Yesterday I bought a car. I found one cheaper outside of my town and took the train a couple of hours to get there. Stopped and saw my two ex-roommates on the way. They fed me. I’m down to 119 pounds at 5’7″, all weight lost from stress. Food is a good thing.
I took advantage of going that far to meet someone I’d been chatting with, met over the internet. I’d googled him before and he’s got too much of presence in the real world to be a psychopath, so when he changed the meeting point to his apartment, it didn’t seem too scary. It wasn’t.
He’s got a sort of space age bachelor pad. We just talked. He’d been married for 26 years, has two kids, and broke up with his wife over an affair he was having. That he’s no longer having. He’s been living a life of debauchery since then, I gather. Not entirely, but he did mention a summer in Hong Kong where he probably screwed around for three months non-stop.
It was a really good talk, like veterans of the same war, fought in different places, comparing notes. How is one supposed to feel about sex? Love? Commitment? What do we owe other people? What do we owe ourselves?
And I went home and met Eric briefly on the way back. It was pouring rain, and his daughter was upstairs while we romped in his bedroom. It was fun, somewhat, but he wasn’t on form sexually. I felt good about the release of sex for about twelve hours, and will now feel bad about the lying for the rest of the day.