'Tis A Season ...

There's so much to write about I don't know where to begin. And there's just much too little time these days to write about it. The apartment sale collapsed, the employee search continues, and I scrimp, scrabble and scrape for study time as the operating account bounces along like a gas gauge needle kissing empty.

The wife and I are getting along better. But tonight she's away and for the first time in about a month I feel excited by the potential of opening doors. My mood just sort of brightened despite all the danger in the shoals I pass each day.

One day I shall return to focusing on the blog. I swear.

My muted kink. A pale, distant, wispy shade of obscure winter grey.

Ms. Veronica finished her interview with me a week or so ago. She's such a smart chat and an insightful questioner. We got off in the weeds of a riff on how I think a chunk of my kink is anchored in my sexualization of my mother's inappropriate behavior toward me. She was so interested and curious about all the stuff I'd struggled with over the years on my shrink's couch. I went on and on about the characteristics of incest survivors. Encouraged by her interest I found a study on line and sent her the link.

Later that night she sent me back an excerpt from the study about how male incest survivors often compensate for their feelings of inadequacy by taking up very macho hobbies. Hence my tweet about playing football as a teen and taking up bird hunting in my adolescent middle age. She seemed genuinely surprised that I was a jock in prep school, which all fits with the whole overcompensation thing.

Her interview was a happy reminder that my knowing other smart, sensitive, sharp kinky people is so important. Her engaged inquiry and her easy friendship put an emphatic exclamation point on all my blood, sweat, tears of fighting to understand who I am. She just flat out seemed to like how fucked up I'd been and how much insight into it I had developed. It was all okay. Even fun and intellectually interesting.

In this difficult, emotional dry tinder of a holiday season occassioned by the visation of unrelenting change it was really nice to have the fires of self doubt quieted. Made me feel like when I pull through all this I'm gonna go out and run this town one night. How's that for overcompensation?

Takin' My Frito To Tito

"You're going to die," said my dear friend Ms. Mahwah Kiss. "One day your penis won't work anymore."

I guess it's been awhile since I wrote, huh? Been busy. And crazy. Selling my home, leaving my wife, studying for the bar exam, hiring new people. Am I kinky? I forget. Such change is hard. One minute I'm an elated, grandiose dreamer and the next I'm a despondent little fourteen year old being dragged from my house next door into the home of my step father by my long departed Mommie Dearest. Mostly, I just don't know which end is up.

But it's all for the best. Never had to make a soul shattering decision so driven by money. It's looking good though. If it all comes through, I'll be out of debt for the first time in two years, moved into a new place in the FiDi, with a lower nut and lots of dreams. Really, when I let myself own what I'm about to accomplish I'm truly and deeply amazed.

The wife and I are generally on much better terms. Just before I saw She in Miami this last time, my wife snooped in the CrackBerry and found a pretty innocuous email to She. After a scene, I've actually had a couple of conversations with the wife about She, in as vanilla a way as possible, and I'm still alive to tell the tale. And today we ran into Ms. Mahwah's sister on the street in Tribeca. That, of course, set off a little Duane Street tiff, but as I feel my body for knife or bullet wounds, I'm still here, blabbering on my blog about it.

So, dear readers, Advo is alive and well. Dreaming some Sunshine State dreams as I learn all over again about the privileges and immunities clause. But to all who wonder if I'm leaving town for palm trees and Lincoln Road, I'm here to tell you - I'm in an Empire State of Mind.