Friday, 1 June 2012

Pining, blogging and an outing

Happy knowing that the day after tomorrow will be a day spent with Virgil, I am pining for him in the way we missed each other between dates at the beginning of our relationship. There are three job descriptions on the desk in front of me and I cannot bear to start work on any of them. Instead I daydream. I'm getting paid to do nothing. I start writing instead.

Virgil has been my tech support for several years but two days ago I impressed myself by installing analytics software on my blog. Today I check it and discover that visitors spend, on average, 12 seconds perusing my most intimate thoughts and feelings. This depresses me no end. I had thought my musings worthy of a wider audience, at least worthy of a stay longer than the time it takes to scan a paragraph and think 'meh'. 

If I could only comfort myself with the thought that my blog is too intelligent for most people or that it is ahead of its time. Both possibilities are unlikely: on principal, I do not aim for literary heights. Pretty much anyone could understand my blog and I don't spend a long time drafting and editing. If occasionally I reach for a high-faluting idea I generally render it in plain English. Before its time? Are sex blogs even current? Didn't the novelty and fascination wear off with the outings of Girl with a One-Track Mind and Belle de Jour?

'You haven't had sex for three weeks,' I think. 'You haven't even masturbated.'

I did, however, go out last night on my first social excursion since the bomb went off with Virgil nearly two weeks ago. I went to the erotic book club. It's one of my favourite social things. Book club meets in an independent bookshop that stocks unusual and wonderful publications. Everything begs to be browsed but I can't imagine buying anything except as art pieces. It's not only the nice people and the venue, I like the combination of book chat, general gossip, sexual reminiscing and red wine. 

Claudi, the proprietress, says she knows someone who often has rooms to let in a warehouse on the river. 'Oh!' I say, 'I have wanted to live by the river for years. Do ask her, please!' I imagine myself having a room in a warehouse on the river. It feels exciting and full of potential. 

A droll man I haven't met before called Laurie turns up toward the end. He has curly hair and a wide, open face and as the conversation goes on we have a laugh. I can tell he is attracted to me in a friendly way. He makes a point of finding out my name and when I leave he says he really hopes that I will be there next time. Not that it matters overly, but it warms me and for a few hours I feel like my own person.

No comments:

Post a Comment