If it is a disease, I think I like it.

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Women on the brain, that is.

I suppose spring has put a skip in my jump. And, when that happens, women come to mind posthaste. In my dreams and waking thoughts I have been remembering women past and thinking of the possibility of women in the future. Chances are slim but I'm not dead yet. The practicalities of gaining and keeping a woman, wife, are set aside mostly, but not completely ignored. Women truly are a gift from God. But anything God gives is rather potent, too.

While I may never be able to be the rugged outdoorsman, the extreme or even solid athlete, or even a solid home handy man, I would at least be a potent lover and I would be available for talking, minor activities (even things like hiking if she would be patient or at least keep such plans active and take care of all but the driving and my walking). A decent provider, within reason. A good father, I would be involved with my children. I would be home to help with small things too. So, while not the ideal for some women, I think I would be perfect for some women. Or more, I wouldn't be my ideal of what a husband is but it might work for many women.

In these times, I think back to some of my original thoughts on women. My first love, as I have said, was Marilyn Monroe. This was before anything icky in my life occurred, and yet I was only three or so. I was sure I was going to marry her. And had she lived long enough, I just might have. Ewww! Still, a plan is a plan, but she was already dead. After a few more starlets, I actually moved on to the girl-next-door types. And, that is where I stayed, thus where I am. Why? They are real, unpretentious, and actually available. They don't spend (give or take) inordinate amounts of time trying to be something fictional. And they are hot, given the right incentives, a bit of cash and direction, and a little time to figure out that role. Even a plain woman beats out a starlet, more so if she wishes to be a wife and mother. There is something dead about women who look fantastic and yet never produce. A false promise? An affront to God's first unofficial commandment? Barren.

Oh, I still have my pinups. A Betty Page and Cheesecake calendar support my fantasy this year, a dark themed fantasy-sci-fi women calendar last year. And I can't say I haven't enjoyed the thoughts concerning certain "women" in some of my games. But it isn't the same. I still remember the first women I was 'involved with'. Not many men take their first lover before they turn six. Not always, but tonight the names are rolling through my memory. At least some of the early ones. Through, say, high school. I lose track in the Navy and until I was about 35, remembering mostly the incidents, minus names and other incriminating evidence. I sure knew how to wiggle, but as one of my haunting songs suggest, I had no idea why. At least I have learned that, to the point that not being given a chance to have children makes the sex seem rather uninteresting. If I can't quite say it would lack all appeal.

Hmm, on to a few other things. I am hoping to get to sleep tonight, early. I am going to make a run at being up and ready for Mass tomorrow, and perhaps swimming. I don't even know if I can do both. But if I can, I may even push to get over and see my friend. Napping, sleeping, waking, headaches, and lots of things are all getting swirled into an odd little life. Just maybe I can pull something out of it. One step at a time, two or three when I can, and so on.

Oh, I think I have definitively decided to get a chainsaw. I probably have six months to a year before the tires are needed. And in all other ways I have cut down on expenditures. I am in the black, and a bit more than I thought I would be, if I still have to check everything to make sure nothing is being unattended. Grhrhrhrhahaha. Nothing like being half out of it three quarters of the time to make life much more interesting! :)