I should have stuck with my plans

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02042017-01

-- चार हजार एक सौ चौदह --

Shobhit was gone most of the evening last night, working an evening shift. My plan was to come home, have some dinner, and then take myself to a movie downtown.

The movie showing wasn't until 7:35 and I'm unusually into the book I'm reading right now, Letterman: The Last Giant of Late Night -- it actually occurred to me last night that this is the third book I have read about David Letterman, although it's the first straightforward biography. The other two were both about late night wars he was in, or at least related to: The Late Shift: Letterman, Leno, and the Network Battle for the Night, which was about the infamous battle between those two for the role of hosting The Tonight Show, originally published in 1994 but which I read in 2011, when Letterman was still four years from retirement. The other was The War for Late Night: When Leno Went Early and Television Went Crazy, which was both published and read by me in 2011 -- I read the 1994 book first just as background as I knew I would find it interesting. (I gave the 1994 book a B and the 2011 book a B+). Anyway, The War for Late Night focused on the 2010 Leno vs. Conan O'Brien debacle rather than on Letterman, but had a lot about Letterman in it for obviously relevant reasons, including both his own history with Jay Leno and how openly amused he was by the Conan O'Brien thing, which he was happy both not to be a part of and to make fun of or revel in.

In any case, this Letterman biography is one of those rare books I'm getting through at a steady pace because I find myself wanting to pick it up at the expense of doing other things, as opposed to the usual scenario of being distracted from reading by other things. And I was spending my ninety minutes I expected to be at home before the movie, in the living room, reading the book.

Ivan has only worked one night this week, though -- Wednesday -- as his previously standard weeknight swing shifts schedule has been altered by his switching to being "on call," in an effort at transitioning as he looks for a new job, as he is very unhappy with this one. (I think he becomes unhappy with pretty much any job after a year or two, to be honest. He's indicated he's never kept one for longer, and nursing work is in such high demand he can easily find it at new places.) So he was actually at home and in his room when I got home from work, and after a while he came out and greeted me and chatted for a bit. And he said, "Maybe we could watch a movie tonight."

I said I was planning to go see a movie, and when he asked which one and I told him, he was clearly not interested. But I was not married to going to it and I said so; if he tried hard enough he could convince me to stay home and watch a movie with him. He told me which two movies from Netflix he had, and either one of them I could have gone for -- and probably should have. I said, "We could watch Brazil, which we talked about." He said okay. And after he made himself some dinner and it was nearly 8:00, I suggested we watch the movie.

He was not into it. I think maybe it was too busy and frantic and complicated for him, which he rarely gets into. I probably should have known. He sat on the love seat but within minutes was absorbed not in the movie but, typical, his phone. I had not watched it in a long time and actually found myself thinking about how well constructed the script really is. Also, Brazil -- which came out in 1985, the year Ivan was born -- is easily one of the most cynical movies ever made, which is one of the many things I love about it. It takes some real paying attention to it to get that, though, which Ivan was not doing.

It's also long: 142 minutes. Ivan lasted about 80 of those. The movie was about half over and he actually finally put his phone down and looked at the screen for maybe five minutes. And then he got up and said, "I have to go work out." As Ivan went to put on his shoes, I said, "I guess you weren't into it." He said, "No. Sorry." I said it was all right; we should have watched one of his movies.

It did make me feel like my evening was a bit of a bust -- I would have been much more satisfied in the end with actually going to the movie downtown that I wanted to see. I can't blame Ivan for that any more than I can blame myself, though. And that was also kind of just an attitude problem on my part, because there were still other benefits to my not going to the movie: I saved the ticket money; I spent quite a lot of time reading a book I'm really enjoying; I took a brief walk to go pick up the cats' medicine in the lock box outside the vet clinic just a little less than three quarters of a mile away.

I took the book with me on that walk, and saw Ivan in the gym downstairs through the window as I passed and we smiled at each other. It was dusk and that made reading a slight challenge as I walked, particularly on the way back, but I made it work. Once I got back, I got ready for bed except for the undressing, and then went back to read for a few minutes in the living room, until Shobhit got home from work.

I knew Shobhit would be happy that I was not in bed yet when he got home, so I waited for him. Sometimes a small gesture goes a long way. He had also asked me to make a simple dinner for him of an egg and black beans with a couple of tortillas, and I didn't push back on that like I usually might, because I wasn't doing anything more important and it was an easy thing to do. Another small gesture that goes a long way. It wouldn't hurt me to keep these sorts of things in mind.

