Yesterday I started feeling super happy . . . making what I can control about my physical health my current top priority and trying to worry and complain less about everything else, devoting that energy to exercising and taking care of my body IS TOTALLY PAYING OFF! Even though I’m not doing great with the no-negativity part, my body makes me so grateful and happy. It forgives and supports me and I’m excited to keep having opportunities to see what it can do.
I’m super lucky to have the space and time and my hard-working wife‘s support to focus on this small-scale rehabilitation of myself. Having time alone has been key for me to only eat when I want to, thinking only about whether or not I’m hungry, stopping eating when I’m full . . . and reducing my tendency to use food to soothe myself and drown out excess stimuli and stress. Obviously I can’t live my whole/the rest of my life in solitary confinement in order to not overeat (in fact the past few days I’ve witnessed myself swinging back to the other side where I’m not very motivated to eat and feel nauseated by food, but that’s partly because of other stuff like resuming the pill after the week off of it), but for now some of that is okay just to get to a healthy place in my body. My brain is working and feeling way fucking better.
Yesterday and last night I also got a surge of gratitude for all of the relationships I’ve been lucky enough to have in my life, and a strong certain feeling that none of them have been accidents, even when “mistakes” were made that I don’t want to repeat. I’m not saying it’s all a bunch of magic or predestination, but I know my life has been gifted with connected experiences of loving and learning resulting from something bigger than my own individual conscious choices. Maybe the something bigger is each other mixed with coincidence and good timing. Maybe I’m just ridiculously lucky (proof: Delia ).
I’m not saying that all of my friendships and relationships have been perfect dreamy cakewalks, because they haven’t, not for me and certainly not for the people who love(d) me. But I keep learning things and experiencing exceptional things very few people have the privilege and audacity to enjoy.
Some of the most unpleasant parts of the past week involved me gaining perspective to empathize with an ex-boyfriend and understand better some of the things I did that were hurtful. Maybe it’s fucked up and superstitious/religious, but I sometimes am almost relieved (and my faith somewhat restored) when what goes around comes around and I’m taught a fucking lesson. I appreciate understanding people better and being reminded how to be kinder (and more brave and honest with myself), and again feel super fortunate that “the universe” has overall been exceedingly patient and gentle in meting out justice to me. I’ve also been blessed (by my own choices, by luck and by other people’s generosity) that I haven’t had to pay for my mistakes for the rest of my life in any serious way (pregnancy, bankruptcy, life-threatening or debilitating injuries or illnesses, horrible-forever-commitment-chains, etc.).
Recognizing these blessings makes me feel better about getting older and being sort of lost; I’m excited by the possible prospect of how much more I’ll know and understand and be of value in twenty-five years, and I’m reassured that I don’t have to plan, control, force or agonize over everything in my near and distant futures. If I were *only* open to what I could plan for and imagine as good for me, my life would probably be a boring sad tightly-laced sack of shit, regret, misery and hopelessness.
I’M SO FUCKING THANKFUL for my parents at this moment for how loving and fervent and defiantly different they are/were. They are/were not ordinary, and because of that and their constant unconditional love I’m able to keep growing into believing it’s good to be *out* of the ordinary, and to recognize and celebrate that my life as it is right now is fucking EXTRAordinary. With the potential for unbounded joy in excess of all normal people’s expectations or imaginings. I wish for everybody to have the freedom and good fortune to experience this, too!
I got my hair re-blonded today:
And Delia came home yesterday and got this all wet inside and out:
We actually had what might be the worst sex interruption she and I have ever had in twelve+ years owing to me being a self-conscious hypochondriac.
So that kind of sucked but I sat on top of her and we talked through it and then we switched and she got on top of me and this thing happened where she’s SO CLOSE TO COMING . . . SO MANY TIMES . . . and we’re barely moving and she has to keep stopping because OMG SHE IS SOOOOOO CLOSE and she makes these NOISES I love that mean she’s SO CLOSE TO COMING and if I can just wiggle against her a tiny little bit more and manage to not squeeze her cock all the way out of me I am TOTALLY GOING TO COME so that happened like half a dozen times and we came together it was fucking fantastic. I love when she’s on the edge like that and every tiny movement is soooooooooooo exquisitely close to the brink with potent pleasure.
We had dinner and social time (really rare for us) with some of our kinky poly friends after that and spent a lot of much-needed time talking about our marriages and dating and boundaries and jealousy. We also talked about life lessons one of them is trying to teach his daughter, like “GET THE FUCK OVER IT” as step one when navigating obstacles on the road to success.
