every weekend, I wake up early and head to the beach to workout. This morning, I get there and start my routine, which takes close to an hour and a half. What I do is similar to yoga, so I'm in the same spot the whole time. Anyways, about 20 minutes or so into it, a couple sets up their blankets a dozen or so yards away from me. Not too long after, they sprint into the water and
they
start
fucking.
They don't even care that I'm right there in front of them.
Let me reiterate.
THERE'S A COUPLE HAVING SEX. IN FRONT OF ME.
Evil, evil, evil bastards. If this isn't the universe bitch slapping me, I don't know what is.
I think I need to go...umm....take a shower.

Fuck This Weblog.

So it's occured to me, as well as been pointed out to me, that my writing has changed a lot in the last couple of months. Mostly, it's become very impersonal, trite bubblegum bullshit. To be honest, this has been really irritating the shit out of me. I originally wanted this place to be somewhere for me to just write about whatever I needed or wanted to. Without my original anonymity, I censor myself, I take readers into consideration, people I know and like. Well fuck you, in the nicest way possible. If you can't handle me swearing, or speaking exactly what's on my mind from this point on, unsubscribe now.
Now having said that, what exactly is on my mind?
First and foremost, I'm horny. ALL. THE. TIME.
I know it's from working out every day, and I know it's just hormones coursing though my blood stream, but that doesn't make it any different.
I still want hard, scratching, biting, swearing, sweaty, dripping, grunting, moaning, straining sex.
Hallelujah.

Eunuchs people are ...not funny.

Unix people are funny.

I'm rereading House of Leaves.
If I start posting complete psycho babble, you now know why.
You've been notified.