I just dreamed of her -again- … and, yes, like in all dreams you can clearly see, to some extent, it was contrived by the stuff you had in your mind and what has happened to you those days, but still it was “her”, with “her son” who was actually relating to me in a naturally friendly way (little boys like to relate to big boys (even in my dream I could feel it)). “She” seemed to be outwardly OK with that and relaxed with her (to me) annoyingly superficial smile having fun with common acquaintances and friends in a place which seemed to be the ruins of some still functioning Greco-Roman style University surrounded by some thick tropical flora during a sunny day.
The dream I had about her before was that I was renting a room in a huge mansion and the landlord was showing that room to prospective renters and (in my dream) I was half sleep when she walked in the room talking with landlord and gave me a somewhat angrily aware stare letting me know “I noticed -you-“. Not that nigga me is a Freud fan at all, but a “Huge mansion”, a “Greco-Roman style building” (I did spy her a bit after that and, “sure enough”, she had managed to get her @ss into another big University in her way to stardom (you don’t want to be in someone’s way to stardom ;-))), … something I have also invariably noticed is that she doesn’t talk to me in my dreams …
I am not so sure if I could technically call “her” “my crush”, yet, in the most serendipitous way I found this video which made me laugh my head off:
// __ The 6 Stages of Having a Crush
even though half of it didn’t apply to my crush on her (like I expected that video to be perfect? ;-)) I really don’t care about 3) what “my friends”/other people would say and 5) was one of the things that stood in the way of 6) . Best parts were 1) discovery and 2) research. I had known her for quite some time already and she personally didn’t “mean” much to me. She was just “the friend of that one who gave me back ‘my’ erections” (after divorcing my wife (mostly soft issues) whom I absolutely 100% loved (wouldn’t you love a hippie who moved to the mountains in Nicaragua in the middle of a war and had to sleep in a trench to protect herself and her baby from falling bombs?) … I went through a long time of doubts about the purpose of it all. It is not even about being angry, sad; but doubting yourself). I thought of becoming bachelor me for the rest of my life when I had my “No, nigga no!” moment with her. “Don’t try to fake yourself as some cynical dude!” I love girls “in general” (that sounds womanizing doesn’t it ;-)). I fancy them to the point of giving them names I make up and even change: “the groupie” (her), “big niñita”, “Viking her” … it is mostly an irresistible playful thing my mind taxes itself with almost un-, subconsciously.
I felt like when you were a child and discovered a new word. I would say to my friends “I had actually fallen in love” and they would mock me mercilessly. One of them told me: “after reading and thinking about all that cr@p you tax your mind with you would fall in love with a hot dog” ;-). I also kind of noticed there was something that wasn’t quite right about that “falling in love” sh!t. I felt, naturally indeed, somehow like she belonged to me. I kind of fell like I didn’t care if she had her intimate life @@ (I mean, you somehow rationally realize it is not true or right). Also I am horrible at breaking away from my girlfriend in a sense I never do (I still think about and dream of girlfriends I had when I was a kid), but it takes me a little time to get a new girlfriend into “my rational and emotional mechanism”. It is like when you are trying to drive a new bike. At the start it doesn’t feel quite right. It takes you a little time to propioceptively get used to it. That happens with people, too. I felt like that woman was “mine” already. I felt and thought of her from intimately close angles and projections when we interacted just a few times at close range.
There were also hurting feelings. At times I was like: “Man, stop pulling your thing while thinking about ‘esa flaca moñua ahí'” ;-). It also bothers my best friend to no end when I masturbate. She tells me “I am too old for that”, that “each time I masturbate I am disrespectful to all women” (and there is a part of silly me that believes her). I would quarantine myself from even thinking of it again. I would lie down in bed face down, my whole body will become very hot but I would force myself into autogenic trances and cry a bit in despair … eventually, I would fall asleep like that. Even after such a long time I watch my stash of pictures of her to feel “different”, almost psychedelically better, even if for all matters and purposes she may be dwelling on the other side of the moon.
