It might just be worth my noting here, for posterity as well as myself, that it is sometimes disturbingly, depressingly easy to have sex in New York if you're a straight girl able to steel yourself to play the game. And it's incredibly hard to find a boyfriend once you realize that's what you want.
In some ways, my problem is likely that I know too much about what it's like to be with too many different people. I have a couple different types and the important parts don't transfer.
Going to try to stop thinking about this right now, though.
About Me
- the other woman
- "She did not know if she did it on purpose, but she lived as a fatality the necessity of destining her pleasure to the absent one, who moreover was not always the same, the other of the other always possibly being an other. This is naturally, and here I have to quote her, a 'surplus' of always available pleasure, and a 'fatal deprivation.' After a silence: the day that I love someone, man or woman, I am certain, or I believe that it will stop, in any event this is how I will recognize love. I have loved a lot, however, without ever abandoning myself to those I loved, presently I mean. And up to the present. Another silence (I had already asked for the bill) and without anything provocative or vulgar, with a kind of confidence which I still like to think of: I have the feeling that with you [vous] it would be different." (Derrida, Envois)
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