I might watch the final hour of Brazil tomorrow morning while everyone else is still sleeping. Or I suppose while Ivan is sleeping and Shobhit is at work; he has a morning shift. I do want to finish it, but didn't feel like finishing it by myself last night. Once Ivan made it clear he lost interest, I was more interested in the book. And that's saying a lot, given how much I love Brazil. I wish all books were like this, beckoning me to pick it up and keep reading. For me it's fairly rare that that happens.

-- चार हजार एक सौ चौदह --

01012017-40

-- चार हजार एक सौ चौदह --

I'm finally keeping to my word about my plans to move away from LiveJournal, by the way. I still don't know when I will do it formally, at which point I'll probably just leave a final post here with a link to that blog. My trial account on Squarespace ends on July 16, so I'm guessing it will happen sometime later this month. I have posted the last three DLUs I posted here over there, and am only just starting to get the hang of the slightly different ways I have to do things to get the relatively same effect. I may have to start living without the daily Twitter digests; I'm not sure. I'm not as concerned about that anymore since I can search for things fairly easily on Twitter anyway -- although I do like being able to include the Twitter digests in certain tagged entries, like when I go on trips or for Pride or holidays, stuff like that. Still, if I have to do that, it's a pretty small price to pay for finally getting out of the increasing frustrations of this blog service I have been using for fifteen years.

The greatest benefit to my moving from LiveJournal to my own domain (via Squarespace) will actually be to the readers: no more stupid fucking ads. I had been completely ignorant of that for far too long, and I have Gabriel to thank for bringing that to my attention. Then he can go to that other site to see what I've been saying about him (and I've written far less about him at all than usual since the beginning of this year, a conscious choice I made months ago -- not just because I've literally seen him in person only three times since New Year's, but because I knew it would be better for all of us under current circumstances).

I know he worries about my "friends-only" entries, though, even though none of those are ever about him. I just went through my archives and I have posted one such entry so far in 2017, and I didn't even email that one to anyone like I have a few people in the past (it related to another friend, or someone I used to be friends with I guess, something that's now kind of ancient history and had no relevance to anyone I typically emailed friends-only entries to anyway). I have since kind of decided to do away with friends-only entries altogether -- which I suppose works perfectly since I won't have a "friends list" on the new site anyway -- because, really, I should learn to express how I feel about things, or even people, in a way that is diplomatic enough to be public without running the risk of damaging relationships -- or, as I have started this year in a way I never really did before, just not express certain feelings about certain things at all. I still share more than plenty about my own life as it is, as you can plainly see. Maybe I still skate on thin ice. The goal here, really, is to make the ice a little thicker.

Ivan was up earlier this morning than I've ever seen him up without having anything scheduled -- I saw him when I went to take my cereal bowl back to the dishwasher, and said, "What are you doing up?" It was before even 6 a.m. and it weirded me out; I even told him so. He said he just couldn't sleep. He was then chattier than usual, when I needed to go get ready, but I still talked for a minute or two. And out of nowhere he even asked me how Gabriel is doing. "Same as usual, I presume," was all I could say. I do think about him a lot.

-- चार हजार एक सौ चौदह --

06112017-15

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and then out of left field

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04232017-43

-- चार हजार एक सौ और तेरह --

I had a much better night's sleep last night. Yay! I was in bed by 10:15. Out like a light within minutes after that, I slept soundly, not once waking up, until 5:20 this morning -- I got a truly solid seven hours of sleep! I have no idea what time Ivan got home from work but can only presume it was at the normal time, around 10:40; I didn't wake up then, as I often do, when he and Shobhit typically say hi to each other and often chat a little; nor did I wake up when Shobhit came to bed, whenever that was. Nothing at all woke me up for seven hours straight. It almost feels like a miracle. I feel so, so much better than I did yesterday as a result.

There's not much to tell otherwise, as it was a relatively uneventful evening, especially compared to the national holiday that was the day before. I rode my bike home, stopping at both the downtown Target and the Capitol Hill library along the way. Shobhit was still at work when I got home, and I had maybe an hour to myself. That was kind of nice, actually. Shobhit got home, and I made us dinner: veggie chili, which I added the rice and beans he had already made for himself into. That did make it a tad more spicy than I wanted (much more than I thought it would be after taking one bite of it that was not very spicy at all, but I guess that was just a lucky bite . . . oh well). I had it inside a tortilla with some lettuce. I made it by sautéing onions, bell pepper and tomatoes with a couple veggie sausages and adding a can of Ranchero Chili Beans, and also tossing in the last of the bottle of salsa from Costco we had. It turned out rather well, I thought, in spite of how spicy I inadvertently made it myself. A bit of irony there, after what happened for dinner on Monday night.

