Instant Pleasure

Oh sure, you can draw the reference to the Rufus Wainwright song on the "Big Daddy" soundtrack.

Go ahead.

Indulge.

I'll wait here for you.

For those of you who don't know that song, no big deal--it's not a very pretty song, and "Big Daddy" is not the end all to beat all of film art. I was thinking of something else when I picked out that title, but then I realized it was also a Rufus Wainwright song, which, (judge if you like, I write like nobody's reading) if you will, goes like this:

I don't want somebody to love me, just give me sex whenever I want it, 'cause all I ask is instant pleasure...

It has been my philosophy at different points of my life, but not at the current stage. These days I would prefer a romantic relationship like Lancelot and Gwenivere...chaste and all poetry.

Yeah, like there's a guy out there who knows any poetry that doesn't begin with "There was a man fom Nantucket..."

The recent release of my heart from the grip of FG has left me just floating around and bumping gently against the inside boundaries of my life's computer screen like a screen saver. I'm alone! I'm free! Finally!

I'm alone. Free. Again.

A friend was telling me that I think too much about this. I suppose I do. I think a lot of women who are three weeks from 36 years old with nothing but relationship carnage in their background think a lot about it. I told her I was going to stop thinking about it, give it up, accept the solitude. She thought that was being a martyr. But Elizabeth Gilbert did it in "Eat, Pray, Love." She had a longer history of dating, yes. (I barely dabbled in it in high school with guys who weren't really interested and then started again in California with more guys who weren't really interested.) But when you don't know what the fuck to do in this part of life that everyone else seems to master, what Elizabeth Gilbert did was probably a wise approach.

Not that I have the funds to travel the world. But I do have the means to find pleasure, instantly, anywhere, without a man required at my elbow to hold in the joy. Let it escape. If a friend comes along later that turns into a best friend that turns into the love of my life, then lucky him and lucky me. That would be even better. But I reach out and press play on Rufus Wainwright and listen to him sing about other things, cigarettes and chocolate milk, jelly beans eaten in just one sitting, and children waking up in the morning and banging on the sides of their crib because they like the noise in the morning. Joy! Get up! You're older today, but you're younger than tomorrow, and you're free! Do something absolutely singing to your soul!

Cue trumpets! Cue strings!

And when there's nothing to gain/Or bring me pain/Or pin the blame/On you or myself...

Just a little time...to be free. Even if it's alone. Better to be alone than selling my soul to the devil, one damn day at a time.