Ramblings, books, boobs, stuff.

Gah. I wish I could get Dakota out of my head. I have this overwhelming urge to snuggle up to her, bury my face in her cleavage and basically go to sleep. As much as I would love to slip deep inside her and go wild I somehow feel that I could do this with any woman and so the appeal of her for me is always the affection, the snuggles, the little kisses, the hugs, the being squeezed tight while suckling away like a baby with kisses raining down on my forehead. This is the kind of thing I usually bother S with.

I don’t know if it’s ironic or not that the woman I most want to shelter and protect, provide for, support, push to succeed, all those manly, adulty, things that men are supposed to do is the woman whose arms I most want to melt into and let myself totally go and be weak and baby like. Feels ironic. Maybe it isn’t.

I’ve got into this habit of just randomly doing like twenty press ups here and there. I sorta remember this fitness guy who was in the marines and he was saying that the textbooks say that the human body can only do x amount of press ups, or whatever but when he thought back to boot camp they would be doing far in excess of that every day for weeks on end.

Books: I bought Our Game and The Night Manager both le Carré, obviously. I read Our Game last night and loved it. I’ve yet to read le Carré and not love it despite my loathing for spy novels. This is also good news in other ways because it took me a month to read a four hundred page book, such is having bipolar disorder in winter, so being able to read three hundred pages in six hours heralds the end of winter for me. I woke up yesterday morning and I was awake. Awake awake. That’s not happened for months.

Also I bought Gateway which annoyingly has not arrived yet despite the fact it was dispatched two days ago. The le Carré was something of an impulse buy; the BBC has made a mini-series out of The Night Manager and being a fan of his I suddenly realised, mid the second episode, that they would already by knocking out tie in copies of the book and it suddenly became imperative to buy a copy other than the tie in while stocks lasted. If it’s one thing I hate it’s tie in copies: Penguin’s art work is much more preferable to me than a group of actors; it’s more timeless for one thing: the mini-series will be quickly forgotten, the novel won’t. Gateway was the intended next book, it’s been on my reading radar for a while since it seems that when left to my own devices what I really enjoy reading, non-fiction wise, is scifi give the way that my scifi collection seems to have exploded in the last twelve months.

You know what strikes me as odd about blogging? There are people I in theory barely know. Like there’s this one woman that was in my classics class in sixth form and I had a massive crush on her and we ended up following each other’s blogs but in no real way were we friends. I was too painfully shy to really talk to her. I know, you’re struggling to imagine me painfully shy. Anyway we read each other’s blogs, she actually over the years read the inner emotional turmoil that I dealt with to become the arrogant, cocky, little shit that I am now and I read all her mental anguish……..and there was a lot of it, along with better stuff. We’re still on each other’s FB but we’ve never really talked. The ironic thing is that if we bumped into each other and decided to go for a drink we probably know more about what goes on in each other’s heads than our closest friends do.


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