One time she picked me for a dance and she was a bit upset because I was lousy but as we danced she second the song in Spanish in an accent free and playful way (gringas usually don’t have/understand that, they are “feminists”) I think she second “!qué chisme!” (as part of a song). She did emotionally ping me and you are like “well, that was that …” most emotional pings you get just fade in the see of emotions you go through, but for some reason that incident kept “ping”ing me. It was a bit confusing, because even though I did fancy her as I did all those women, I had never paid attention to her specifically. One day we danced again and this was when, most probably unsuspectingly to her, “she cracked my heart”. She told me she was a research Historian as we had random talks about Haiti and such matters. I noticed that she was true (she didn’t have to talk like that to me and we were in a night club). I remember it as some sort of movie in which she kinds of dances for me (it couldn’t factually had been like that (among other things ;-)) because we were dancing with each other). After that those pings little by little became a flood as I spied her online.
It was like an overwhelming force of nature. I would admit that that greater than me attraction I felt was even a bit motherly. I just wanted to be around her like a dog, in fact, I was more than ready to become a bug and cling from her pubic hair for the rest of my life. They say boys who had strong mothers are the ones who respect/worship women later in life (part of what Superwoman calls “mommy issues”); that people who were in love try to replay/reengage those feelings; that men in middle-life crisis go crazy because they notice they will die one day … It was like she was camping in my mind, more like I could somehow see her in every episode of my life, since I was a little boy wondering about who would be the sucker who would get the shiny bike (in the collective “Santa” lottery (I grew up in communist Cuba and no, it wasn’t all that unhappy, senseless)), to when I turned into a troubled, bratty teen who would call teachers stupid to their faces during classes even explaining to them why (I feel like dying when I recall that) … On January 28th (José Martí’s birthday) maestro Oropesa would come to classes with large bunches of white flowers and I would ask him about the meaning of it and why everywhere you go you would find some this or that about Martí … In Cuba José Martí is like the most purest God you could ever worship … I learned about him as an adult and I despised myself as a teen ;-). Oropesa once told me during a class (¿Que ‘pinga’ te pasa?) (What the fuck is wrong with you?) and the whole school was shocked about seeing Oropesa cursing (people thought he was only able to say nice things and declaimed poems). They did even plot to run me out of the school, but my Math and Sciences teachers were against it saying that “they couldn’t even begin to imagine why I was ‘that difficult’ during his classes, That I was an exceedingly smart teen” … They didn’t run me out of the school and I thought they would call me in for some talk, but they never did (which to me meant even worse). I kind of disliked José Martí:
// __ José Martí: el ojo del canario. avi
because my mother never read him to us and always questioned that “Martímanía” of Cuban people. I somehow felt like by loving her I would be saying “sorry” to the Universe at large for being like that as a teen ;-)
You may think of me as a “drama queen”, but even if I am not spiritually dirty (I have cheated only once) I am kind of emotionally promiscuous and I would say even a bit cynical (Picasso said of women …). I just find all of them irresistibly beautiful (well, fat women and those who smoke you can write off from my list). Descartes’ “cogito ergo sum” thing kinds of explains how you feel. You could be angry, happy, … (whatever adjective) about someone “occupying” your mind, but what you can’t deny is that she is there. It is not just a carelessly playful thing, it is taxing as hell and may be even irrevocably dangerous. I am a bit worried about her calling NATO because of this ;-) and there were two interesting research lines I pretty much dropped, because all I was thinking about was trying to smell that woman’s armpit. Bob Marley said, “the person you love will hurt/get you” (but you can choose whom you will get hurt from, really?!?). She once warned me she would call “the authorities” if I continued “poking”, bothering her (she didn’t seem to like email messages even though, to me and probably to you it wasn’t that often, menacing at all or vertically disrespectful). To her defense, I lost my mind. Sometimes I wonder how she thought of me “why is this guy so crazy about getting in my pants now, when he would not even look at me?” ;-) I even noticed how other people were aware of it (Jeez! That nigga seems to have gone crazy about that woman!). I told my best friend about it (she is Cuban, used to be my girlfriend and knows my heart). She would not believe it: “Ach! Give me sh!t! I can’t even begin to imagine that I would tell police that a boy is staring at my butt” (“and how exactly is that our business?”). Another girl I was messing with (they knew each other) actually went to the police with my email and let me know that “they knew me”. If that isn’t crazy enough to you then she tried to amend things with me! At times things that are supposed to be sad, get funny I was telling a friend (of course without mentioning names or giving any identifying cues) about “that habit of gringas of calling the police on you” and he told me he lost count of how many times it has happened to him that he doesn’t even go back to their places after he quits them. He tells them to just throw the stuff in the garbage. He then gave it an Anthropological twist: do you remember how girls in Cuba would start airing “you didn’t like women” (insinuating you were gay) when they tried to have sex with you and, for whatever reason, you didn’t please them? Well, what gringas do is call the police on you”. I could clearly see, those two women were very different; yet. they basically reacted in the same way. To which extent it is me, culture, coincidence, “all the above” …?
