going through and cleaning up

I’m going through my smussyolay drafts and seeing what’s going on with them — trying to finish them or delete them or something. It will result in a flurry of posts and a cleaned up smussyolay. I finally had the time over several days to go through and clean up the duplicates that occurrred when I transferred the blog from blogger to wordpress. So here. we. go.

“The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly than even the final surrender; because this kiss already has within it that surrender.”

I don’t know where my friend, Bill, got that from. I just read it on his Facebook page. I really like it, though. I love kissing; the idea of it, the action of it, the tension/s leading up to it. I really love what some people call foreplay, what others call necking or petting. Actions that fall outside the realm of pure, raw sex, but that fall within the realm of human intimacy.

I have always maintained that people, Americans in particular, lack the sense of touch in our lives. We don’t touch one another regularly. We shy away from it, and so we both become touch-starved and simultaneously equate touch with sexuality at the same time. Because so many of us only get touched by people who are physically intimate with us, it becomes harder and harder to distinguish physical closeness from emotional intimacy. It’s a right shame, but it’s hard to correct. Once the vicious cycle has been started, it truly takes a concerted effort to break.

I’m not sure where I was going with this — probably one of my cyclical desires to make out with someone. I’m in another one of those phases, but honestly, I am beginning to think that I might be doomed to a life of solitary celibacy. There’s a 12-step program for people with trouble with relationships, and honestly, I know that my first addiction in live was just that; relationships/love/sex/romance. I was in way over my head before I even touched a drink.

Also, I look back on the things I wrote, thought and imagined as a young girl — pre-teen and teen — and I can see I was desperate to have someone come and save me from myself. Someone to take care of me and love me and be tender with me. In the *sixth grade.* I read these things and I realize that they are the product of intellect combined with a lonely girl who felt the constant outcast, and felt like a romantic movie relationship would change everything I felt inside.

I think through much self-reflection and spiritual work, I’ve *intellectually* realized that nothing outside of me can “fix” what’s wrong with me. But honestly, the thought of being able to fall asleep in someone else’s arms really is quite delightful. I just need to be satisifed with what’s going on here before that happens, I suppose.

This draft project might end up to be a bust. I don’t know that I have anything new to say that I’ve not already said 50 times before. But I’ll press onward. Maybe, if nothing else, it will encourage me to post new things.


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