I'm not really under a lot of pressure these days - although sadly in my chosen career that usually means a lot of pressure to find another job. Perhaps, like boys, this is a tired conversation topic for friends. It certainly is one for me. My days on the job are mostly spent drafting contingency unemployment plans. While that, and the fact I've been squirreling away savings for some time now has reduced the scariness of a doomsday scenario, the prospect of losing one's employment is never pleasant.
Luckily, it also completely destroys libido and forces me back to reality, where man obsessions commonly do not lie. So, in a strange twisted way I am glad for what is looking to be a suddenly shifting dynamic in my life. It numbs the sex bit right out of existence.
Another thing that has also helped in that regard was a visit with some friends yesterday evening who may even possibly put my boy dramas to shame. The obsession, the analysis, the unhealthy behaviors, the no good cheating bastards followed by more no good cheating bastards. And, well, the raunchy sex talk spawned by a recently witnessed case of diphallia. Don't know what diphallia means? Look it up. It'll cure you of the penis for awhile.
I wonder why these girls - all of whom are senior to me by at least four years keep going through this, and it occurred to me that if I don't make some changes (like this project), I could end up there as well. It's not that I find them contemptible, it's just that they seem unhappy when there are so many other things to make them happy. When, finally, we got off the topic of love lives (me non-conributing, and proud of my resolve not to) and blowjobs (me not contributing on principle, blech) and onto books, we all found common ground. The girls who had read Eat Pray Love high fiving each other at how awful we thought it was, a search through a friends bookcase for new reads (my cutdown on expenses has turned me more toward friends' bookshelves than Amazon - my parents' books are definitely getting raided this Christmas), and then a discussion on if Justin Bieber had a perfume, what it would smell like (Christmas trees and semen in socks) made me realize these girls weren't unhappy - it was just this one troubling aspect of their lives that bothered them. Sever it - like a diseased limb - and that's gone. At least that is how I am starting to feel.
However, the reason that is easier said than done is the pressure. The pressure to find the perfect man particularly as the clock ticks. I have decided to do without it. Instead, I am turning my pressure to picking up the pace on my tempo runs and seeing just how scroogy I can be with my cash - which is oddly satisfying as it has been an interested exercise in real need versus want. Right now it is about bare necessities and that is okay. It is also definitely about less nights on the town and less drinking - both good for my health and my wallet but also in another way. Less risk of bad judgment male entanglement, and that will do for now. Pressure relieved.