My best girlfriend told me: “you have no layers whatsoever and people find that very confusing, but you are not mean or abusive to women at all and if she doesn’t see that then she is not seeing you” … but the thing that really freaked me out, was that one of them whom I hadn’t bothered at all (she is a musician who plays one of my favorite instruments, well, the cello) I had seen a guy selling art on the streets (it was actually a very beautiful piece) of someone playing a cello made of industrial ends. I couldn’t resist buying it for her. Then I asked the barman to put it in front of her drink and she was amazed, delighted; when she turned to grab her drink and noticed my present without knowing who was behind it. She looked around the place a few times until she narrowed it down on me (I cared about music, she knew). Then I found out, (hopefully some other time) she had gone to complain about me to the DJ at that place who is a snitch and was even publicly boasting about “getting me” (“lo estoy cazando”). That incident with cello player truly scared the sh!t out of me. I can’t begin to comprehend why she did that. I could see she was great (even if most artist are missing some screws (I grew up among great ones)). She was those kinds of people you like “from the distance”. It is actually healthy to your senses to notice likable, nice individuals. In her case, I would not even have a clue about why she would do that. I thought and think of her as being someone sensitive, true and with a spine. Also, that kind of weird sh!t is bothering to me because police is constantly giving me sh!t, so I start wondering if it may relate to them.
You may call it (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/) Limerence, Unrequited_love, Obsessive_love, Infatuation, … Some people say that if there is not a component of craze in it (if you just feel “like in the movies”) then you are not really in love, but then, as they say “love is not for everyone” and I started to like “movies” (when I don’t even own a TV set) ;-). For now on I will stop using quotes while referring to her, but at least I know this is the closest I have been to madness and after so many years she is still “there” in some sort of Cartesian way (probably there has always been that place in “my heart” (as songs go). She just peed it badly).
I used examples of creative people, not because I think they are “more better” in any way, but because creative people tend to be aware of and “watch” (even purposely chase and hunt) their own feelings. Dante had his Beatrice and Chaplin had his life lasting crush on a girl he simply met when he was a kid. I once read an article on the Smithsonian: “Hemingway in love”, in which he describes his (to me cr#ppy bourgeois) story about some messy double love affair he fell to. Scott Fitzgerald (Oona Chaplin’s disapproving father) told his friend Ernest about him being sandwiched in a power relationship between those two women that it was “he the one who should be in charge of himself” … the thing is that when you fall in love none of those “logical” and “basic” matters mean anything really. For example, I have always believed that thing they say about “the truth being always somewhere else” but when it came to her I felt like she was “da sh!t an sich”. SRod had his “fantasma” kind of craze. He isn’t shy about. He even named his own company (using Arabic script) after the name of the song he composed for that woman in which he tells her things such as: “Ojalá que la luna pueda salir sin ti, que la tierra no te bese los pasos” (Hopefully the moon will shine without you, the path you go would not kiss your steps!), “Ojalá se te acabe la palabra precisa” (Hopefully you would run out precise words!), “Ojalá que tu nombre se le olvide a esa voz” (Hopefully your name will forget that voice!) … (WTF?!?). Here is youtuber Armando de la Riva (youtube.com/watch?v=kB9wpKXvr1o) citing SRod: Silvio Rodriguez: Ojalá yo la compuse dedicada a una mujer de nombre Emilia Sánchez, que podríamos decir fue mi primer amor. Fue un amor que tuve cuando estuve en el ejército, haciendo mi servicio militar. La conocí cuando tenía 18 años, fue mi primer amor importante en el sentido de que fue el primer amor que me enseñó cosas. Era una muchacha mucho más evolucionada que yo, mucho más inteligente, más culta. Me enseñó, por ejemplo, a César Vallejo. Después nos tuvimos que separar, estaba estudiando medicina y en fin, no le cuadró. No sé por qué estudió medicina, cosa loca de ella, en realidad siempre fue de letras. Después estudió letras, se fue a su pueblo Camagüey, a estudiar eso y yo me quedé solo aquí en la La Habana, totalmente desolado. Pasaron los años y el recuerdo de aquel amor tan bonito, tan productivo, tan útil (ojo, no confundir con utilitario), enriquecedor, de aporte a uno… pues, estaba obsesionado yo con esa idea. Y porque fue un amor frustrado, tronchado por las circunstancias, por la vida, no fue una cosa que se agotara, pues se me quedó un poco como un fantasma y por eso compuse esta canción en un momento quizás de delirio, de arrebato, de sentimiento un poco desmesurado: ojalá esto, ojalá lo otro…»
I’ve learned even more now that I have discovered teaching as when teens discover masturbating, that you have to anchor your explanations in some outer reference, prior art. To me one of the most beautiful lyrics I have ever heard is:
// __ Esta cancion – Silvio Rodriguez
To my puzzlement many people consider that song to be “sad”. I find it very beautiful and I don’t think SRod actually means “lying” when he says “me he dado cuenta de que miento; siempre he mentido, siempre he mentido …”. Since ancient times people with musing minds wondered about the being becoming dynamic and in order to steer your own consciousness into your becoming, you must “lie” to yourself quite a bit (to the point that certain kinds of lying becomes part of the core of your self; of how you are, understand things), but that “lying” sh!t starts accumulating and building up on its own until you can’t take any of it anymore. All that is needed is a few more “systemic” factors for the sh!t to hit the fan. I actually find very SRod-like that he calls that “lying”.
