A post in which I ponder angry frustration, punish myself, and cook

Work was work yesterday, right up until the end of the day. I had a message from an attorney from the end of the day last Friday, and returned his call. He casually informed me that I was to be in Hayward California on Friday! First I’ve heard about it. We usually have something coming up where I’m supposed to appear, but usually the company goes out of business, files bankruptcy, or settles before an appearance is actually necessary. In proceedings where it looks as if I will actually have to appear, we usually make a motion for me to appear by telephone. Sometimes we skip the proceeding, depending on what the sanctions are, if it looks as if nothing will be accomplished. In this case, no motion to appear by phone had even been made. I told the attorney to make a motion for me to appear by telephone, sent an email to the collection agency, basically ripping them a new one, and hit the gym.

The gym was frustrating. Usually when I go up I’m there by myself, but today when I went in there were several guys changing. One of them is up there every so often, but he’s a rather non-descript kind of guy, although he is furry. I saw his butt today, and Oh my God it was all I could do to keep focused. It is so perfect that angels would weep; olive-complected, perfectly shaped, and covered with soft brown fur. All this I saw in a glance, trying not to stare. I was really, really glad that my eyes didn’t lock on and refuse to be diverted, as has happened in the past (in other situations, not with this guy). So I’m trying to work out and not stare at this guy, and I’m putting off that vibe that makes them nervous. It’s some kind of left over survival instinct, but a guy senses something is off if he’s around someone who is secretly panting for him, whether he’s actually aware of what’s going on or not. I know he made a bee-line out of that locker room.

Then I started thinking that I’d never have a guy with an ass like that. Then I got frustrated with myself for even thinking about another boyfriend after what happened last time. I was pissed that here I am, thinking ‘I gotta have me a man’ 24 hours a fucking day like I’m some kind of brainwashed woman from the 50s. It also pisses me off that here I am, in my fucking 40s, lusting after straight guys in gym class like I did when I was an adolescent. I Then I got frustrated with being fish-belly white and saggy. I hit the weights pretty hard today, as if to punish myself for aging and for lusting after someone so remotely impossible. I was stiff when I left. I’ll be sore tomorrow.

I guess the real frustration is that all this physical lusting is just a substitution for the real problem. As Andrew Holleran says in Dancer from the Dance, it’s really my heart that is horny (not the first of many times I’ve identified with his protagonist, Anthony Malone, would that I had been blessed {or cursed} with his beauty). It’s just a lot easier to get laid than it is to find someone to care about. Maybe my body or mind is just automatically translating that hunger to lust because that at least can be satiated, however temporarily.

When I got home I changed and headed for the store, then came home and spent the evening in the kitchen. I casserole-ized my squash. I ended up using only one recipe this time, which was quite enough of a pain in the ass. I was hungry too, but wanted to get my casserole in the oven before I stopped to eat.

After I ate supper, I cut fruit. For some reason I decided I needed two watermelons this week, and they are taking up tons o room in the fridge. After that, I got some cherries on Sunday. They were only a dollar a bag, and when I got them home I found out why – they were old enough that about half of them were rotten. I sorted through them, and took most of them for lunch today, but I still have LOTS of fruit this week.

After cleaning up the kitchen and changing out a load of laundry, I was pretty whooped and went on to bed.