Buddist Monks believe that abstaining from sex saves a precious energy which could be applied in a great variety of other ways. All on the path of enlightenment, of course.
In my present state of self-inflicted isolation following a bunny-boiler incident of which I did not write in this blog, you know I haven’t been touching the fairer gender (or any gender) recently.
However, I’m a relatively-young, relatively-new divorce, and over my four-and-a-half years of marriage had become accustomed to a certain frequency of er… *cough* release. However, with my hands constantly in a state of frozen rigidly and it being too cold to touch my face, never mind other, more sensitive parts of my anatomy, the frequency of any activity of any kind whatsoever, has dwindled as did the dinosaurs so many millennia ago.
I am on par with the most abstinent of abstaining Monks.
And as my ‘reward’ I now have a whole bag, two in fact, of new found energy, pent up, swollen, throbbing, nearly bursting bags of energy. The only problem is nothing to spend it on. How big are this reservoirs, I wonder?
My dreams have become strange. Pornographic. Vivid. Sometimes surreal. I feel like a 12 year old boy on the verge of puberty again. I know what these dreams are attempting. Usually my dreams star many unkown characters and actors, these recent dreams have a very well known, very specific cast from my past.
I see all sorts of other changes too. Suddenly every woman I see is a potential mother of my children. Even the old lady selling fruit and veg from her cart, my posts on this Blog have become littered with a certain, unmistakeable undertone and my mind (and the interest she sees in my eyes), when speaking to a lady, is not really focussed on the conversation.
I foresee all kinds of trouble for myself.