Another lovely day in LA, a beautiful Sunday on Memorial Day weekend, and I find myself staying away from my usual Memorial hangouts, like the beach, or dive bar, or a dive bar at the beach. In place of these haunts I’ve been doing all outer circle activities, which is part of my SAA program, things like hiking, writing, reading, painting, stretching, breathing, living, meeting, basically anything that isn’t going to get me revved up is something in my outer circle. Funny enough, I’ve found ways to sexualize things that are in that outer circle, being the good sex addict that I am, I seem to be able to sexualize ANYTHING, from hiking to writing to reading to painting to stretching to breathing to living to meeting, basically anything that is a thing, nouns are easily sexualized, as are verbs, and adjectives, just about everything today screamed at me with sexual undertones, and yes, overtones, and over what? A couple behindtones, and in front of tones, while I am placing tones under and over why not place them behind and in front, and what the fuck are these tones I speak of anyway and what does it matter? And does it?
For instance, flower shopping this morning turned into a contest to find the perfect vaginal bloom, automatically drawn to the orchid’s lovely little clitoris, rosebuds shaped like 19 year old girls and calla lilies in all shades of lovely. I found myself so drawn to these “types” of petals that I bought something completely opposite so I wouldn’t be spending the whole week thinking about the bloom of my purchased vaginal decorations, bought some delicious lilies that aren’t shaped like my money maker, or ex-money maker and now silent partner, along with some tuberose for the little gusts of hollywood air that float through my open windows. And this contest involved only me, so no matter how I played or purchased, I won, or didn’t win depending on how you look at it.
I ate a breakfast burrito with apple sausage. Don’t even need to go there.
The organic coffee place I pick my weekly grinds from plays this sexy music that makes me want to move my hips, and so I do, away from the alluring notes of South America, back to my home to change pants (not that anything was wrong with my pants I was just looking to change) and off to a meeting where a girl in the front row sat with shorts so short you could barely see them under her shirt, and she had all these legs, like 6 of them, she was a fucking spider, Charlotte weaving her web to trap my mind and take focus from the speaker and place it directly upon her.
Then off to hike where women in nothing tops, in fact one in a bikini top, tread up the mountain sunning their glorious breasts for all to see and I know what game they are playing and recognize it as a game I used to play when working out, or saying I was working out, when in actuality I am simply fishing for glances, and bite is a hit, and every bite gets me a step further up the mountain, and higher up in the clouds. I can only focus on my breathing during the hike because any look up renders me helpless against the glistening sweaty bodies propelling toward me as salty wetness drips from my own skin, and I know I must get off this fucking mountain, away from these naked Memorializing people and into the safety of my own home.
As soon as I sit down on my couch, figure it’s a good idea to review every season of Law and Order in my itunes collection, get me away from that headspace, and out of that trippin mentality, and of course that just overwhelms me because I used to masturbate compulsively to the Law and Order marathons on TNT, going back and forth between orgasm and cigarette break, rewinding the parts I miss on my cigarette break and not caring about the parts I watch mid-orgasm, and not caring about the orgasm while I watch the TV. I fall asleep, into a deep sleep, around 7:00pm, time had finally slowed to the point where my mind could rest, and since I didn’t masturbate during this Law and Order session, mini marathon, I think I’m moving back into the healthy relationship arena with Jack McCoy, and I certainly hope so because it’s a great fucking show and I’d hate to miss out on what good old Jerry has in store for me next.
I was supposed to hit an AA BBQ at a girlfriends around 8, but woke from my sex drenched slumber around 9, didn’t want to participate, so I took Saucy for a walk to the market so she could pee and I could buy some Ben and Jerry’s “Half Baked.” I didn’t even want to write this today, but forced myself to sit down and get out all the naughty things that have been running rampant in my unchecked brain, I need to tell on myself to take the power out of the suggestive qualities of the day, or my inner most workings, and check in with myself to make sure I am still on track with this whole Sex Addiction thing. I’m beginning to realize that my alcohol “ism” is merely a symptom of my Sex and Love Addiction, it is a huge trigger for me to revert back into old habits that are not dying quickly enough for my liking. The fundamental core issue I seem to be dealing with here is based upon intimacy, or my lack thereof. I drink to numb, and I need to numb because the act of being intimate with someone terrifies me. This doesn’t mean that I can drink by any means, and I’m in no way trying to say that I am going to. I am simply saying that I feel as though more is accomplished in the SAA meetings than in AA, and at least the people in SAA are polite enough to wear clothing that doesn’t immediately trigger me, or make me not care about objectifying them, as a whole. And it’s not the girls faults that I objectify them, or only see six pairs of legs or a million pairs of tits, and it’s not guys faults that I only look at the muscles leading down to their bits, or their lats or belly buttons, it isn’t their fault at all. It just makes it incredibly hard to listen to a meeting when there are women nearly naked in the room.
And I’m glad I did sit down and write, and let it all out, and tell on myself for all the naughty thoughts and daydreams, and I’m glad to be going through this process and really looking at my part in the whole “thing” that is my sex addiction, but it’s difficult to call myself on it when I’m so deeply entrenched in intrigue, and it’s even harder to find something else to do, and the worst part of acknowledging my attitudes and beliefs is that I see how perfectly aligned I am to direct and produce porn, and how performing suited me so well for all those years, and it kills my growth because it allows me to think “that was the perfect career choice” or “that is the ONLY career choice” and I know it isn’t, and I know I’ve something more substantial ahead of me, something of true emotional depth and value, but I just want to taste it now, to touch the future, to feel completion and contentment.
And again, I must tell myself, “One day at a time,” eat some Ben n Jerry’s, watch the last episode of Law and Order and go to bed.