Robert Manners

So What's Your Excuse?

Sorry, darlings, but I just haven't felt like writing lately. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I specifically have felt like not writing... I think about writing something, and every fiber in my being resists. I have time on my hands every now and then, and there are events in my life that I could talk about, thoughts in my head I could elucidate, but I simply do not want to, and want not to.



What I do want to do is shop and eat and masturbate. But I'm out of money for the nonce and should be economizing to make room in my budget for the new car and credit-card debt; I'm trying to cut back on sweets and carbs so that perhaps I can divest myself of this flobber that seems to have taken up permanent residence on my midriff; and while masturbation is free and burns many calories, one only has so much energy and semen to spend... I'm not as young as I once was, children, and now any more than two or three sessions per twenty-four hours gives me a migraine.



I think this lethargy is a combination of debt-anxiety and fear of upcoming changes. The whole credit-card-debt thing bothers me, and the frailty of my beautiful new car wakes me up in the night (I keep dreaming that Miss Jane has gotten hurt somehow). Also, Caroline and I joined a gym together and are going to begin a daily routine of an hour's after-work cardio followed by classes and/or muscle-toning three days a week. Our hope is that if we're both involved, we'll keep each other on track... Caroline out of fear of wasting one penny of her $360 annual fee, myself out of a desire to see someone else suffer as much as I do (if not more). And while I look forward to and am excited by this new routine in my life, I nevertheless feel very edgy about it.



Perhaps after we have our orientation and workout recommendations on Thursday, and start our daily routine, I will get used to the idea. I very much want to lose weight and feel better and be healthier and ogle boys in the gym, but there is still that slothful cake-eater in me that is unhappy about the whole thing... my inner fat-man is very upset.



I am also feeling very edgy about my desire to start dating. If my dieting and exercising does what I intend it to do, i.e. make me more attractive and not physically repellent to myself (and by extension others), there won't be much protecting me from that terrifying outside world of Dating & Romance.



This is one of those places where The Committee (the name I like to give those voices in my head) is bent on sabotage... one committee member points out that I'm really horny and that I should start dating again; another points out that I'm too fat and ugly to get a man within my rather exacting specifications; the third voice starts listing those specifications, in an attempt to discover a combination that might be actually available; the fourth adds ever more unrealistic specifications to insure that the third voice fails in its efforts; the fifth voice starts shouting simply to be heard, without adding to the conversation; the sixth voice bangs his gavel and calls for order, but nobody is listening.



I usually don't pay any attention to The Committee, but sometimes when I'm feeling unsure of myself, they come surging to the forefront of my mind with their impossible and mutually exclusive demands.



Anyway, that's all I have to say today. More than I thought I'd have to say. When I logged into Blogger just now, all I intended to do was tell you I didn't feel like writing and post a nice piece of beefcake, maybe nag you to go visit my friend Cookie Dough at her new weblog, "Creepy Carrie" (which I have just added to my Daily Visits column, as she's been nagging me to do for some weeks now — even though she's still hosted at Tripod, the most pop-up-happy server on the net). But once I get started on a post, I always babble on a bit.



I guess that's the secret to getting anything done... once I get past the initial resistance to doing something, I can usually sail right through it, no sweat. But getting past that initial resistance is a toughie.



Oh, well. Here is supermodel Channing Tatum... and his cock: