I still have a dirty mind
A disturbing thing happened this morning. I really shouldn't phrase it that way though, as disturbing. My therapist is always driving home the fact that I shouldn't be so hard on myself, and to not indulge in self-loathing, guilt, blah blah, and I have gotten much better at that in all honesty. Everyone has naughty thoughts no?
I was reading in bed. I need to finish for book club tonight. "Snow Flower and the Secret Fan" is really a wonderful story. Anyway, the phone rings and it's the man, of course. (Things have been a bit better, btw, there was a turning point I believe, but that's another tale for another entry.) When I twisted to put the phone back on its cradle, the cord brushed across my breast, my bra-less nipple to be exact. It gave me that certain shiver. I hadn't in so long, you know? And there I was all comfy cozy, still in my pj's alone in my room...
As a rule, when it comes to matters of self-gratification (pun! Hee!) usually faceless, anonymous men occupy my fantasies. I've long gotten past a lot of things. But God, my He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named really is like a seasonal, quarterly visitation, a spirit who has the ability to surprise and haunt me. At least it doesn't upset me anymore, and again I don't beat myself up or let guilt gnaw at me for "thinking about Him". For a while I was afraid to, lest something think I am mentally ill or something. But he was important to me, and there is no Haitian Hero to come erase my memories of him, as much as I once wished for it. It is natural for him to come to mind occasionally when a song plays or a literary theme emerges. I actually erased some old files I found on a hard drive yesterday! He'd be so proud of me. LOL. "Why do you keep that stuff anyway?" No honey, it wasn't to blackmail you with someday. ::eyeroll::
Tangents, oy! I guess the rest is self explanatory. I think my words imply what compelled me here to confess. Consider this my semi-annual exorcism.
I was reading in bed. I need to finish for book club tonight. "Snow Flower and the Secret Fan" is really a wonderful story. Anyway, the phone rings and it's the man, of course. (Things have been a bit better, btw, there was a turning point I believe, but that's another tale for another entry.) When I twisted to put the phone back on its cradle, the cord brushed across my breast, my bra-less nipple to be exact. It gave me that certain shiver. I hadn't in so long, you know? And there I was all comfy cozy, still in my pj's alone in my room...
As a rule, when it comes to matters of self-gratification (pun! Hee!) usually faceless, anonymous men occupy my fantasies. I've long gotten past a lot of things. But God, my He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named really is like a seasonal, quarterly visitation, a spirit who has the ability to surprise and haunt me. At least it doesn't upset me anymore, and again I don't beat myself up or let guilt gnaw at me for "thinking about Him". For a while I was afraid to, lest something think I am mentally ill or something. But he was important to me, and there is no Haitian Hero to come erase my memories of him, as much as I once wished for it. It is natural for him to come to mind occasionally when a song plays or a literary theme emerges. I actually erased some old files I found on a hard drive yesterday! He'd be so proud of me. LOL. "Why do you keep that stuff anyway?" No honey, it wasn't to blackmail you with someday. ::eyeroll::
Tangents, oy! I guess the rest is self explanatory. I think my words imply what compelled me here to confess. Consider this my semi-annual exorcism.
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