The blah gets louder as the days wear on and I realize my employers seriously harbor hope the sheer weight of my workload would split my cells into cloning (the cells refuse on principle and I slog on as a single productive unit). Or that finally, bleary eyed, I read the morning's Daily Scopes on my supa phone and there it is. The Golden Venus beatifically forewarning a halt to all Venusian initiatives since we are love-wise “between worlds”.
What is that? Limbo? Except it dawns on me that IF in fact my love world had an address it would be the Corner of Deep Chastity, post code Zero Zero Sex, Virginlandia, US. And. It would be a ghost town. Cue the bramble bushes blowing across the road. Nary a cowboy in sight.
Naturally, like any well-trained Catholic girl, I twitch in guilt and promptly chastise myself for even complaining, recalling how my mother used to say that the best cure for one’s pity party is to join another’s. Then it hits me, passive therapy! That's it - off to the advice columns! It'd have to be - at 3 am in the morning. Surely reading about someone else’s misery should distract me from mine. Why, I may even write in with some timely wisdom. My favorite of course, is the Guardian's relationship section, a cornucopia of self-indulgent (I relate) but still relevant problems.
I'm struck by Barbara Ellen's clearly feminist leaning byline in The Observer column, "If You Sleep with a Man, Trust him to take the Pill.", then directly under and in grey the words, "Women Should Stop Infantilising their Partners". My first thought to this begins with, if he can hardly remember to mow the lawn...well, you know the rest. But it is a controversial idea, and isn't it about time? I scroll down to Comments to see the public weigh in. It's then at that precise moment I remember why the advice columns have long been my therapy.
Amongst a bunch of semi-sensible arguments lay this jewel, "
"A male pill? Oh great, another reason for my mum to ring up and nag me."
In the Sexual Healing section, a "45 year old married to a beautiful woman for 15 years" writes in to voice his concern on how he "likes his wife to get sexual with other men" and how frustrated he is now that she's refusing to indulge him, since as he points out, "it's a big part of what makes me tick sexually." Well. Here's a shattering world problem if we ever had one. Pity Mother Teresa isn't around when we need her.
Instead, commentator "Narelle" chirpily suggests, "
This way we don't get co-dependent on just "arriving" at an answer but actually get to enjoy the freedom of choice we have in the play and learn aspects of what confounds us. So yes, sometimes we cry, sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we just plain ignore the issue and let it sit.
Obviously that last one's a go with my present dilemma. Sure, I'm alone but at least I'm laughing my head off.