pantoum's Diaryland Diary

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THROBBING CLITS ON PARADE (REDUX)

I went to the mall today and all I can say is, well, at least the woman in the half slip who flirted with me so blatantly on the track was not wearing an Izod ... and why didn't I stop to talk with her?

I am such a dumb cowardly fuck sometimes.

I discovered that I am attracted to someone I probably shouldn't be attracted to and am wondering what to do with this knowledge, if I should even do anything except acknowledge to myself that yeah, well, that just registered.

In my uncomplicated fantasies, people who are attracted to each other are completely comfortable with their attraction and the world is simple. If we feel attraction, we express it, enjoy it, are glad someone is attracted to us and that the cosmos includes passion as one of its many wonders. Then a long kiss sends shock waves to our toes and erect nipples ah and our hands go exploring and then our clothes come off in a pile whee we enjoy endless hours of long, uncomplicated sex that leaves us turned every which-a-way and atop and below and wrapped around each other in the bed or against the wall or on the table or getting rug burn there on the floor and our climaxes melt the paint off the walls and tell the neighbors that we are having much more fun than they are.

Of course, emotions and expectations complicate this idealistic den o' lust. And I don't want to hurt anyone. And I don't want to compromise myself or get hurt either. But I notice when someone looks at me in a way that says she is noticing more than my witty repartée, and I swear she looked at me that way.

I could bring it up in conversation, be direct, and we could discuss the topic ad nauseum until both our clits fall asleep from boredom, do that lesbian this-is-what-my-shrink-said-to-do-to-be-intentional, ho hum, let's process till we forget this was about noticing each other as attractive, about lust, not logic thing.

Or I could do what comes naturally, which is probably catch that look in conversation again and feel my stomach tingle, and then touch my fingertips to her lips until she looks at me like that without looking away and then I will know for certain that she wants to kiss me too.

But wanting to kiss each other is not always a good reason to kiss each other.

Gawd, I am so fucking afraid of intimacy right now! And, in all truthfulness, spent too damn much of the past year reeling.

I don't think I could even offer casual sex right now, that I could let someone that close, even if I wanted to. And I worry I would get too close to her just because I'm lonely.

•

(Saturday) Happy birthday Computergrrl (who is thirty-six today). Woke up at 5:45 a.m. because a hoot owl was hooting outside my window (but not for six nights in a row).

I love owls, have a knack for looking up for no good reason and seeing one in an unexpected place in the daylight hours too. I saw on Whidbey Island—at least one a day on hikes. The Island Thyme B&B in the little town of Langley is, I swear, owl heaven. They fly around the place all night long and you know you need to sleep, but just want to keep listening to them (but probably shouldn't leave little Fifi outside).

Hike in the woods by that B&B and I guarantee that you will see owls.

I see them in my neighborhood too, on a fairly regular basis. In the woods. And in my old downtown neighborhood. And this makes my friend Musicgrrl jealous.

I was hoping to say good morning to an owl today, but no such luck. And now that silly song Wildfire is stuck in my head:

There's been a hoot owl howling at my window now for 6 nights in a row. She's coming to me I know ....

Today's the first day this week that it isn't pouring—dunno if this rain is connected to the first tropical storm of the season that is threatening Florida or if maybe the universe just wants to wash away Jeb before he can move us even closer to a theocracy.

I don't really care enough to log on and find out either, but do know that my tomato plants are suddenly higher than their cages and I have many, new green tomatoes on them.

•

(9:30 AM) Well, I just had a nice breakfast, settled in to make a new music mix, and wound up having myself a good cry (something I could do for the rest of my life now that I've finally learned how and probably still not catch up).

Decided a while back to track what songs I sing in the shower here—partly as an exercise in surrealism, and partly because I know how my mind works, know that I will feel something, but it won't register at a conscious level for a while longer. I walk around with millions of songs in my head—everything from opera to bad country ("it's hard to kiss the lips at night that chew your ass out all day long") to really bad pop to good country to hip-hop to southern fried rock and Delta blues to rap and hip hop—because I grew up living in words and music instead of interacting with people and so often catch myself singing something that I realize is expressing my inner percolations.

My friend Musicgrrl says this is because I'm a music savant.