Live from the Depths of Hell

“I’m consumed with savage longing.”

That was my first thought when I woke up this morning. For half a second, I considered rolling out of bed to grab my notebook, but I knew what would spill out on the pages and fifteen extra minutes in my bed felt better than confronting the inconvenient, gnawing truth.

I am out of my mind with lust.

I’m deep enough into my thirties to recognize the phenomenon; it tracks with the current phase of my cycle. Usually, “This will be a rough couple of days” is enough to get me through my body’s insistence that it’s time to procreate. Not so this month. It’s a fidgeting-on-my-couch-as-I-watch-television, lucid-dreaming-on-my-commute-to-work, can’t-sleep, insatiable, unscratchable itch. Like my skin is on fire and God, can anyone see this because I feel fucking insane? and checking Amazon daily to see exactly when my new battery-operated friend is set to arrive.

This…is no way to live.

Yet, here I am. A walking, breathing ravenous beast hiding under a polite secretary like a character in a bad p*rn. I’d be disgusted with the cliche if I had room for anything but craving.

My only peace comes from the sad knowledge that there is no real-life solution. I want mythical and mind-bending perfection without the flawed awkwardness of humanity. Trusting this fantastical desire with a mere mortal would only doom him to fall short. Doom myself to more hair-pulling frustration with reality.

So. Deep breath.

Inhale. Exhale.

I’ll be fine in a few days.

Published by

a girl named rob

I used to be "skinny black girl." I'm now a slender woman on the other side of 35 with no new moniker who is not quite interested in writing under her given name. Still writing my life, a day (or some months) at a time. Also, still black.

2 thoughts on “Live from the Depths of Hell”

  1. I had such a great comment that got lost…..ugh. and damn my memory because I cannot repeat it.

    Another perfect piece.

    And really my memory issues speak to what you wrote about the ‘sad knowledge that there is no real life solution’. When you crave it to be as spontaneous and fresh and thrilling as it can be, whatever it is, and to know that real life cannot sustain that- like, we don’t even have the deluded Boomer Gene that says I’ll do it anyway, even if I fuck up everything. Nor do we have the morose gen x approach that we all tend to find intriguing and brooding but we’re really mistaking their deep depression for mystery. We expect life to shine; we know it may not through someone else, so we’re just written off as ‘dreamers’.

    Like

  2. The generational perspective is interesting, because being an Xennial, I am just cynical enough to berate myself for being fantastical, yet too Millennial to “make do” on this – and I “make do” with a lot. I don’t expect life to shine (I guess that’s the Xer in me), but I relish the moments when it does and am not above doing some polishing to make it so.

    But sharing my body is where I draw the line on pragmatism, because “grin and bear it” is an unacceptable outcome for me sexually. I need to be thrilled and do not have the patience for needle-in-a-haystack shenanigans, so. Alas. lol

    Like

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