Sometimes I can’t sleep because I know I’m supposed to be writing. Not that I’m caught up in a flash of inspiration that burns so brightly I can’t close my eyes long enough to rest – more that there’s a mental restlessness and beneath, a dull hunger. Ever know you should eat, your body’s hungry, but you just don’t have the desire or drive?
It’s that, with self-examination and self-expression. The need is there, I just don’t have much appetite… I can’t be bothered to actually do it. I don’t find my own ideas interesting enough to even think them. It feels like running in circles, or revisiting the same vacation spot. I don’t feel like I have new ground to tread, or if I do I can’t figure out how to do it under this name.
I’ve been doing a lot of external travel lately (and some internal dialogue, though not much internal journeying yet). It’s nice, it feels good, but somehow compulsive; not satisfying. I’m not writing it out or thinking it through. I’m mostly running around eating at different restaurants, and I feel like I’m missing the point.
I need to have a self-indulgent, introspective personal blog again. I’ve been putting it off feeling that any writing I do elsewhere would be taking away from my poor neglected sex blogs. It’s not true. Or, at least, not keeping one isn’t helping me neglect them any less.
I’d forgotten how much of my thought process – hell, even my self-awareness – is dependent on writing sessions with my brain. Lately it feels self-indulgent and lazy. Spoiled. Pointless, a masturbatory form of leisure time. And it is.
But sometimes I really need to masturbate.
I can’t keep forgetting that.
And like any other form of masturbation, doing it for yourself in private doesn’t make you stop wanting more. Quite the opposite in fact.
I’m meeting with a friend tomorrow I hadn’t seen in years, a random encounter who became a night owl chat companion, then a writing buddy, then a very dear friend. He – along with his lovely wife – is stealing me away for the weekend, and it’s got me thinking about words and sensuality, memory and salt on skin…
I just realized that one of the first bits of erotica I ever wrote was inspired by him. I wonder if I still have it.