I always thought that the so called 'morning glory' was something you either grow out of, or get to old for. Either that or one's sex life was active enough not to have to worry about it.
Turns out it's the latter.
It took longer than normal this morning to make my way downstairs for my routine cup of tea, smoke, shower, iron shirt. I'm beginning to think that the mental strain will soon be outweighed by the physical pain, or at least if it carries on like this it will.
Other than this slight blip early doors, the day has been fairly plain sailing. No overwhelming pangs of 'excitement' and nothing to untoward to report. Although, as I scrawl these pathetic notes down sat on the tube on my way back from a meeting with a woman I'm sure I wouldn't have normally found attractive, I do feel somewhat perverted, like the idea of not having sexual contact for 40 days is depraved, bizarre, or something to be ashamed
.... I was interrupted at this point by some city-slicker, the pointiest shoes I've ever seen (patent of course) and a watch like a bling wagon wheel... You know the sort. If you don't, I hate these people, and to make it worse he's wearing a sky blue shirt with a pink tie - in my mind this is how Lucifer himself dresses.
"no sex for forty days? Are you fuckin' mental mate?" the carriage is suitably startled, and I'm suitably embarrassed (although why, it's not something to be ashamed of. People go way longer without sex than 40 days, do these people masturbate so much that they don't go clinically insane?)
I retorted though, "mental? No I'm not mate. You should try it. It cleanses your fucking soul" before I hopped off the tube a station earlier than I wanted. Clearly patience, and calmness go hand in hand with the occasional orgasm.
Anyway, I've now made it to the Southwark Tavern. I'm definitely drinking more, this is my second visit of the day, and it's 3pm. I really should go to the office.
I was, as mentioned already, finding today a lot easier. This pint is helping, after it went a touch off the rails not long ago. The woman that started this series of unfortunate events got in contact not long ago, to ask why I had deleted her from the Blackberry messenger service, alongside that I'd deleted her number, email address, and had booked myself in to get that tattoo laser removed (I jest)
How does one go about telling someone you've known for only a month, that you're slowly losing the plot due to deciding not to partake in any sexual activity for 40 days? How does one go about telling this girl that due to spending the last 18 months partaking in meaningless one night stands I found it impossible to tell her how I felt and as such manipulated a way of behaving like a dick and ultimately caused the downfall of what was a blossoming relationship? It's not easy, so I didn't.
Sadly it didn't end well again. I also realise that during this period of abstinence seeing her is a terrible idea, we're going for a coffee this weekend. Yes, I'm a fucking idiot. I hope we can keep in touch, she really is brilliant. I also hope the twitch under my left eye has gone, that I can hold a conversation together, or at the very least can hold onto my coffee.
Anyway, I'm moving further and further away from the point. I think I'm doing alright. Almost double figures, and nothing serious to write about. I'm glad I've started writing this, it's keeping my mind suitably detached from the wonders of London in a summer dress.
Off to a friends birthday tonight, probably the friend that gets me into more trouble (and fancy dress) than anyone else. I shall drink, and I shall behave. I am a changed man.
Til tomorrow.
