There is little more annoying than a disappointed adrenal gland.
By the time we hit the class 4 rapids on the Riviere Rouge yesterday, my adrenal gland was snoozing. I managed to coax it awake with some serious whooping and hollering, but fifteen seconds later is was over and by the time we hit the next set, it refused to wake up again.
Which might explain how I managed to go FLYING from the raft, smash the side of my knee on a rock that I was sure wasn't there, miss the two throw ropes that had been hurled at me, and finally grab onto the nose of a passing kayak.
I do have an excellent photo, though, of our group, Peter with his "WOOOHOOOO" pursing of lips, nothing showing of Dan but the tip of his white helmet since he was entirely under water, Benoit looking fierce, our local heroine looking rather gleeful, and Joe, our guide, looking very intense, and very, very sexy.
Y'see, s'not often that I meet a guy who's outer demeanor makes me wet my pants upon first grin.
Sure, I lust a lot. After men, women, even a hermaphrodite or two that I've met along the way.
I enjoy lusting. I enjoy my appetite. It's tiring David out, but I'm not sure he's actually lodging any serious complaints about the fixation that my mouth seems to have for certain bodyparts.
He did accuse me of loving him for his penis, once, but frankly I'd be quite happy if it was an inch or two shorter, so...
Anyway. Joe. From Alexandria, Ontario, population 3000. Something about small town boys, something about the utter lack of corruption you can see around their eyes.
Well, in some of them.
The worst was afterwards, though, back in the chalet, plates piled high with spaghetti and salad and pickled beets (beets are by far my favourite vegetable, strange how I never seem to cook anything with them but borscht), seeing him out of his setsuit and in a pair of darker green army pants and a black shirt unbuttoned to the waist.
I lost my breath for a second there, remembering his blush when Tia and I grabbed him by the waist for a photo op.
When he sat down by me and we started talking, my brain shot my thoughts through with "damn, but why did I have to make that commitment to David? I could take this guy home right nowwwww..."
But I wasn't in my right brain at that moment. I was excited, devoid of adrenaline, strength, stamina, dehydrated and exhausted and having trouble seeing straight.
Looking at the photo of him now my loins remain rather calm and collected.
Coming home to David last night, crawling into his arms and taking him quietly and feverishly after four days break, then falling asleep almost instantly curled up in him, I had no thoughts of other men, women, hermaphrodites.
Right now I'm wondering about infidelity, about this naive need I have to behave as pristinely as I want him to believe that I am.
I could've gotten away with it easily, and since monogamy is not within my set of values, it wouldn't have bothered me much either.
But I promised, and after everything I've broken and forgotten and betrayed since the idealistic days of furious youth, the commercialism and corporate whoredom infusing my life hasn't pushed me so far as to break a promise that means so much to someone.
So I am taking my sore knee and sore triceps, my heavy dehydrated head and dry underwear, and going to pick the boy up so that we can cook a lovely shrimp-and-arugula-and-tomatoes white sauce pasta together, and curl up -- him with one of my books and me with my sewing machine.
And I feel much, much better.
Wondering how much longer I'll be in love, wondering at the impracticality of it, but not caring much right now.