And then tonight I got another bed-warmer accusation which I think is just a smokescreen (either way it’s painful) and it makes me either want to withdraw and retreat and stop fucking everybody . . . or go out and start fucking everything. Speaking of smokescreens . . . it does seem like I’m attempting to drag my wounded heart to safety behind that one.
I am a rock. I am a whore on a deserted island. I am a dirty romantic old man with a staring problem living in his own little fantasy world of painfully earnest bullshit.
Whatever. I will probably get more done if I cultivate a deeper sense of cynicism and flat efficient professionalism. No no no . . . I mean, I will get a lot more done if I just focus on one truly important thing at a time and right now that thing is my physical health. Different kinds of sweaty body movement will be my escape and salvation. Don’t phone this in! Raise your heart center! Don’t forget to breathe!
So anyway . . . I’m working on keeping my heart center lifted.
Weeks later, I’m still smacking my lips over the pleasure of seeing Only Lovers Left Alive.
One of the uniquely beautiful and unusually relateable-to-us twists the movie takes on romance is that Adam and Eve live alone (like we have kinda started doing part-time though both our spaces are still jointly ours, Delia works better in Seattle & I work better at home), separate from each other . . . many time zones apart:
They live apart because they can, because it doesn’t deprive them of time together. “If you live that long, separation for a year might feel like a weekend,” says Jarmusch, his voice a spacey drawl. “It’s not an obligation, it’s an emotional connection.” -in The Guardian
It didn’t seem like it only felt like a weekend to them, though . . . otherwise they wouldn’t have been asked by their dearest fellow-vampire friend WHY they didn’t live together. Their living arrangement seems like an alternative lifestyle choice even by immortal standards, and it’s pretty clear that they can’t take each other’s lives for granted.
I think some people need time to brood and compose funeral music. Some people need to walk alone through old cities at night listening to music from the outside in. Those kinds of people don’t always thrive on being eternally joined at the hip to someone, day in and day out. They like quietly finding treasures to store up and share with each other later.
When you have the gift and obligation of enormous freedom, you should be able to use it to craft a lifestyle and environment that meet your creative and aesthetic needs and support the development of whatever rare thing you’re meant to make, even if it’s just an odd life well-lived. It isn’t perfect, and sometimes it’s lonely . . . but not the same kind of lonely it would be without your Adam or Eve to call or come visit and see how you’re holding up. To *know* you inside and out and that you’re brooding, and to not freak out too much about the single bullet you had custom-made even though the threat of that kind of loss would bring utter desolation to the other. They just know you’re not capable of traveling to them, so they better come to you because they are the more stable and competent one.
This month we signed a lease to keep our Seattle studio apartment / second home for another year+. We’re not sure whether it was the right thing to do or not. It’s only been in the past few months that we’ve spent longer stretches (almost a week sometimes) apart and I’ve started to remember what it feels like to be lonely without her. A few times it’s actually really fucking sucked, but I think it’s a good and necessary challenge towards building the kind of work life I can function best with, and a model for what we eventually want our dream home-and-work-spaces-and-schedules to be like.
Having a mid-life crisis for me isn’t just about grappling with my mortality — that alone would be hard enough — but I’m lucky enough that it’s also been a pretty fucking big identity crisis. As a product of good fortune, many things I’ve built my identity around for the past fourteen years have been slowly stripped away in the past two or three — that is actually PROGRESS. I’m being forced to see how little of it — how little of my”self” — is essential. When Delia isn’t with me all day every day, all night every night, I’m given an even deeper opportunity to face myself, and sometimes my “self” feels less solid and more empty than I ever imagined it could.
Most people define themselves by their families and/or their work; I’m super lucky to be taking a step back to refine and reshape my work, but it’s scary – I feel like I have a narrow window of time to plot the best and most fruitful course to 1) rescue us from debt, 2) provide us with some security (like a home and well-equipped work spaces) and all the resources we need to continue working healthily in some ways without having to do work that relies on our QUICKLY FADING YOUTH, and 3) shape the rest of my life, and I’m afraid I’m going to fuck it up or hear the TIME’S UP buzzer or miss out on the kind of magic I won’t be able to experience in ten or twenty years (which is total fucking bullshit).