Sometimes I’d wish I could actually spy her though some sort of hyperspace peephole, just seeing her. I don’t care if I see her eating junk food or cheating on me @@; just imagining that somehow makes the air I breathe purer, clearer to the sun. Sometimes I am annoyed, angry, ashamed, … Once I had a 2+ hour walk to a dancing place and as I walked I thought it through and felt some kind of cosmic peace about it all, so I decided to just be at peace with it and even emotionally trained myself to go up to her and just say in a calm way “how have you been?” and (in my mental prep) she would go WTF and I would remain calm, be nice, put on a -somewhat- apologizing look and walk away … and not be angry … and … I found her at that place and all that remained in my heart was an immense feeling of peace and some sort of totally incapacitating mutism (and I thought I was totally, 100% ready for that moment ;-) and I am still writing about it) … Silly me was able to play stupid and try to not be overwhelmed by the “greater-than-me” attraction I feel towards that woman. She stared at me before leaving in a Cinderella escape and I was clueless again about what she could have possibly meant.
Tue Jul 28 17:17:21 EDT 2015
Sun Jan 24 18:32:43 EST 2016
Sun Mar 20 17:30:48 EDT 2016
// __ Hay quien precisa – coro exaudi
// __ Os anos pasan… si, a vida non. Silvio Rodríguez.wmv
Sun Sep 4 22:19:29 EDT 2016
more sueños, some truly surrealistically vertical (I am walking with el Malecón on my right and on the left she was having an animated talk with one of my students in one of those pool bars, which was huge, kind of moving/rolling on San Rafael (¿cambios in Cuba?)) . . . I told the story to my student and “to stop messing with ‘my girlfriend'”. He laughed as he was laughing in my dream . . .
more “juega tu dominó que se te va la vida ” . . .
// __ “Si seco un llanto” (Silvio Rodríguez)
// __ MALECÓN – Issac Delgado
Some “(part(s))” of me is doing just fine, some other aren’t. A love flame of any kind somehow keeps them connected. Tantalizingly reminding me it is not just some sort of “chronic disease”, that a “love flame of any kind” can be put to good use . . .
Wed Mar 22 08:35:59 UTC 2017
… February, I didn’t see Sandrine or her anyway, even if “I deserved it” …
Sh!t has gotten really tough to the point that stirring it is not “smart”, “healthy” to any extent anymore …. At times it is about survival! Also, as part of the kind of heavy sh!t I and my kind of people (“sharing the same cross”/going trough the same) have been enduring, the other day I found a guideline about ex-spouses stalking which shook the sh!t in me. Hmm! Is this how she sees me? Love and fear/those kinds of abusive aberrations are such opposite feelings! … Is this how she thinks of me?
I don’t see the proverbial “light at the end of the tunnel”, yet I am un “negro pelea”. I have been just chugging along doing “the right thing” without “thinking” about “me” or emotionally indulging in almost any effing way. At some point you kind of start feeling like some zombie.
