Huge and exciting trip planned for next month; I'm euphoric, scared, expectant, worried, plan-mad, hopeful, pensive, anxious, way behind, and looking forward.
I'm all alone so far. My friend hasn't committed - others friends have skirted the issues.
Of course, there are the usual mundane normal everyday things of a household, family, services, vehicles, etc., etc., etc., to be dealt with that are normally worked without the extraneous pressures.
It's impossible. I just have to shut up and go forward.
It's a transition. Oh, sure.
It's an experience. I'm too old for that shit... dope! I'm a child of the '60s... Seattle, Jimmy, Janis. No wait, that's not what this is about. Although I have a minor longing and wish for the LSD of yesteryore.
I'm actually longing more for the promiscuity of yesteryear... but that's even more impossible these days... no - can't begin to recount the reasons I don't want to be bothered with condoms and worry about worse STDs than what we lived with in the 70s and 80s. We were so naive.
My plan is to revert to the poet I was in the early 70s... I have more than enough to offer, at least 'experience' against the naive and passionate horny female I was then.
I actually thought my rabbit hornyness was my most attractive feature when my woman-self emerged in the presence of my magnificent and lovely bosom. I parsed then. Perhaps now, I can integrate the poet and her infinite, lovely, deep and hot rocking sexuality.