I'm tired, so tired
I'm tired of having sex (so tired)
I'm spread so thin
I don't know who I am (who I am)
~ Weezer
For most of my life, I've placed a huge emphasis on sex. I've been overly obsessed with my performance, methods, amounts, and measurability. I have to admit that on more than one occasion considering it a competition of skill. I subscribed some level of success with the accomplishment of "great sex." For me, sex felt like a form of expression that I sought to perform well.
It was also a very socially satisfying endevaour. An undeniable statement that I was liked, loved, admired, or desired. It was acceptance without words. It was an acceptance that could escape the bounds of words. Within the comfort of coitus, I felt as though safe, sane, and perhaps even found my special purpose. I often view sex as something familiar and engrossing. Like that of reading an all too familiar novel, watching a great film, running a few miles, or a myriad of other things. It felt safe and exicting and that enticed me.
As an individual, I feel the the act is "a natural, zesty enterprise", but I think it's getting a bit out of control. I feel like outside influences are attempting to compel me to desire sex more, participate in sex more, and try and reach better-and-better sex. That the greater sex is around the corner. When in fact, right now, I don't want it. I've resigned myself to making the addition "right now", because I know without a doubt that I'm addict. Sex being an unbelievably powerful drug.
I'm tired of having sex (so tired)
I'm spread so thin
I don't know who I am (who I am)
~ Weezer
For most of my life, I've placed a huge emphasis on sex. I've been overly obsessed with my performance, methods, amounts, and measurability. I have to admit that on more than one occasion considering it a competition of skill. I subscribed some level of success with the accomplishment of "great sex." For me, sex felt like a form of expression that I sought to perform well.
It was also a very socially satisfying endevaour. An undeniable statement that I was liked, loved, admired, or desired. It was acceptance without words. It was an acceptance that could escape the bounds of words. Within the comfort of coitus, I felt as though safe, sane, and perhaps even found my special purpose. I often view sex as something familiar and engrossing. Like that of reading an all too familiar novel, watching a great film, running a few miles, or a myriad of other things. It felt safe and exicting and that enticed me.
As an individual, I feel the the act is "a natural, zesty enterprise", but I think it's getting a bit out of control. I feel like outside influences are attempting to compel me to desire sex more, participate in sex more, and try and reach better-and-better sex. That the greater sex is around the corner. When in fact, right now, I don't want it. I've resigned myself to making the addition "right now", because I know without a doubt that I'm addict. Sex being an unbelievably powerful drug.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
rys:
Surely there's cause for some sort of dramatic bitch slap before you walk away. I mean, I wanna engage just a little. It's a sign of my basic compassion and empathy. That's right, I wanna bitch slap Daren and Keith as a sign of my compassion... yes... that's it...
freckle:
if you haven't done so already, send me an email so i can get your address and add you to my events list.