I make time for a lot of things. My relationships, work, my animals, exercise, friends... all of these things require time and I willingly give it. The thing I don't make time for is sex.
And why?
I've long thought that at some point, I acquired a skosh of religious guilt somehow. (And as an atheist, this is pure and utter bullshit.) I don't feel like a bad person when I have sex (usually). I'm not grossed out by it (usually). And I'm not afraid of accidental conception (anymore).
I like sex. Actually, if you catch me in the right moments, I love sex. But for whatever reason, sex is extremely removed from the "rest" (gesturing broadly) of my life. The part of me that likes sex lives in an annex, far away from the rest of campus. I sometimes forget it's there. And it's a long walk.
This annoys me and I know it annoys my partners. I've explained to them numerous times that I am light years away from sex most of the time but that shouldn't stop them from rattling the doorknobs of The Sex Annex. See if anyone's home or if the lights are on. They've both nodded in reluctant agreement but I can see it in their eyes that they think I've gone to Crazy Town.
It is in those Sybil-esque moments that I wonder why things are "arranged" this way and if it's possible to do a little reorganization. The best I can guess is that my carnal desires get buried beneath personal growth, partner duties, work and a growing ball of cat hair.
I'm in my middle 30's. Aren't I supposed to be desperately humping doorknobs at this point? Is "the peak" a pack of lies so we don't off ourselves before we finish college? Where is the surge of hormones propelling me towards the Magic Mike establishments of the world?
I suspect part of it is that I don't do lust very well. I can acknowledge a hot piece of tail when I see one but given the chance, would I go home with him? No. Of course not. I've watched Dateline. I know how this ends. And I have to get up early tomorrow. For that appointment. With that guy. About the thing.
I am usually one step ahead of the world in terms of planning, scheming, and organizing. My brain runs about 24 hours ahead of Pacific Time. This clearly is an issue because sex is happening right now but if I'm constantly ahead of myself, then it's not happening at all. And I refuse to plan sex. I know sex therapists encourage scheduling the boom-boom but I've found it to be an abject failure every time it's happened. If nookie is on the calendar, that will be the day that I come down with a raging yeast infection, the day that I did WAY too many squats that I can't sit down without wincing or the day that I feel victimized by world and need snuggles of the non-sexual variety.
I feel compelled to note that no one has complained. (And by "no one", I really mean just the two guys. I am not currently accepting comment cards from anyone else.) This is me engaging in first world neurosis, probably because my horse hasn't died and I'm not waiting for American propagandist coloring books to fall from the sky. This is me gazing out over the great beyond and wondering about other people's grass (Actual grass. Not big-girl grass. Sheesh. You people).
I really don't know how this ends. Perhaps The Sex Annex is fine where it is and I continue to visit it occasionally like an old friend whose phone calls I may have been dodging. Or maybe I find a way to move The Sex Annex a little closer to the rest of the action (which does introduce the unfortunate possibility of inappropriate fondling of fruit at the grocery store). Or maybe I ride off into the sunset with my not-dead horse and "America! Fuck Yeah!" coloring book. Yes, that sounds good. Sexy, almost.
