Missing someone

In the end I decide to hide Oliver the dom from my Facebook feed. This is mostly on the advice of Virgil who says I should maintain face. I decide not to write to him either.

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The keys to the toybox

I meet Amanda for dinner. We haven't seen each other alone for ages. When she asks why I'm not having my usual strawberry milkshake I explain that I'm off sugar for sexual health reasons. I order a cheeseburger, make a face and say that I've been getting infections.

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I do not understand some people

I don't think I have the emotional resources for another lover but I want to have more sex. I already have a long-term partner in Virgil. And there is the exciting and preoccupying, as yet undefined, new connection with Jay. The idea of meaningless sex makes me nervous. More romantic entanglement would be exhausting: I'm barely coping with the new things I'm feeling. And I would still like some kink in my life.

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Hungry days

I feel insatiable. How is it possible that in the prime of my life I cannot get enough sex? I have an open relationship and a wide circle of pervy and broadminded acquaintance. Surely I should have it worked out by now. I wonder if I am too desperate. Virgil's granny told him once that 'they can smell it on you'.

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Back Again

This blog hasn't finished yet although I haven't been in the mood for writing for many months. Recently I've realised it is not good enough. My blog is not going to be a settler story, one of those journey journals which peter out just when things get interesting.

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Save the date

I wake to an affectionate email from Virgil asking if I remember that today is the anniversary of our first kiss. I am nonplussed. The anniversary of our first date is some weeks away and we first kissed on our second date several weeks later. I think he has accidentally brought the anniversary forward one month. 'Well it's there in my diary,' says Virgil, as though this is incontrovertible evidence. 'Which is more reliable,' I write back, 'My memory or your electronic calendar?'

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Back

I know that I am not addicted to blogging. This is because I can leave it and walk away. (I didn't read anyone else's blog while I was away either.) I walked away on holiday with Virgil at the end of August. We came back a few weeks ago. Then we were busy with a joint project which is now out of the way. It was at least a partial success. Virgil left yesterday on a business trip. It's morning now for him, for me night. It's time to start writing again.

I have decided to give up one of the things I do for work. I spent a long time and a great deal of money training for it. I will be paying off the student loan for many years. It has taken me a long time to see it but I now understand that the only thing worse than losing seven years on this venture is the time and energy I now spend prevaricating and agonising over my lack of success at something I clearly do not want to put the effort into making... work. I'd like that part of my brain back please.

Generally, if I really want to do a thing I do it. I find the time. I find a way. Nothing will grow if you don't nurture it. I haven't been doing anything with this work not because I'm scared or lazy: I just do not want it badly enough to do what is needed to succeed. This thing is just not me - I want to find the things that I can do well and feel proud of.

I have an appointment with Deirdre tomorrow. It's a last chance to turn back before I give notice and tell my clients that I will be taking a sabbatical. When I last talked about giving up Deirdre asked if I was sure I was in a good place to be making this sort of big decision. At the time I agreed that I was not. Now I think I am. Going away really helped clear my head. 

More soon. Goodnight.
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