All posts by X Teri

Behavior, Health, Mental Health, Relationships, Romance, Sex, Sexuality

The Fire

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The Fire

When I am feeling disconnected and don’t have enough physical intimacy, the effects permeate my life unexpectedly. Based on my experience, this is true for most people. Except for the outliers. The scarcity rule tells us that we focus on what we’re lacking. No matter how many other things we have or what’s good in life. If you’re hungry, it really doesn’t matter what kind of car you’re sitting in or if your couch is nice. Physical intimacy is free, makes us feel pleasure and connection, and is good for us in so many ways. It’s not a basic need like food. But it definitely sits on the hierarchy once your basic needs have been met. Physical intimacy does so much to reset my mind. It changes my focus and helps me to do the mundane things that fill a large part of my life. It keeps me from dwelling on the absurdity of so many other things. And when it’s missing? It starts as a nag in the back of my mind. And escalates to a general feeling of anxiety. It’s absence invites self-doubt and feelings of diminished self-worth. You start to question whether you’re valued. It’s not a question of time because we fill our days with all manner of distraction. It’s not a question of money because it’s free. And you can’t help but wonder, who doesn’t like pleasure? Who doesn’t want to feel the connection? In some ways it is like a drug because when it’s absent, sometimes it gets to the point that it invades your conscious thoughts and drives out everything else meaningful. I’m wired to focus on the other person. I know that my level of intensity is not always reasonable; but my mind can’t help but to want some form of reciprocity. To have someone who is invested in my happiness. It’s not alwaus about the frequency. But if you have an imbalance in your relationship, one of you is going to always be wanting more. And likely the person who is experiencing scarcity will spiral with guilt. It’s dangerous because it can become indifference. Apathy or learned responses to minimize your wants and needs are far greater foes than anger or irritation. It morphs into surrender. It’s about the enthusiasm and preoccupation with someone else’s wants and needs. Someone who knows you and anticipates what will make you feel happy, appreciated, wanted, and like you’re on an adult playground. It is both time set aside and spontaneity. Time set aside for physical intimacy is a clear sign that everyone understands its importance. Spontaneity demonstrates visceral interest and playfulness, both of which probably need to be present in abundance to be happy.

I see this playing out with many people. And there are an awful lot more who suffer with it but obviously don’t talk about it. It’s taboo, except for stand-up comedians and TikToks. It’s a cliché.

We are biological machines. Our intimacy drive is hardwired into us. It causes so much frustration when not developed. But when it is? It’s one of the most sublime things in the world. And everyone who experiences it knows it to be true. When you’re with someone you love and trust and you have that sort of mutual and reciprocal connection, it is impossible to be dissatisfied with life.

Love, X

Personal

Early Morning Moment

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Listen. Or rather, read. This is another post I wasn’t going to share. Earlier in the week, I stood on the landing and watched the birds and traffic. I’d come home to serve as a taxi before returning to work. I have the best view of anyone in the l-shaped apartment building. A large white truck drove into the parking lot and turned in to park at the streetside of the lot. I looked away to fiddle with my phone. When I looked up, someone was approaching across the landing. It’s rare for anybody to cross the long portion of the landing at that hour. At 2:00 a.m. it’s normal. Those who traverse it that hour are still at that stage of their life where they don’t realize that burning both ends of the candle tends to catch your shirt on fire, metaphorically or otherwise. As the man approached, I realized I knew him. He spoke briefly to me and I responded politely. I noticed he was walking oddly. He went into a nearby apartment. I know the purpose of his visit was to drop off drugs. I know that because he used to be my next door neighbor. Even though he was the impetus for my having taken a few violence self-defense sessions, I had to acknowledge that if had ill intentions, I would have only had two seconds to respond. I also know that I would have been capable and that the outcome probably would be on the news. It tickles me still that people look at me and see a mild-mannered middle-aged man.

When the ex-neighbor exited the apartment, we talked for a bit. It was his birthday and he was feeling old. There was no weirdness and no subtext of violence. Out on the landing almost 2 years ago, I was recovering from emergency surgery. That’s what made the light bulb go off in my head back then. If someone is putting you in the position of defense, they don’t care what condition you’re in. In fact, you being vulnerable is an enticement to many. But in this case earlier in the week, I gave him medical advice because he had suffered a pretty hideous hernia recently.

It was a strange moment. I wished him a happy birthday, despite him being in pain. I actually encouraged him to get his MRI more quickly and to do the follow-up without delay for his own safety. Regardless of what he does for extra money, he is human. Whatever drove him to behave so irrationally a couple of years ago most likely was the result of altered brain chemistry. He might not even remember it. That is a sobering realization; that someone can affect you so deeply and perhaps not realize it.

