Literature, Lyrics and Sex

The saga of exhaustion continues this week.  I feel like the sleep thing is getting worse after it got better.

I listened to a short story called “The Other Woman” written by Sherwood Anderson (as read by John Updike) from “The Best American Short Stories of the Century“.  You can read it here if you like. I would guess that the story takes place in the early part of the century based on the language (‘tobacconist’ for instance or mentioning riding in a ‘carriage’).  The character is preparing to get married, and has also elevated his position with a government job and had several of his poetic works published in a “best of”.  He meets a woman whom he is inexplicably drawn to and invites her to his apartment (after sending away his man servant).  She comes, they embrace in the darkness but the impression isn’t given that they did anything more than embrace.  Or maybe I’m not up on my turn of the century phrasing for sex.  He does go ahead and marry his bride, and spends almost no time thinking of this other woman.  Yet, he talks about how he was closer to this woman in that hour than anyone else in his life.

It’s interesting to know what would be considered cheating 100 years ago.  Would that be cheating now?  I suppose since he kept the rendezvous a secret from his bride/wife then it is.  The fact that he is unburdening himself to a friend would suggest he feels he’s done something he shouldn’t have.  Then again, I know a lot of people who’ve done a lot more outside the bounds of their vows (monogamous ones) or had done to them.  I’ve had friends find out their lover has kissed another and shrugged it off.  Mind you, I’ve also had friends who’ve gone into a psychotic rage at the mere suggestion that their S.O. might be fooling around.  I’m not sure I would consider that cheating, I think I would be more upset that it wasn’t disclosed to me.  But then I feel honesty and transparency in a relationship is key.  If you’re going to keep secrets from each other, what’s the point?

My favourite part of the whole story is towards the end of the tale:

My wife sleeps in the next room to mine and the door is always left open. There will be a moon to-night, and when there is a moon long streaks of light fall on her bed. I shall awake at midnight to-night. She will be lying asleep with one arm thrown over her head.  What is it that I am now talking about? A man does not speak of his wife lying in bed.

How times have changed when speaking of your wife asleep in her bed in another room was taboo.

Speaking of old school thoughts…we’re playing this song called “For The Love of Him” by Bobbi Martin.  The lyrics gross me out.  I don’t know why, maybe because it’s completely antiquated way of thinking.  I’m not saying that if your spouse has a hard day that you shouldn’t comfort them, but not all the damn time.  I would have been a terrible, terrible 50’s housewife.  I’m all about the comforting of someone when they have a rough day, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit quietly and fetch slippers and a martini.  Blah.

Yesterday, Cortejo had a silly conversation about chocolate.  I was reading a link she’d sent me about Prop 8 stuff, and there was a user comment about worshiping at the Church of Chocolate Center.  I’d worship at a church of Chocolate Center.  This lead me to ponder what kind of chocolate center.  She maintains it’s just chocolate.  But why?  If it’s worthy of worship ordinary chocolate just won’t do.  Is it milk chocolate?  Dark?  White?  Maybe it has nugget?  No, it wouldn’t have nugget because nugget isn’t good.  Then, I’m asking D what she thinks because she likes chocolate more than I do (I’m more of a candy kind of girl).  She says that nugget is good but not worthy of worship.  She’d worship at the church of that cream in those cream eggs or the creamy hazelnut stuff in Kinder bars.  Hell, even I would willingly die at the alter of a hazelnut/chocolate center church.  My friends are so strange.  <3

We started talking about my parents and D is convinced that the thing I’ve inherited from my Mother is her sex drive.  She decided to throw this into my face, something I said probably a year ago…

Me:  I dunno, D.  You say sex is amazing but I bet it’s nothing special.  You can marry someone and never be curious about sex because you don’t know what it’s like anyway.  And what’s the point of sex if you don’t have an orgasm.  It’s nothing!

I was such a cute lil’ virgin, wasn’t I?

What are friends for except to point out all the very stupid things you say and bring it up time and time again.  I am, by the way, eating those words.  Dammit.  I hate it when she’s right.


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