The illusion of excitement

Living most often in my imagination, believing that I would be someone I’m not if I wasn’t who I am (which of course I would be so why spin thoughts unnecessarily?), I pause.

The local cable television network has replaced the music channels I enjoyed — two classical music varieties — with “Latin Christmas Music” and “Sounds of the Seasons.”  Since I listen to classical music as incidental background sounds, I’ve switched over to the “Soundscapes” music channel which serves a form of slo-mo pop classical music soundtrack for this blog entry.

Tomorrow, my wife and I will volunteer to serve food to runners during the Rocket City Marathon, then attend a chamber music concert starring Robert McDuffie and his sister, Margery McDuffie Whatley.  We might even make it over to the Huntsville Swing Dance Society event at the Flying Monkey Centre.

In my imagination, I am a jealous/envious god but a kind one.  I worry about the repercussions echoed in overheard conversations between white people discussing the connection between the sign language interpreter at the Nelson Mandela tribute in South Africa and his attendance at an event interpreting the song “Kill the Boer” — usually, people at the margins of society or, rather, people who have been marginalised by society, most often less stable mentally, will act upon socially-unacceptable thoughts in ways we put into storylines for violent shows on the tellie.

It is those overheard conversations I miss in my tinnitus-wrapped thought set.

Whispers, rumours, hearsay, scuttlebutt.

The softly-spoken dreams and desires.

That is why I am happy to have in the core of my thoughts the spoiled first-b0rn god’s wants and desires rather than the vengeful/hate-filled desires of an insecure god.

That way, I can think in the interest of a whole planet rather than a single species, as long as I get some satisfactory portion of what I want/desire that seems fair to me in return.

Take, for instance, these deepest feelings I recorded in my secret journal a few days ago:

For the past two years or so, I felt a renewal in my belief, my hope, for joyous changes to the habits I had formed during the first five decades of my life.

I placed a lot of that on the imaginary shoulders of a woman I’d met at a dance studio — Y.

Y was/is so much like my sister and yet she isn’t my sister; thus, I could let the occasional sexual fantasy pass through my thoughts without feeling too guilty.

Guilt, however, was not the problem.  If I could have had sex with my wife in that timeframe, I might have been able to handle a longterm friendship with Y and not let some of my sexual frustrations carry over onto the dance floor.

Just not meant to be, I guess.

As my wife has gained weight during the past ten years, especially in the stomach area, trying to place my six-inch erection into/onto her vaginal area was an acrobatic act that became uncomfortable; rather than insult my wife about her weight, I chose to tell her that my back was acting up and I couldn’t have sex with her in the position she preferred — on her back, with me on top.

We haven’t made love in six or seven years.

Masturbation can only relieve so much of the frustration.

It’s not fair to the women with whom I’ve fallen in love, including both Y and Z, to put my hopes for a sexual relationship on them when my sexual bodily commitment to my wife is wrapped up in a social contract my parents made when they baptised me in the Christian religious community in which I was raised and am expected to continue to support.

I have been unhappy in that regard, knowing the moment I stood at the front of the church to marry my wife that I was giving up my sexual freedom for the security of community support.

Ahh…the price we pay for security…sigh…I am sad and depressed today and will be for I don’t know how long.

My suffering is imaginary. For that, I am truly happy. Sadness and depression in middle-class living is usually a way to make up for ennui.  A universal perspective will open one’s eyes to endless possibilities outside of one’s temporal emotions, one’s temporary set of states of energy in flux, including envy, jealousy or any sense of fairness.

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