I like to think the potential moment of violence had its purpose. It motivated me to focus and learn a couple of new skills. It echoed in my head as I escalated my habits to stay in shape. I look back on my childhood and hope that the violence had its purpose. Even while I simultaneously realize that it was the outcome of random unchecked toxicity. All of us who experienced it came out of it in our own way. Each of us however, cannot look back without realizing it infected each of us differently. My brother sublimated it into anger and alcoholism. Intelligence did not provide a trap door for him to escape it. My sister chose a similar path. She’s still standing and is 2 years clean and sober now. The truth is that few people would have expected that outcome. It truly is a matter of where you end up and not so much how many horrible detours you’ve taken.

The words my neighbor that day long ago were some of the worst I’ve ever heard. Almost two years later, I know I probably will never forget them.

I probably can’t adequately explain how odd this moment out on the landing in the early morning was to me. He was just a dark shadow of the past who interrupted my morning. I knew everything would be okay even if it wasn’t. Because that’s the only way to get through the day. We seldom start the day knowing what pratfalls life is going to ask of us. You can’t even prepare for them.

Love, X

Humor, Lemon Moment, Personal

Am I Funny Or Dangerous?

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I wasn’t going to write this anecdote. It rose from an extemporaneous encounter that both tickled me and irritated me.

I went to our local large warehouse superstore after work. In part due to the desire to buy some chicken and in part to engage in some frivolity. I parked near the end of the lot as I often do. For no reason, I sprinted up the parking lot. Behind me, I heard an engine revving. Assuming it was a testosterone-deficient display of horsepower, I kept running. After all, someone has to keep OPEC funded, so such blasphemous displays of tacky overkill are important to both the economy and to aftermarket parts stores catering to those who think the epilogue is something people say at a funeral. As I slowed to traverse the crosswalk, a horn blared at me. It was as loud as an angry housewife at 7:30 p.m. on bowling night.

Turning to wave, I saw that the horn emanated from a large pickup truck. The man driving had put his window down. He shouted at me. “Hey, watch where you’re going!”

Confused, I looked down at the crosswalk and then pointed at it. “I always do,” and laughed.

I could see that my humor and my short truthful quip was not pleasing to him. I was still confused. He drove up behind me as I ran and there were no other vehicles crossing the perpendicular plane of the lot adjacent to the store. My a$$hole detector sent off a warning bell in my head.

Time to play.

“You heard me. Are you being smart with me?” His voice rose in intensity.

“I wouldn’t dare. Your wife wouldn’t recognize such an attempt.” I laughed even harder and stood looking directly at him.

“You wouldn’t be laughing if I got out of this truck!”

I wanted to say, “I’m not sure you could, absent the use of a crowbar and can of Crisco,” but I didn’t.

Instead, I said, “I am NOT going back to prison for this!”

His face froze as the words I’d said sank in. “Just be careful of where you’re going!”

“We’ve established this already. Any new business you’d like to discuss?” I definitely laughed my ass off with this remark. I knew I could outrun him. It was doubly obvious I could outsmart him by challenging him to a one-syllable spelling bee. A part of me wanted to take off running to the end of the lot just to see if he’d attempt a chase.

I am pretty sure his wife had told him, “Let’s go” at this point. As y’all know, this is an infinitely ineffective strategy with this sort of esteemed citizen. It’s right up there with “Calm down!”

He gave me the middle finger. Not to keep, of course. He limited himself to showing it to me with considerable enthusiasm.

I did what any red-blooded American guy should do in this situation: I bowed formally. When I raised up, I gave him a big thumbs-down with my right hand.

“I love you,” I shouted as he drove away.

Did I make friends today?

Love, X

Humor

Wet Paint

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An hour earlier, I passed the apartment buildings. One of the maintenance people was painting the large outside panel on the end of one of the buildings. I noted his sign, which indicated, “Wet Paint.”

An hour later, I came back with a gallon of water. I threw it across the recently painted panel. As the paint began to drip and run, the maintenance man screamed at me.

“WHAT are you doing? Are you stupid?”

I pointed to the sign on the end of the building.

X

(This is an adjective versus verb joke.)

Story, Writing

Purple And Orange

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Purple And Orange

Jake arrived home about 6:15. He went through the garage and heard his wife Jane singing somewhere inside the house. Knowing her well, he knew that meant she was in high spirits. He threw his keys on the kitchen counter, a habit Jane had tried to break him of for twenty years. As he reached into the fridge for a diet soda, he felt his cat Sprinkles rubbing on his leg. He bent down to give it scrunches across its ears. He opened the soda and took a huge swallow. Because they had spent so many years practicing the dance of habit and marriage, he knew Jane would approach him for a hug. She didn’t care that he smelled like an old mayonnaise jar left out in the sun.

Jake looked up to the doorway as Jane entered, quiet lyrics still passing her lips. His eyes widened.

Jane laughed as she approached and wrapped her arms around him.

“What do you think? Good choice?” Jane shook her head back and forth as her hair swirled around her face.

Jake reached up and ran his fingers through his wife’s bright purple hair.

“Wow. It’s beautiful. Like you. I’ve never seen you with any color other than black or gray!”

“I’ve always wanted to color it. When I bought groceries after work, I passed the hair kits. A light bulb went off in my head. I bought two colors.” She smiled, probably tickled by her own audacity.