(Happily) childless, without my partner or any family with me many days, and without the illusion that any one element of my old job(s) is necessary on a daily basis I kind of struggle to feel valuable. Every day that passes during what has almost become one part personal rehab and another part a glimmering invitation to sabbatical (if only I would mindfully TREAT it as such instead of wallowing in cycles of depression and anxiety and paralyzing indecision and practical-hopelessness) I recognize how much I really need to deal with basic fundamental shit like WHO AM I and WHAT DO *I* LIKE AND VALUE ABOUT MYSELF and HOW CAN I BE A BETTER PERSON AND PARTNER AND CONTRIBUTING MEMBER OF HUMANKIND.
I thought by now I would have built some sort of legacy I’d be proud of. But now that I’m here, my standards are higher and my behavior and productivity is lower. I don’t feel like I have something solid and coherent to show for myself that I’m really really proud of except the basic semi-odds-defying survival of our business this far . . . without any guarantee it will continue since the odds get harder to beat with every passing year. But hahaha even as I type that I recognize I do have a pretty fucking insane level of confidence in my ability to make money since I argued with myself over that line, like “NO WORRIES – I WILL **ALWAYS** FIND A WAY TO MAKE MONEY.” So there’s that, which has always served me well and kept me much more independent than most people – it is one part privilege, one part type-A first-born entitled overconfidence, and another part a gambler’s compulsive comfort with taking financial, legal and social risks other people would consider foolhardy. Unfortunately, at this point a major part of my identity crisis is that MY WIFE’S WORK is what’s bringing in most of the dough these days. WHAT HAVE I BECOME???????
In many ways things are pretty fucking awesome for us right now, but they aren’t going to stay that way and they DEFINITELY aren’t going to get better (which they must at this stage in our lives) unless I make some big changes. And I feel like they need to be DRAMATIC.
But I keep wasting(?) time pondering things like using the space we made to dance and exercise downstairs by giving up normal furniture to GET MY PIANO BACK. Even though there’s no place to put it except in the middle of the fucking room. But now seems like the perfect time to get my piano back. I’m not going to compose brilliant funeral music, but I’m having a hard time understanding who I am and believing I can sustain the rest of my life just by sitting in front of computers. And because we have this space from each other — because we have a foundation of years of knowing and loving and being safe with each other — it’s possible for us to stay up all night if we want to making noises without disturbing each other.
It’s one of the few grey days we’ve had so far this summer . . . but one of the best days I’ve had so far in terms of brain function and motivation and bright ideas and productivity.
The weather and my better brain function are unrelated . . . unless you count that I woke up feeling fantastic and then got progressively more depressed as the greyness of the day and evening wore on.
And now it’s dark and I feel like crying so . . . yay mood swings!
But wait, 90 seconds later I totally don’t feel like crying anymore – awesome!!
I’m so fucking confused . . .
Here’s what we did today:
— Trixie Fontaine (@tastytrixie) July 17, 2014
Rather, DELIA did it . . . I just took pictures and video.
You can read more here about the content of the video and how wet this made me on one of my more offensive niche-oriented fetish blogs.
Wondering how I’m progressing on my no-complaints progress?
Wellllll . . . I got my vitamin shots today and was weighed (we don’t have a scale at home) and measured.
Today I weigh at least sixteen pounds less than I did at my most uhhhhhh . . . voluminous. Sixteen pounds is like a fucking MOUNTAIN on my frame, just so you know.
My body fat is down to 33.1% (compared to 39.1% back then / about a year ago).
And the most important thing to me is my waist to hip ratio which is down to .87 (from .95) . . . which is still terrible, but whatever.
I totally fell off the no-complaining wagon, though. Have you ever noticed how tempting it is when you’re bonding with people and trying to get to know them to share your dislikes really passionately and get into debates and stuff? And to disregard your need to have restorative time alone because you’re way too into somebody?
Anyway . . . I’ve been negative and complain-y and hypercritical and irritable, all without forcing myself to interrupt the bullshit with jumping jacks or squats or deep stretchy breathing or whatever. But I went to a nice place tonight to be reminded of some simple tools to help me be less of a 1) compulsive 2) asshole, so that was a nice pick-me-up.
And then I felt SO MUCH BETTER after just FAKING it for these pictures and making note of my progress that I feel a sense of hope and renewed commitment!
It’s amazing how much better I feel after running and jumping around the backyard 87% naked. And posting this stuff here is actually really helpful to me tonight. It makes me really happy to see myself enjoying my body because it can jump and run and smile mid-air.
There should be at least as many pictures like this on the internet as there are of women being “sexy” in more overtly sexual ways. And I mean moving and celebrating our bodies in as many fun ways as we can, in as many different shapes and sizes as we have. I *love* volume in decadent happy motion! I’m just not personally engineered to healthily carry so much of it.