::Origami.

After the seashore adventure, we were adrift, unfolded, like kites without strings, whirling above the earth.

As we have come home and been tied back down, we begin to crumple down, to fold along the same old creases to become the same old things we were before, just a little more wrinkled and a little less defined.  It’s back to complaining and dry, worthless sex and routines and whatever. 

I try not to worry about it.  The trees are budding, the flowers are blooming, the songbirds are here.  It’s shirt-sleeve weather, with all the thunderstorms and pollen and such.  Which always brings out the hyperactive hedon in me.  So horny it’s like thirst.  Hungry for new things and exciting times.  Excited for no reason.

To combat this (or use it), I joined a gym when we got back.  I quit my last gym at the beginning of the winter… it’s a long story and not really worth telling.  Let’s just say it was them, not me.  Anyway, the new gym is the hot shiz.  I like it.  I pretend that I can already see some definition in my shoulders and arms, and try to ignore my protuberances, rolls, and lumps.  My pants are a little looser.  If I have the balls to get back on the diet I did last year AND work out, maybe I will start looking like a real human being.  Then I can attract another adult or two who actually have some passion and want to be all poly and interesting.

Because the Midwest is SO good for that.  Maybe I’ll just go back to fantasizing about fucking my co-workers.  Which is healthy and gets me through bad sex with my eyes closed.  Healthy until I start popping unsolicited wood in meetings, anyway.  Which hasn’t happened yet.  The nice thing about being in my thirties is that he generally behaves himself unless I tell him otherwise.  Generally.  Mostly.  Though I can’t vouch for what he does while I’m asleep.

I am dreading the gym tomorrow, because I am still swollen and sore from shooting on Sunday.  The original plan was to go and shoot a variety of things; I plan to get my concealed-carry permit and buy a pistol this summer.  (Another long story, maybe an entry on its own.)  However, all the gun-control nuts have terrified the gun-loving nuts, who have appparently bought up ALL the pistol ammunition.  Seriously; we went three places and could only find shotgun shells.  Which is fine… I love my 12-gauge and love shooting clay birds into tiny little bits.  Turning money into noise is the American way.

But since that was all we could bring, that’s all we shot – which means I went through a case of shotgun shells, and my shoulder is beat to hell.  Stiff and sore and bruised.  Of course, it makes me smirk – macho, macho, macho.  It was fun and it was worth it, and I’m okay with it.  But lifting tomorrow is going to be agonizing.

If only I had grilled out this weekend, that could have completed my Manly Manifesto of pumping iron at the gym, getting laid, shooting guns, AND burning red meat over a fire all in the same day.  Ah well, there’s next weekend to consider.

And I probably lose Manly Points for playing tabletop roleplaying games.  Indoors.  With a bevy of other pale, chubby nerds.  But that’s ok.  What was I going to spend my points on, anyway?  There’s not much good in the catalog this year.   There wasn’t even a centerfold.  What kind of Man Manual are they printing these days?  It used to be that if you collected enough boxtops you could trade them in for something really neat.  (Do you think my son will buy that kind of bullshit when he gets a little older?  I have to practice my bullshit stories now….)

Anyway – I’m trying to get my body under control.  Burning off energy through brutal exercise and unpleasant masturbation and maybe soon a diet.  Maybe.  Ugh.  Stupid body.  Of course, if it did EVERYTHING I wanted, I’d have wings.  Pity I can’t redo a few of these creases Just So and catch the jet stream to the coast once in a while.

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