Anyway, we did the crossword puzzle. And then watched the last three episodes of GLOW on Netflix. I enjoyed the whole season but still spent most of it feeling like it had been over-praised by critics. But once it was done, and I could consider the full arc over all ten episodes, I was much more impressed. It's by the same people who produce Orange Is the New Black, which is still a far superior show, but I would still absolutely recommend GLOW. That finale, after the nine episodes preceding it, really cinches how good the whole show actually was.

And I was in bed shortly after that.

-- चार हजार एक सौ और तेरह --

01212017-29

-- चार हजार एक सौ और तेरह --

I packed two containers of leftovers of last night's veggie chili, and brought one for lunch today. Didn't quite fill the container, because instead of a tortilla today, I have some delicious crackers here at work to add -- specifically the new BBQ flavor of Annie's Homegrown Cheddar Squares, which are way more delicious -- and addictive -- than they sound.

I just ate my bowl of it, mixed with some of the crackers, out on the patio here at work. It was delicious and lovely.

-- चार हजार एक सौ और तेरह --

Left field alert! I need to process a little about my continued mixed feelings about sex. Not morally, mind you -- moralizing about what people do between consenting adults is objectively moronic. I'm just talking about how it affects me on a daily basis. Sexuality is frustrating, or at least it often is for me.

I'm not sure I'll ever be completely healthy about sex -- as in, able to regard it with the same relative indifference as a thing that exists as I do, say, the need to eat food. I get weird fixations. I get self-conscious about it in a way I do almost nothing else anymore. In spite of how easy it is for me to regard myself as beautiful, it's practically impossible for me to imagine anyone else regarding me as sexy or hot or anything like that -- even though I've encountered plenty who have. I hate my ass, as just one example. I love my face and I hate my ass. If someone tells me how great my ass is --and it's happened -- my first instinct is to think, What the fuck is wrong with you?

I had a recent roommate who was much younger than I am and consistently practically paralyzed by insecurity, self-doubt, and self-consciousness about everything . . . except sex. He was totally open about sex, never had any problem talking about it, and never once indicated any issues with his sexuality. I always found this backward and bizarre.

I have a theory about the current state of my own sexuality. I think whatever weird insecurities and hang-ups I still have about it, or even certain proclivities toward, let's say, "sexual mood swings" -- periods of frustratingly all-consuming horniness alternating with periods of near asexuality, although I have not experience the latter in a while -- remain stemmed from being molested as a child, coupled with an oppressive upbringing that directly taught me to be ashamed of whatever sexual desires I had. I don't ever feel shame about sex now, at all, I should clarify -- that's a definite breakthrough as I have aged and a very positive thing.

But I still can't seem to manage living day to day life regarding sexuality as a thing that just is, as opposed to something I constantly overthink. It's also been a surprise, so far at least, to feel as though I am a very sexual person into my forties, and if nothing else our culture conditioned me to expect sexual desire to wane with age. (Maybe I'm just not old enough yet. Yay, I'm still young! Shut up bout my hair.) It hasn't happened yet, and if anything, in the past several years my sex drive has increased. I think all of this will be easier for me to deal with, honestly, once I am no longer living with roommates -- particularly younger ones with their own sexual conquests that come into my home and can be a huge distraction. My last two roommates have both had regular hookups come over, and I feel like if I had a healthier grip on my own sexuality, I could regard that as no more or less significant than if they were just to have a friend over to watch TV or eat a meal. I mean, I know it's none of my business. But I can't help what I find titillating. And whether or not I am directly attracted to the people involved, sex within the vicinity is going to be titillating. I wish I were better at just ignoring it. It doesn't help matters when I am particularly fond of the person as a friend as well, which means that I will very much miss them then they are gone. It creates a sort of cognitive dissonance between what I want and what I know is probably better for me.

But even roommates aside, I probably wouldn't be as big a slut as I am without my truly unusual sexual history -- a virgin to the age of 28 (my virginity having been a huge part of my very identity up to that point), monogamous with one person for the next six years. Opening the relationship opened the floodgates, and it turns out I really like having the freedom to fuck around. And I'm not even trying to suggest that being slutty is in itself any way a bad thing -- I always bristle at such judgments, especially when directed at women as it's a blatant double standard -- but I still often think about how different all this would probably be if a) I had been sexually active from a younger age; and b) had done so without any of the repression, hang-ups, and learned guilt I was brought up with.

But all I can do is deal with how things are right now, I guess. It's not like I can change anything about how things played out in the past. I just look forward to the day when I can engage with my own sexuality without overthinking any part of it. I mean, shit: having been brought up to think of sex as sinful, it's often difficult to find it even as exciting as it once was when I no longer think there's anything wrong with it. There's more of a thrill when you think you're doing something wrong. I suppose certain aspects of sex feeling rote and boring also just come with age regardless of your situation and history, though.

-- चार हजार एक सौ और तेरह --

06182017-73

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