“It looks beautiful Jane.” He kissed her and asked if she needed help finishing dinner.

“No but thanks. Go wash off the stink If you want a shot later.” They both laughed.

Jane started humming the same song she had been singing and turned towards the cabinets.

“I’ll be a little bit. I have to trim my beard.” Jane nodded and blew him a kiss as he headed toward the master bathroom.

…

Forty-five minutes later, as Jane was finishing supper, she heard Jake come up behind her and kiss her neck. She could smell the aftershave he always wore.

“It smells good in here,” he said.

“Making chicken and pasta.”

He laughed. “I wasn’t talking about the food.”

Jane turned the chicken in the pan and set the fork aside. She knew her husband well and heard a slight laugh in his voice.

When she turned to give him a quick kiss, she stopped cold. Jake had the goofiest smile across his face. His hair and beard were a wild mix of rusty orange, gray, and brown. It looked like a toddler had painted his head.

“I’m not much for coloring my hair,” he said as he started to laugh. “I think my co-workers will like it.”

Jane ran her fingers through his beard and shook her head. “Lord, they might think you’ve finally gone off your rocker.”

Jake reached out and ran his fingers through Jane’s purple hair. They both stood for a moment, both with smiles on their faces.

“It’s about time to eat,” Jane whispered.

“Supper can wait. Let’s go see what orange and purple make when mixed together.”

As Jake led Jane from the kitchen, Sprinkles sprawled across the floor in front of the stove to keep watch. They would be back in a while. Their hair would probably be a mess but maybe a piece of chicken would find its way to the floor.

Love, X
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Story, Writing

Now

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Now

The months had accumulated and passed quickly. The early morning appointment on a cold February morning night as well have been ten years ago. Days, years, and decades proceeded that morning. Yet he only vaguely recalled the fog that encompassed him before. Forty-seven years of blindly doing the next thing instead of enjoying life. He dropped out of high school to get a job after his dad died. Followed by a marriage that didn’t last and six years in the military.

Four months later, and most of the people who knew him thought he had lost his mind. He stopped arguing with people and accepted any invitation to be with people. Good sleep abandoned him and he was grateful. He no longer needed to bank wasted hours thinking he needed it. When he quit his job, his mom argued with him and his coworkers were in shock. Seventeen years earned him a reputation as a diligent, hard worker. If he could go back, he would take all of his vacations and probably even play hooky three or four times a year. The best part of his list of surprises since February was a drive to Colorado. He had seen it once for a few days while in the military and fell in love with it. Seventeen days of driving and sleeping wherever he had to. The morning he woke up in Colorado, he had the best cup of coffee he had ever tasted.

Sitting on the the steps in front of his small house, he watched the birds chase each other and felt the breeze buffet him.

He coughed briefly and reflexively looked at his hand. One small drop of blood on his right palm. He had been informed that the drops would escalate. It didn’t concern him.

He watched the tall grass of his yard sway as the wind crossed it. He would mow it if it got above his knees. But not before. Grass was just another one of those idiotic distractions that people need to fill their days.

Steadying himself, he stood up and walked up the three short steps to his front door. He took one look back at the sky and at the birds still careening around its backdrop. He smiled.

Maybe he would see it tomorrow. Maybe not. This had always been the case.

X

Opinion, Personal

Green

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You never know when the last picture of you might be taken. Hopefully, it’s not 5 minutes after you awaken and amble out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from your mouth, and gravity working its inevitable magic on your body. But if it is, someone would cherish it because that’s the way they see you every day. (Or from an episode of Cops.) Recently, I was given an undeveloped roll of 35 mm film from 1977. I sent it off for processing. It’s impossible to know what’s on there. I love that uncertainty! What if it is the first picture of someone as a newborn? Or someone’s sibling or parent posing goofily, unaware that it may be the last picture ever taken of them? What value can you put on that sort of picture? What value did you ascribe to your day today? Was it just another Friday, one marking the end of a work week? Time is short. As Redd Foxx said, “…diamonds are forever and so are the payments.” Recently, my cousin inquired and quipped about the possibility of someone taking my picture or writing about an interaction, thus turning the tables on me. I photobombed someone at the store today as they snapped a picture of their manager, who was angry at a subordinate who had texted to say they would not be at work this afternoon. I smiled like an idiot as she snapped the picture. I realized that I wasn’t even impersonating an idiot, given my qualifications. My smile didn’t originate with the anger of the manager. Instead, it’s because I resisted the urge to say, “But did you die!?” Even though it’s a humorous cliché, it does have an inherent philosophical observation.
Love, X
.

Humor

Bucket List

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By the time I drove past, the property was engulfed in flames. There were at least 30 firefighters there, using hoses and every available method to extinguish it. I pulled over safely and parked. I said, “Wait here I’ll be right back” to the passenger.

I ran toward the building and shouted over and over. I then ran back to my car and got inside.

My passenger asked, “What were you doing?”

“I always wanted to shout ‘THEATER!’ In a crowded fire.”

X