My body and I have been spending a lot of time together lately. No, that statement is not as ridiculous as it may sound. It’s amazing, when there’s nothing really notable in your life, how much you just don’t pay attention to, how much you let slide. However, in the last while there’ve been the acute emotional upheavals, accompanied by any number of physical experiences. Changes in shape are taking place, as are changes in… consistency? I showered a little while ago, and every now and then get a whiff of my body wash. I felt hungry when I got home, but I don’t now. Last night after I worked out my not-great mood swung hard, and I was positively manic. It felt incredible. A little worrisome, but I’ve experienced it before. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get to sleep. I am getting used to knowing what spending 30 minutes with my heart rate at 170 or above feels like, and how it affects me. When I get back to a mood to do weights again, I will be acutely aware of my muscles’ shape, strength, conditioning, and toning. I can’t wait until I have one of those epiphany moments when I experience something my body can do that it couldn’t before. Like run for several minutes straight, or make it up a hard uphill mountain bike climb after I’ve been out for a while. Not yet, but those will come.
There are other things I’m not so welcoming towards. Moments of desire, for whatever reason, are unwelcome. Desire makes me think of Andrew, and makes me want to do things with him to heighten and slake the desire. Not an option. Highly ironic, given that the sex had, quite often, become rote. (My fault. His fault. Comfort’s fault.) Now I can’t have him, but I can think of the most wonderful, naughty, inventive, tingly things to do to and with him. Minds think they are very funny, I’m sure. It will be better when enough time and space has passed that desire is not inextricably connected to him, per se. I don’t remember if the body cravings are any easier when they’re not for a specific body. At this point, sex in general is not of interest, in any of its myriad permutations. A roll in the hay? No thanks. “Scratching the itch”? No thanks. Fantasizing? No thanks. Being hit on? No thanks. Porn? Erotic writing? Dirty talk? No thanks.
Interestingly, massage has come up a couple times recently at work. This is potentially a dicey subject, given my history with Dan and the fact that I’m the only woman on the team. Doesn’t bother me, though. Kind of lame, that it’s pretty much guaranteed to have some erotic overtone, even if the people involved don’t have the slightest erotic intent. It’s vaguely amusing, given that my massage abilities at one time pretty much had Dan wrapped around my finger. Perhaps my paycheque would benefit significantly if I still did. 🙂 Poor boy hasn’t had one since we stopped seeing each other. Today Mark stopped by my desk to chat while waiting for Dan to join him, and he was being strangely complimentary, so naturally I asked what he wanted. He threw out, “A shoulder massage?” I laughed. He said Gwen (his fiancee) tries, but is very bad. I smiled and said that I am very good. I’m sure he knows. I’m sure Dan’s told him. We shall see. It’s dicey to engage in such activities at work, but the guys have been working insane hours on the current projects. And they all have terrible posture. Even Rob, with his robo-spine. Rob would never let me lay a finger on him. It’s something I miss. I’m sensual. I’m tactile. I like to learn. I enjoy doing it. It was never something Andrew was into. (As a result, it was never something he was particularly good at, either, but he did his best when I had particularly sore areas and requested it.)
I wonder what problems non-corporeal beings have?