It’s 7 p.m. I must be loneley…

It has been a fun day. Nothing drastic, it was over and done before I really knew it. I was making stuff up to do just to bide the time and it worked.  Now here I am, I brought some work home with me… (Beer to sample.) Getting online and dangerously considering telling the world about a wet dream.

When I finally got to sleep the other night, I wasn’t long for R.E.M. – not the band – the sleep “mode.” And soon before the reality of being fifty hit me. A hold over from a boys sexual development hit me up-side the face.

The air in the house was a little stagnant, so, I opened some windows and let the early fall air in. I was on top of the covers appropriately attired for the occasion, solo as I was, it still is an occasion. And since I’ve lost all of this weight – I have got one heck of a birthday suit. No, it is not as “tailored” as some. It isn’t hanging on me like some older ones have.  But it is looking good all the same.

I will leave the description of the incident as a vivid dream state. I haven’t felt like this since my early twenties. There had been an occasion or two in my thirties, but that was due to external “enter-facing.” This was automatic for the people. (Okay, great album title and I love the pun.)

There has been someone on my mind of late and I am curious as to what to do and how to proceed. There are enough differences that I think the adaptation from one world to the other would be fun. I think that the curiosity, if any willingness to be curious exists, between the two would be enjoyable for both parties. Also, I realize that I am co-dependent and making up scenarios. Possibilities that may, or may never, ever, exist. In my mind, we’ve just erected the white picket fence and have 1.2 dogs. (Okay, fictions are not my strong point.)

I have refrained from texting him to much.  I have kept it to social “wanna do…” in the hope that a kinship or friendship could be built.  There has been one established for sane conversation and advice – but in doing so… I may have damned myself to old man on the mountain top. I think I have guru-tized myself.  However, luck and timing have not been mine.  There have been promises of contact later in the week but… Typical men, they never call.

But when is enough, enough? I don’t know what to do to decide that one.  He has his own issues.  Lots of issues.  Lots of baggage and I am just curious enough to wonder if I could porter for him.

Once upon a time I thought that I had invested too much into a relationship and there was absolutely no reaction to or response to the level of inattention I received.  I had put myself out there with someone that I thought might have been interested only to discover… Nada!  It appears that the boy wasn’t even aware, but he was totally clueless.

Then suddenly the dominoes fell over.

I had invited to supper, to drinks, to movies… Mom’s and “why” were responses. It was just very recently that during casual conversation that the beans got spilt.  It was a night at the club, and I had been drinking, and to be blunt.  It was like diarrhea of the mouth.  I couldn’t stop talking. I let it all out.  I made it known that Yes, (insert masculine version of Virginia), I was interested.

The reply was precious.  “But we’re friends.  Wouldn’t that be weird?”  I am sorry. The number of couples whose relationships have been screwed up because they tried to become friends after they “met” each other intimately. I’m gsorry, I work from friendship. I want to know the foibles before – well, here I am dreaming about having someone in my pants and am nearly clueless about what their likes and dislikes are…

It is the friendship that allows one to accept the intimate flaws that ruin and wreck a relationship.

Stepping back from the precipice for a second. Glancing over the edge I can find and see a huge valley of nothing but flaws that I have been accepting of from different relationships. And you know what… It has been some of those quirks that made the rest of the relationship colorful.

The one who was grossed out by bodily functions, blew covers off the bed during the night with noxious pent up energy. Another who was livid with public displays of affection had trouble keeping his hands to himself at home. Another, well he had body image issues. Eternally unhappy with size – was eternally the last one who ever needed to be concerned with length, girth, or whatever.

I could see myself as not being this one’s type. I’m not a lumber-jack. But that’s okay. I sleep all night and I work all day… Truthfully, with what this one has expressed as his ideal – I am not his type.  However, I have only dreamt of my ideal.   I truly want to be this one’s type.  I want this one in my pants so bad that I am dreaming about it at night and am having all the appropriate responses.  Yet I know, I’m not masculine enough.  I’m not hairy enough.  I’m not…

Others haven’t been for me… but they have been my world. I, myself, prefer the darker, olive complexion of someone from the Mediterranean and dare I say it, blue eyes. Steel or smokey blue…

No he’s not my type either, but he is all that I can think about lately. I’m sorry J. I know your birthday and our anniversary is coming up…  I can accept and own that guilt.  Though many would tell me that there is none to be had.

It’s now 8 p.m., and I’m still lonely and dreaming.


Hello everyone.  I’m Charley Johnson and I’ve been drinking… (And en mass they respond; “Hello, Charley.)