Neat, uh? I discovered I don't meet many lecherous possibilities in the house and yard here. Well, the house is safer. People walk by the yard and there are meter readers and UPS people in the driveway.
Good thing these cyber people are out of temptation's lengthy flailings.
I think, "I would like to meet some of these women. They are interesting and fun and exciting." I think that once in a while. Not that often. I mean, not because they're not interesting and exciting, they are, but because I don't have a very big brain.
And if they came to the door, Stumpy runs up the stairs, and I run into the laundry room, or the front office, whichever is closer. Stumpy skids on the shiny hardwood until he lines up with the stairs, gets a front paw on the tread, and then he's gone. The office has curtains, and high windows with foliage. There's a window in the laundry room, so I have to lie down on the floor, in case they walked around that side of the house. Couldn't just be seen standing there, after not answering the door. Duh. That would suck. Super-Size. Wouldn't it. What would I do then? Pretend I'm deaf? In sign language? I DON'T even like to think about it. So I lie on the floor, look around a little, look at the ceiling, wish I'd brought a book or something, because I'm going to have forty seconds with nothing to do.
That's an ETERNITY in the pseudo-life of the serious ADHD fishy anado. Practically, panic-time. Worrying about that, what to do, with nothing to do, and whether there's time to fall asleep (can't be bored when you're asleep) (duh) ~ worrying about those things keeps me from worrying about the fact I'm forty-six and hiding on the floor of the laundry room.
Which would be distressing, and pointless; because I have thought about it, before, and realized nothing is going to change.
Two strange moments, in your life. Being on the floor of a small room dedicated to a different operation than sleeping, with nothing to do there; and then thinking about it after the third time or so, and realizing there's no alternative.
I guar-an-tee you, the average person is not going to get into these scrapes.
So, naturally, if these people were any closer, there's no telling what would happen.
Literally.
I think we understand that now.
A woman took my hand, in both of hers, I think last Winter, and I just about had a heart attack.
SERIOUSLY.
She just reached out and did that, and didn't tell me.
I could have a HEART ATTACK, and DIE.
I've seen what happens to my heart, right in the doctors's office. Everyone has, except every once in a while a new nurse, who will run out and tell him about it and come back in and say, "He said you'll be fine in a few minutes."
She doesn't look very sure. Maybe I really burned the windings this time. "We won't need that medication, I thought...."
If I weren't as scared as she is, I'd grab my chest and fall over.
(Nothing else to do in there.)
So; I'm safe, here, at home.
Got some bio-physical tension.
Know what I mean?
And another woman, maybe in the same scary Winter, a friend of mine, kissed me guh-bye, on the lips. Hmm, I thought. "She has soft lips. That was.....uhm......uh......fun."
I looked at her and said, "You have soft lips." It never occurred to me, that could be, part of something, like sex. Soft lips squishing together. Novel and isolated, and unusual, it was. Enjoyable. It was so novel and isolated, it didn't even scare me. I just started thinking, "Lips are soft. What makes lips soft? How come I've never thought of this before? I'm pretty sure I've done this before, but....I don't see any files here."
It's not easy to get carried away, when you're sorting File Manager and someone is honking at your car, the one you're supposed to be driving.
Have you got your stuff? What stuff.
"Door's on the other side." |
