i'm a carrie

"While you were sleeping I peeked through the door to revel in your beauty. Spread out on the bed, an arm tucked behind your head, eyes resting under their lids to the soundtrack of relaxed breath. Blankets covering you from below while your chest stood out in proud glory. How my desire longed to lie down upon that well-formed stage. A graceful, grand, and handsome place for love." --tony wears a tux

this morning, as i was arguing with ben that i don't, in fact, include that many sordid details of my personal life in my 'blog, i read a few past entries of his, to see what he thinks are personal and sordid details. i stumbled across the above paragraph.

i'd wanted today's entry to be something about "bourgeois sluts." the best description of sex and the city i've ever heard is that it's really just "four manhattanite bourgeois sluts sitting around talking about getting laid." don't get me wrong; i love sex and the city, but this guy's totally right. i can't tie bourgeois sluts into today's entry, though, so my apologies for the tangent.

ben's 'blog made me think, what happens to that affection--the kind that you focus all on one person, the kind that's so intense that it aches a little--after you're forced to kill it? after you've been staring so intently in one direction for so long, where do you shift your gaze? it's a moment you can pick out, if you're paying attention. one morning you get up and the man whose "beauty you've reveled in" is just another man, sleeping fitfully, head between two pillows.

when the light that used to surround him has faded, to whom does it shift? to friends? to work or hobbies somehow? the author of the humiliating self-help book i'm reading would argue that you have to focus that light on yourself; to put that halo you've placed on someone else's head on your own. he suggests going on "dates with your inner boyfriend." don't hold your breath.