I walked into my kitchen and found a note.
“The car is yours for the day. Why don’t you drive to the beach, have fun with the pretty surfers and enjoy some scotch?”
I threw on my oh-so-chic denim overalls, grabbed my Marc Jacobs bag, kissed the pretty boy who was still asleep in my bed Good Bye and revved the shit out of the Mercedes until I pulled up next to someone who could play Kelly Slater’s understudy in real life…
And then I woke up.
Alone.
I once had a dream that I won lottery, cured cancer and had sex with George Clooney all in the one night. The day I had to live in reality paled in comparison and I spent every waking hour bitter that my life resembled something close to Hell but my dreams are an experiment of what it would be like to be a supermodel with a science degree.
Sitting at my breakfast table, eating Coco-Pops and wearing hot chocolate-stained tracksuit pants, I thought about how our subconscious has the power to create a far better paradigm than our conscious appears to.
It almost put me to sleep.
Last year was, for me, The Year Of Sex. From Chinese New Year, it was twelve months of fantasy, where commitment was replaced with condoms and conversation was discarded in favour of kissing. But, like the economy, the fun ended and my sex life now resembles the pound: useless to everyone involved and not worth the paper it is written on.
“I want to have a sex life like the Euro,” I told my girl friend. “That way everyone would enjoy it, somehow it would defy trends and I would be in the hands of foreign pretty people.”
Back when my love life was crashing like the US Dollar at the hands of an average American male, the idea of a relationship was a nightmare and copious amounts of sex became my crack: It felt like a dream while I was hitting it, but the next morning usually involved a heated conversation with myself and a headache.
The Dow Jones and I went down at the same time and the only thing on the up was my magic number.
In our early twenties, we wake up to the fact that we are able to control our own lives. So it comes as a shock when a situation presents itself that is foreign and out of our pretty little hands. The moment You are dumped, for example, is usually the moment that you realize how much you want Him [/Her] but now there is nothing you can do about it. You become a Wall Street broker for your own broken heart, but all the screaming in the world won’t buy the love back.
Then, whether through indulgence or sex, you get your life on track and hopefully find the power to create a far better paradigm individually than you ever did as a duo.
Casual sex is ideal because it is a practice in stern self control: You say when and then you leave. But the moment emotions become invested, the fantasy ends and real life can start.
This year has been, for me, The Year Of Honesty, where I acknowledge my own emotions and put bullshit to rest. For the first time since The Year Of Sex started, I have the ability to enjoy having a genuine crush on someone I am genuinely interested in. My ego has recovered from being pounded and I am no longer fearful of loosing some emotional control in return for greater sex.
Realizing that you have the power to be comfortable with your feelings trumps sex as one of the greatest feelings in the world and creates a glow that money cannot buy. It is the ultimate reality, a paradigm your conscious created, that even a supermodel with a test tube can’t deny.
You are living the dream.
