Wednesday, February 1, 2012

The Unpleasant Stain On the Mattress

**** says:
 So any severed penises hanging around?

Angie says:
 Now now.. you know if I were severing a penis I'd start with yours. So no... I'm fresh out

**** says:
 It might get you arrested scrap that idea, a dried human penis has a habit of drawing the attention of the   police and stray dogs

Angie says:
 Well unless you get a good taxidermist that can keep his mouth shut.

**** says:
 That's a bit harsh, it's such a lovely penis it would be a shame to severe it.

Angie says:
 Well I'm just sayin... it would have made a nice trophy.

**** says:
 Sometimes i worry about you my dear

Angie says:
 Wha? I'm good...

**** says:
 What a conversational piece, " I love what you've done to the place, oh my is that a mounted servered penis over the mantle place, how delightful"

Angie says:
 Do you like it? It's a 1972 Irish penis. You can tell by counting the rings.

And that’s how the conversation went.  Between, “How are the kids?” and “Well how did that happen?” and “How are the folks?” the topic wound back around to the inevitable; sex. I’m a Scorpio and he’s a man. I am fairly certain it’s par for the course. Interestingly enough, it’s never “sexy” talk. It’s just what we’re joking about, what we’re reading about, and what we (I) are not having, etc.

That is when it turned into a discussion about Tantric Sex and the Multi-Orgasmic Man. I believe that might be the actual title, but I’ll have to check before publishing time. He’s been reading, I’ve been working, and he offered to let me read the book, as he had it in Kindle format. “Well I am capable of multiples already, I’m told. It’s a woman thing. Plus, I don’t have a penis… so there’s that.” I said. Then he explained to me that there were chapters for the women too. Fair enough I thought, “Send it over!”

When I received the files I joked to him about the title and how I might go about writing a title for such a manuscript. As a single person I think of sex as a solo mission; Hand to hand combat if you will (if one of the hands were genitals).

“What about, 'A Field Guide to the Tantric Man'? Maybe something more along the lines of ‘Getting yours…Over and Over and Over’?” I offered.

“Or 'How to be more than just an unpleasant stain on the mattress'.” He replied.

“Indeed.” I thought.

Then, all joking aside, that potential book title had meaning to me. Holy shit! This planet IS the mattress of our universe. That’s when it hit me. In my angry, bitter, self loathing, throw in the towel, go-along-to-get-along way, had I become merely an unpleasant stain on this mattress? Zoiks! Dude, that isn’t cool.

I looked back at the Wag Vs Angie post from Monday. The comments proved to me that it’s not impossible to leave. More than that, Shane’s counterpoint for the week told me all I needed to know. Sometimes you have to just take the bull by the horns, grab your life by the balls, and make the changes you need to happen.

Today as I wing my way from sunny Sioux Falls to equally sunny Syracuse I find myself at peace. I’ve been waiting for a change. I’ve been waiting for a sign. There had to be a catalyst in order to push me to own up to the truth. My job sucks the soul out of me. At the end of every day I hate myself for not being as good at it as I think I should be. I go to bed with a glass of wine so I can avoid thinking about how much I don’t want to get up in the morning. I wake up to an ear ache and a headache every day because I clench my jaw in my sleep.

It’s not all bad. I like the company. I like the people I work with. The perks are good. Like I’m going to Syracuse today damn it! It’s “The Vegas of the East!” as Dean informed me (har har har). I will smile. I will meet fun people. I will learn, listen, present, eat, gamble, and have a cocktail. 

All of that frivolity aside; Saturday morning when I wake up in my own bed again I will be working on how to walk into my boss’ office to say, “Here’s what I cannot do anymore. Here is what I need from this job. This is what I want to do with my future. Are you picking up what I’m putting down? Are you catching what I’m throwing? Can we make this happen?!”

Maybe… just maybe… I’ll be so damned inspiring that he won’t have the heart to say no. If not, I’m going to be asking you guys if you have a place for me and my kid to crash because I’ll probably be homeless soon. But at least I’d be homeless without spending every day at my desk thinking of the easiest way to slit my wrists with a thumb tack or the sharp edge of the tape dispenser, right?

There had to be a sign. Who the hell knew that sign was being held by an Irish guy floating in the North Sea pretending all the masturbation he’s doing is “for research”. Either way, thank you. You’re my favorite leprechaun. 

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