And soon, of course, I found myself wondering if I might be able to have SWHS with Whitman. I quickly decided that this would not work if for no other reason than the consent guidelines. The closest thing I can get to having SWHS with Walt Whitman is having it with whoever his soul inhabits now.
You see, there are so many dimensions to this thing. I don’t think I have enough weed to figure it all out. (Don’t worry. Will get more weed.)
Other things that happened today:
- I wore shorts with a non-stretchy waistband and a bra (until 3pm.)
- I drilled four holes in my bathroom wall in an unsuccessful attempt to hang a towel bar.
- I bought ingredients for a family meal I might, someday, make.
- I shopped, also unsuccessfully, for a Lego set to replace the harbinger of doom ship in a bottle bullshit. (Full refund granted! Woo hoo!)
- I brought sex to the people WITHOUT stressing out about not being able to fill the exact last minute demands of people who refuse to read the instructions outlining the process and occasionally yell at me for not replying quickly enough.
- I realized that what my mediation group is talking about tomorrow is noticing when we say “I” and that I say it a lot. Eek.
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