February 05, 2003 @ 11:50 p.m.
Losing my sex drive!

In relation to the previous entry, I saw my friend Felicity for the first time in a couple of months yesterday. I'm sure I've mentioned her here before, but if not, she's my sole very religious, Young Liberal member friend. Or, as I put it to her one day at Uni, my favourite right-wing Christian.

And even she reckons I was fucking stupid not to sell my knickers to Mr Pervert.

I thought my most conservative henchperson would at least side with me for decency's sake (if not for the sake of The Children), but no. I just can't fucking win!

Speaking of fucking, I think these antidepressants are killing my libido. Perhaps you don't realise what a big thing this is, but NOTHING kills my libido (especially not after you've gotten a few drinks into me). Me not being interested in sex is sort of like a retard on a special school bus trip not being interested in consuming the fruits of his nasal passages - IT JUST DOESN'T BLOODY HAPPEN. But no, here I am, I've barely masturbated in the last week (normally I'm at it like a monkey at the zoo) and sex is a slightly more enticing prospect than, oh, chewing my fingernails. The mind is willing, but that's not translating to follow-through as often as it should. To make matters worse, my pills have a rather severe sedative effect on me and I'm taking them right before I go to bed - so on some nights, that's right before Mr Smooth starts offering me DNA samples. If it weren't for the fact that he has an indestructible ego (which is one personality trait needed to be my Other of Significance for any length of time), I'd be worrying that he might be a little hurt by the fact that lately I've been struggling to stay awake for the duration of the rumpy-pumpy.

Well, I think he noticed that, anyway.

I'm rather annoyed by all of this - why couldn't I have developed a lack of interest in sex several years ago during my frustrated teenage virgin stage? I think I'd rather be not on pills, depressed and enjoying sex than on them and having about as much of a libido as a giant panda. You might have noticed, if you've read my journal for a while, that sex (and most of its dirty cousins) is something I'm really rather fond of. Sometimes I write about it, you see.

Doctor told me that the type I'm on were less likely than others hurt my libido. Methinks doctor was telling porkies. But maybe I just need to wait it out. It has, after all, been just over a week. Maybe this will pass. I have an appointment with her next week; perhaps if I'm not back to my usual in-heat she-cat self, I'll be having a quiet word with her about it. A quiet word that will involve me grabbing her about the collar and pressing my face in close while my eyes roll and I froth at the mouth and demand to know what she's going to do about it.

Because hell knows, if we can't have sex, Stu and I might have to focus on other areas of our relationship.

I think we have other areas of our relationship.

*

There's a few vaguely psychotic regulars at a couple of branches of the library that I've worked at. I've been hit on a couple of times in that slow-smile-lingering-signifcant-eye-contact-hey-baby-what's-your-name way, and at least one guy is under the impression that my breasts check his books out for him and direct him towards the sections of the library he's looking for. So in some ways, it's really not that different from working at the porn shop.

Two completely different work envirnments, similar experiences. It's starting to creep me out a little. I'm starting to think the common factor is me.

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