may your sentiments deny that which your selfcontrol can't. this may be seen as backtracking, but knowing your limits and setting your standards higher than is possible to attain curbs otherwise disasterous inclinations.
a girly night of drinks and debating the finer points of harry potter's theology (snape must be good for the sake of christianity) and jonathan strange and mr. norell (who we still think the servant may have done it all along) - yes this counts as girl talk amongst those of uis with simple lives and shared past partners which one should never mention in good company - segued into an evening with neil gaiman.
a long time hero, a minor fantasy in the dark mysterious artsy way most of us have fallen for, and much too unattainable in his cult. but as he read in his posh southern english accent in an overly dramatic leather jacket and specifically-mussy hair i was equally enthralled and repulsed at the deliberation behind such an image.
any possible lustful thoughts still lingering in my general person were dashed like waves on Dover when the Q&A turned to a level of gothgeekdom i had heretofore only read about. when Mr. Earplugs- and-Skull-branded-Leather countered Ms. velvet-cape-and-untrimmed-locks (which were less flowing than she imagined) with a "but Sandman #50 was well before the first Gulf War much less the bombing of Baghdad..." I lost all faith in humanity much less any glimmer of hope for sex.
perhaps step three should be "surround thyself with repulsive freaks to ban any interest in intimacy from thy thoughts".
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