Very Safe Sex

Very Safe Sex

                                                     by Mindy Matijasevic

 

Last week, classes at both
jobs started up again.  Additionally, Friday was the deadline to apply for a grant from the Bronx Council on the Arts.  I am typically down to the wire on that deadline, and this year was no exception.  I had to bring my manuscript to the 8^th Avenue post  office by 33^rd street at night to have it postmarked on 1/25/13.  There was much stress due to not being able to get through to a fucking human being on the phone.  When I was trying to call to find out hours, I was forced to talk to a computer and when I said “hours,” it said, “post office locations.”  After the third call, I almost threw the phone into my computer monitor. 

One of my new co-workers has already shown himself to have an ego that won’t be able to fit in our office.  The massive pair on some people is amazing.  I’m sure he’s one of those who takes up three seats on the subway. 

 

I will be putting together a newsletter at work on a regular basis.  This was originally the idea of Sue Machlin, a dear co-worker and friend who passed over last June in a car accident.  She and another put out the first newsletter.  For whatever reasons, they didn’t continue.  I resurrected the idea, and it’s my project now.  I’m glad.  It’s another continuing connection to Sue.  It’s creative work, and that gets my juices going.

Having to function in the morning every day after several weeks of a very loose schedule, all the stress and beating the clock to get my submission in on time to apply for the grant, trying to reason with an a-hole in one arena and a computer in another, among other things, exhausted me.  I slept all day Saturday.  And I am pleased to say I didn’t feel one bit of guilt for it.  I needed it.  I tend to stay up late when not having to get up early, so making the switch was very difficult. 

 

I don’t know if this is connected to getting my writing in before deadline and having a newsletter to create (which stimulates me more than many things), but I dreamt that I had sex.  I mean when I woke up, it took a few minutes to fully realize it was a dream.  I remember details.  Not every detail, but some.  I remember feeling that he was going to be done, and, after all this time that I’ve been penis-free, I was determined to make sure I’d be done by the time he’d be done.  There was no way I went through all this to be left unsatisfied.  I remember rising to him three times and (to put it cleanly) achieve what I rose for.  Later, I remember standing naked and facing each other.  He had a hairy chest.  I like men to have hairy chests.  I didn’t see his face.  He wasn’t a whole lot taller than me.  He, based on body color, may have been Hispanic, Italian, Greek, Jewish (the type who have more color).  In the dream, I knew who he was, but since awaking, I can’t remember at all.  I felt pretty pleased in the dream.  Not a bit regretful.  Maybe it’s a sign.