June 14, 2004

7:15 p.m.

Hey! No Sex in this City

For the record, I know I had sex once last year, but I can�t remember when it was, and it�s just as well. Before that I may have had sex once the previous year. Before that I can�t remember when the last time was. It bugged me for a long time. I was afraid no one would ever want me again. That I�d just get older and saggier, and there wouldn�t be anyone who knew what I looked like when I was 36 and momentarily perfect. Here, I�d say, here�s a promo picture from 1995. Hahahahaha, wasn�t I young? I knew I had to do two things: accept myself bigtime, and do more things to stay in shape now that my shape didn�t stay all by itself.

I think I met myself halfway. Now I�m sittin� around thinking, Okay, but where�s the sex? Is there any of that?

Sigh.

And now it�s all different anyway. We have to exchange doctors� reports. It scares me. How can I even decide to be intimate with anyone, when all these risks have erupted since the days when... when I was getting some and no one had heard of AIDS?

But, hopeful heart that I am, I�ve made all my medical appointments that have been years overdue � physical, bloodwork, std scan, mammogram. I need them anyway. What I�m really hoping, of course, is that when Will is strong enough, he�ll come riding over the prairie. He does have a history of monogomy. So do I.

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Today I practiced moving through tasks in an unhurried way. I really wanted to a) getitalloverwith, b) be bugged about going back to work tomorrow (Carol�s back; gig in CT somewhere), c) worry about Will, and d) feel that I was overlooking something important I should be doing. But, No, I said to my monkey mind as though it were a... a monkey, you can do just this for now and when it's done you can do something else. So I did errands (Bank. CVS for batteries. Staples for a fax. P.O. for sending PR out.) and got back before the UPS guy came by again for my signature; I ate; I knitted in front of housewifey tv shows; I worked out majorly on my Total Gym; I sat zazen for 25 minutes observing how fidgety I was and contemplating the need for a different pillow arrangement 'cause my knees ain't what they used to be. I cooked a stir fry. I knitted some more. My wrist is ok right now.

Carol called a short while ago, on her way back from NJ. She�s exhausted from helping her parents sort out their house. Her dad has early stage cancer (I may have mentioned this) and the poor guy is so ornery on a good day, he�s not much help. He didn�t know what to do with his office. He told the daughters to just get rid of everything. They threw out a few things, and then the next day he was all pissed at them for it. She said, there are different levels of things they�ll do to dispose of everything. Her mom decides what they�ll take to the condo in Florida; that goes in one pile. Everything that can be sold goes next. Then the neighbors get to come in and take whatever they�d like out of what�s left. Then a church comes in and takes most of what the neighbors didn�t want, and the really crappy stuff that no one wants gets taken to the dump. Carol said her mother wanted ALL her knick knacks, even though she has a condo full of them already. (Notice I avoided saying chatchkee, because I still don�t know how to spell tchatzki. Tshatshkey. Chotchky.)

So she�s completely wasted. She asked me to make a set list for tomorrow that we could play in our sleep, so I came up with something relatively riskless. I haven�t played all week either, but I think in my case the R&R did me good.

And it did do me good. I spent time with my sibling, got a lot of exercise in, saw a movie, had some fabulous dinners. I�m trying not to feel guilty, but then, I�m sure Chris had a lot of fun while Carol was away too. I didn�t talk to either of them for three days, I think � that�s a record.

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Does anybody else get those bogus letters from Nigeria wanting to transfer ten million dollars into a reputable foreigner�s bank account? I worked part time for a wonderful old guy in the early to mid 90s (I mean it was the 1990s, not that he was in his 90s) who first introduced me to these letters. He�d gotten probably one of the first ones ever, in the mail, and it was so funny he saved it. Prince Abilowo was looking to push �1,000,000 gold wristwatch and 1.5 wall clock.� (We never figured out what he did with the other half.) As more came in we�d file them under �Nigeria,� and every now and then take them all out and have a good laugh. But none was so funny as the first one; I wish I had a copy. I rarely talk to him any more; a mutual friend told me recently he went in for bypass surgery. Today when I received another Nigeria letter through email, I decided to print it out and send it to him to cheer him up.

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A big event this week is my period. It�s big because I�m on a new pill that has a three-month cycle, so I�ll only bleed four times a year. While �hate� is too strong a word, I�ve always thought my period was a useless annoyance. Since I didn�t sign up to have kids it was merely something to put up with every month � or a lot more frequently, which is why I stayed on the pill even through times of having no lover. Now that it�s been on vacation, though, I almost feel like celebrating in some way. Throw myself a little party. My reinflated mylar balloons (from the birthday party in January) have all bitten the rug again, so I�m not sure what I should do. Another night with the vibrator is so passe. And I�ll miss Sex in the City tomorrow because of the gig. Maybe I�ll call Will and leave a dirty message on his machine.

But I REFUSE to get maudlin.

That�s my story. Butchgirl signing off.