In
40 Days and 40 Nights, Josh Harnett's character decides that his love life is out of control, so (despite being a very lapsed Catholic) he decided to give up sex for Lent. The ways in which this film becomes tedious and insultingly-stupid are numerous, and not worth listing here. But I mention it only as a point of reference. You see, I plan to go without for the next 33 days.
There are a lot of reasons why I choose this, and probably just as many (or more) why I shouldn't be doing it. First and foremost, while I may still cling proudly to the "unrepentant" banner, I have to admit that this is starting to seriously interfere with my life. I need to know that I can actually exert some amount of control over my own body, however small. In just under two months since returning to the bay area, I've done my "Craigslist Experiment" (which netted 3 different encounters), hooked up with two TVs whose ads I'd answered, and seen three commercial providers. I've been here since December 10. That's 8 different people in 7 weeks, and even for me that's a bad sign.
For me, addiction is best summed up in the statement, "you know it's harmful and destructive, and you do it anyway". I have no intention of trying to reign in my libido. I have no intention of becoming celibate for the rest of my life. In fact, part of the thinking behind the 33 day window is that it ends on March 3, my (and this blog's) birthday. And you can bet your soft, smooth ass that I'll be getting some form of nookie that day. Unless, of course, I've already failed in this effort.
Another facet of this, is to get back into the habit of regular posting. When I started, I wrote almost daily. Some of the blogs I read I can count on daily content, in particular
AAG and
Violet Blue. But I've been beyond lax in this department, and I strongly suspect it's cost me what little readership I had. The only way I know of to restore readership is to return to the regular writing of quality material. So, for the next 33 days, I shall be channeling all that energy that would otherwise be wasted on wanking into writing. One post per day. Not all of them will be quality, I accept. But maybe one or three will catch the eye of someone on some random search engine or blog-search somewhere. And maybe, along the way, I'll re-develop the habit of writing regularly again.
In this, I'm creating some rules for myself, more like allowable outs:
- I'm not going to whack off, and I'm not going to either troll Craigslist casual encounters or any of the commercial-provider sources I generally use (CL erotic services, Redbook.com).
- In fact, I'm not even going to try and date during this period, because I have a knack for being in someone's pants by the second or third date. Heck, the last true relationship I had lasted almost a year, and we screwed each other nearly senseless on our first date. Man, I miss her, too.
- That said, should an offer of (free, both as in beer and as in speech) sex were to, ahem, fall into my lap, I reserve the right to punt this "33 Days" crap and tap that.
- Each day, I will write an entry, with "33 Days, 33 Posts" in the subject line, and "33 days" in the tags. But if something really cool comes along that I want to share with my readers (what few there are that remain), I may make other posts. I doubt I'll reach Violet's throughput, but then Violet is a goddess and I can't really hope to match that anyway.
- If I fuck up (so to speak), I'll be honest about it. Part of this is for the catharsis, and lying about things ain't gonna help.
- There is no rule 6.
- I still get to read sex blogs and sex-related stuff. Albeit at my own risk. I've already made the conscious decision to put my porn away in a hard-to-reach corner of one of my closets. But choosing not to wank is one thing; not reading Fleshbot or Erosblog is a whole different personal challenge.
So, there it is. 33 days, 33 posts, 0 orgasms. At least, that's the plan.
Dausa
Labels: 33 days, addiction, blogging, celibate, navel-gazing, sugasm
