I’m not into sex. It’s not a priority. Maybe I’m doing it wrong. Maybe I’m wrong. Part of it is that my sex drive is almost non-existent, save for when I have a glass or three of wine in my belly and am trying to bat my eyelashes in a way that I imagine Megan Fox would if she were in my position. I’ve been on anti-depressant tablets for about three years and I’ve noticed that in the past couple of months, I’m not as “up for it” as I used to be. I’m blaming the tablets’ sudden side-effect but there’s a lot of reasons why my sex drive might have dried up.
At the moment, most of my small brain is taken up with blogging and job-seeking and trying to make some sort of career. All this ambitious thinking leaves little room for thinking sexy thoughts. I’m also not seventeen anymore. Remember when you were seventeen and you lost your virginity and you simply couldn’t have sex enough? That was almost four years and a lot of sexual experiences ago for me (I am nearly rendered comatose during games of “I Never”) and I’m kind of over it.
Sex isn’t a priority. It’s not something I think about very often. I talk about it all the time with my friends, I dissect the intricacies of the art form, and I justify the whole thing: I tell myself and other people that it is perfectly okay to have sex with as many people as you like. The truth is that I’m more concerned with having a laugh and writing stories than I am with coitus. Maybe I’m doing it wrong. Maybe it’s boring. Maybe I need to spice up my sex life. But it just feels like my life is so full already (despite my lack of employment) and I lack the energy and the commitment – all I want to do is sleep.
Another theory, one which I’m reluctant to address, is that my weight is slowing down my sex drive. I mean, I’m not obese but I’m certainly more than a few pounds heavier than I was before I started college. Two years in and my college lifestyle is mainly based on chips. I’m home for the summer and my diet is better, but not by much. It’s common knowledge in the food world (i.e. I heard Oprah say it once) that too many carbs will make you lethargic and sluggish. How can I summon the energy to sex when my belly’s full of cream cheese and curry and bread? But then, which do I want more – sex or food? Isn’t it tragic that I have to ask that question? Sex just isn’t important to me. Food is. Then again, I’m the type of person who gets drunk, eats a spoonful of jalapeno slices straight from the jar, and then cries uncontrollably because my mouth is on fucking fire. (That is not an analogy: that happened last week.) Maybe I shouldn’t be allowed access to either food or sex. Or the internet, for that matter.
(In other news, I shaved my armpit hair on Tuesday night. I had hairy underarms for over a month and I think that’s impressive. My friends didn’t. And my boy toy didn’t. But whatever.)