Idiot Ex Husband .com

Seeking pleasure

March 31st, 2007

I complain a lot. I know it, you know it — it’s no secret. There’s always some post about how I’m not getting this (affection?), I ran out of that (money?), I can’t get rid of one thing (rheumathoid arthritis) or another (anxiety). It’s all bitchin’ and moaning here at IXH. Generally, that’s okay. For awhile, it was my one joy in my overwhelmed and stressed day.

I thought that writing about my problems would get them out of my system, so that I could to move on to bigger and better things. I now see that it concentrates my negativity so nothing lets up. It’s a constant loop of ‘my life sucks’ every minute of every day. How is that a good thing?

If you’re able to let things go — obviously not a trait I share with you! — maybe you can write in with some tips, dear readers? Please, please, pretty please with sugar on top? I’m in serious need of assistance, people!

It’s been suggested that one way to balance out this unpleasantness is to seek pleasure wherever I can. It was later revised to seeking pleasure, sensual or not. Nice try, mister, but we both know that was a half-hearted revision! The advise was given out of concern for me, so that’s all that really matters! I still think it’s funny…

Seeking pleasure. what a nice, polite phrase for what it is. Equally polite people — all men, of course — have used many euphamisms for seeking out company, with my current favorite being, ‘What you really need is a sharp pencil.’ Most of them say the gender is not important as the goal is to be in control of my own whatever: destiny, body, choice, fill in the blank however you like. Well, however I like. It’s a compelling argument, but ultimately empty and dissatisfying, right? Isn’t that what we women have always been told? It’s what I’ve always been told!

Having said that, I confess that I’ve almost given into to this temptation on several occassions. When someone had his contact list open, and offered up his male friends as nice, attractive men who would be more than happy to help a “tall, hot Latin chick,” (his words — he should have his eyes checked!) scratch an itch, I waivered. I said, “Oh, my God, that sounds so good!…But I can’t. I’d sure like to, but I can’t…If I change my mind, I’ll let you know…Damn.” When a friend was over at my apartment to pick up something I could no longer use (nothing worth mentioning), it (again) crossed my mind. His quick visit turned into a four hour conversation over wine and frozen pizza, ending with compliments on my appearance (I’m not ugly, people), and finally an offer to shoot some photos of me. Seemed he just happened to have his camera with him; he didn’t want to leave it in his car where it was vulnerable to theft in crime-ridden Sherman Oaks, CA. Beside the, ‘You just HAPPEN to have your camera with you?!’ thought, I imagined what could happen (and how) if I said yes. Most important, the consequences of the what and how. In the end, he and the others in the rolodex, were not the right ones for me. Not right now, anyway.

The little fun that I have had distracted me a day, before the worries trickled back. (It was one great day, though!) It can’t be healthy that my stress left me scatterbrained, distant, uncomfortable and unable to enjoy anything (or anyone) for any length of time. Maybe I’m doing this wrong? Or not enough? Or maybe I am doing it right, but sensual distractions just don’t work? Get back to me on that, will ya?

In the meantime, I’ve renewed some other interests. I’m watching movies (more than usual), I’m walking at Franklin Park (again) and I’m writing outside of my blog. Out of these three, picking up the pen is the most enjoyable. It’s not clear if anyone else will appreciate it, but it doesn’t really matter. This is all for me.

Adios,
Flo

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