One of the unseen moments in Sex Rehab included our crafting in clay what our sex addiction looked like.   The monster inside.  Mine was a fragile baby.  So fragile in fact that it’s head fell off the day after we made them.

The baby is somewhere in the house but I can’t find it.  When I find it I will take a picture of it and post it here.

The idea of the bad baby stems from something my step-father once said to me, that I was a ‘bad baby’.  Of course that’s absurd isn’t it?  A distressed baby maybe but not bad?

One of my performance pieces was called Bad Baby.  The mother in the performance lived in the fridge.

As for Elsie de Witt?  Well, she’s a character that I invented with Lady Rizo during one of our epic two-hour putting the world to rights telephone calls.  Elsie is the great chantreuse, the over stuffed opera singer who resides within..as well as the bad baby who also inhabits my currently very thin frame.   The dramatic and dynamic Elsie and the screaming baby.

Finally received some of the money that JB owes me so in a gesture of good will I took down his full name in my blog.   His spidery, fragile hand writing all over the cheque softened my heart.  Now all he has to do is send the rest.  I wrote to him offering to reduce the amount of money he owes me if he would just show willing and send it.

 

Bad Baby made in Sex Rehab

As JB fulfills his obligation to me I feel myself detaching from him in a positive way.  He has held on for too long by owing me this cash.

I wrote him a conciliatory note urging him to send the rest of the money.   I imagine that he wants to go to court and fight and that is his prerogative but all this will achieve is yet another cataclysmic collision.  I imagine that he is being urged on by his new gay friends who never like to take any responsibility for anything.  His new cheerleading team after I was dismissed.

Occasionally they write to me.  His new friends.  It’s funny.

So much more is happening in my life than you can imagine but I cannot write it.   I don’t want to jinx potential job opportunities, burgeoning romances.  I am loathed to write even the silly things..like the spa in my garden that I have renovated and is now operational.  It’s the oddest contraption.  Heated by an ingenious wood burning stove which almost boils the water like a huge kettle.  A friend and I sat in it last night under the stars, looking out over the ocean lit by the full moon.

Willie, as he is predisposed, stole my friend’s sock.

Do I at moments like this wish that it was JB in the spa?  Well, less so.   Those are indeed moments that should be shared with a lover.  He had ceased to be my lover, to be my one and only long before we ever left for France.  He was just pretending to my lover.  I felt the disconnection.  Knowing that he probably already had someone else to fixate on.

I realize now that he had already met somebody else and simply came to France because he could.

Yesterday I went to therapy for the first time in ages.  The theme was integrity and the others mused upon the lies they had told to wives and co-workers..yet to me a lie is subjective and we live in lying times.   The truth is subjective.  As I have said before,  exponentially the more honest one becomes the more isolated you feel.  One can only hope to do the right thing by those we share our time.  That’s all.  If we can’t or don’t?  Well, we make our amends.

JB was incensed that I lied to the Ferry people in Calais to get us all on board without incident after they told me that Lil’ Dog’s carrying case was made of the wrong material.  If I had told the truth at that moment it would have meant taking a cab into Calais Ville buying the correct carrying case.  This exercise in honesty would have cost a fortune and we would have missed endless ferries and dinner with Georgina in Whitstable.

He used that as an example of how I always told lies.

Lying about a dog’s carrying case and cheating on someone for years seem like two very different kinds of lie.  One expedites an unnessessary situation the other steals a soul.  Perhaps he couldn’t see the difference?

Naturally there is a philosophical conundrum for a man who says, “I always tell lies.”

I learned so much from JB about myself and others.  I learned a great deal about gay men.  Their attitude toward him for instance.  That he had no option but to behave as he did.

At the beginning, when I met him and he came out to me, we started flirting, sex camming etc.  I knew immediately that it was wrong to do what he was doing to her and as I reread emails within a few days of his coming out to me I was urging him to get honest.

I was conflicted about his coming out as we became closer.

It suited me that he was with her because I knew where he was at night.  I knew that he was mine.  I knew that the moment he was free of her he would be just like all the rest.

Everyday this JB stuff gets better in my head.  As I sift through every detail.  As I attempt falteringly to detatch with love rather than hate.