Last Thursday, I had a prospective job interview I am very interested in (teaching Math in a prison) with a person whose work I respect very much (even though I don’t know her). I couldn’t sleep well the night before. I couldn’t take the anxiety out of my mind about how and when and to tell her “the truth”. Then I had a dream in which one of my good friends, Yasmina, was sitting on my left side and she was standing right behind me. We all attentively watched some video on a large screen in an open space when I took her hand, forearm to lovingly and thoroughly caress it. She leaned her hip on my shoulder and didn’t seem to mind my devotion … What a nice feeling! It wrapped me for almost two days!!! F#ck! People pay for therapy when just a dream can do it for you! No, I will not tell you who this woman is ;-)
I may get my black @ss once again run out of a dancing place I go to (at times quite forcefully) to “disconnect”, do something “different” (which “your mind” definitely needs). Last time I found my mind lost in the chords of some song as I was noticing a lady who felt familiar to me (her friend? (I have always had a hard time trying to visually tell people apart, they have to talk to me, put on some mannerism …)) Then I realized which song was it, one of the few songs from Carlos Varela, which feels a lot like the Havana I grew up and very much enjoyed as a child:
// __ Habaname por Carlos Varela
… somehow I ended up remembering the best “explanation” of how that “flaca moñúa ahí” feels …
// __ Carlos Varela – Monedas Al Aire [HQ]
Notice how she doesn’t talk to me (-she never does-), how she retracks her hand away from me and I freak out a bit; then, when I try to kiss her, she kinds of would but doesn’t. In my mind, she is barefoot throughout and the silly Abbey Road connotation cannibalized in that video may have been owned better by using paper stripes and making vans blow them gracefully as she danced on them. Carlos Varela often does (so, he must like (and is also good at it)) interject other songs’ themes into his own songs:
// __ COMO LOS PECES -MUSICA CARLOS VARELA
Mi loquito is way too philosophical and understand poetry in a different way a more substantive to the point of corrupting, devaluing adjective functions. What I never liked about him to the point of finding him silly, is that:
1) he is un muelero (pa’ muelero Castro with his 4 hour speeches for which he was even awarded a Guinness record). You easily feel heaviness of the words to poetry/meaning ratio of his lyrics.
2) he is too punk for my taste. I think this is just laziness. Entertaining Cuban styles will make for him and his music harder to stand out on the rich musical, song writing/poetical background. Compare his silly melodies and harmonies to the ICAIC musical experimentation band ones directed by Leo Brouwer (but Camilo …, well yes! ;-))
3) to me, most of the times when he tries to be poetic it doesn’t come right out of him. To me his best accomplished, most poetic songs are:
// __ Jaque Mate 1916
// __ Carlos Varela canta “25 Mil Mentiras Sobre La Verdad” en concierto Paz Sin Fronteras, La Habana
Are you sure you don’t like Varela’s songs? ;-) In fact, we personally know each other. He even rehearsed a few time at my place. He seemed to not like me (probably because he sensed I didn’t find his sh!t that impressive? Artists, like women are generally very sensitive to such issues or was it that he didn’t understand my kind of outright “f#ch you” to the status quo in Cuba and knew very well I was un “apestado”?) Anyway, I used to like that he was the song writer that would manage to crowd Habana’s venues with the largest numbers of nice girls looking for trouble ;-) with songs like . . .
// __ Graffiti de Amor – Carlos Varela
“… desde entonces prohibieron debujar lo que sentía el alma para cuidar y encadenar la calma …”
// __ Carlos Varela – pequeños sueños
Sure!, esos pequeños sueños are the ones helping us deal with the coil of life. What do I get out of my “philosophizing” and crude, seemingly uncouth eccentric poetic sense (provided I had options ;-)), but I do think at the moment you manifestly express poetry, it become persuasion, politics, dishonest … I prefer the liberating drive instilled by raw poetry:
// __ Días y Flores – Silvio Rodriguez
For example, SRod delineates how “te amaré” saying, … te amaré, como pueda, aunque no sea la paz, lo que queda, cuando acabe de amar … como siento, con adiós, con jamás, junto al viento, como único se … yet, he doesn’t say … ¡(ultimately,) –como soy-! …
// __ Silvio Rodríguez TE AMARÉ (HD)
Even when SRod se las da de muelero, there are strong poetic undercurrent going through his lyrics:
// __ “Si seco un llanto” (Silvio Rodríguez)
// __ Os anos pasan… si, a vida non. Silvio Rodríguez.wmv
Of course, SRod también escribió su mas que otra caquita muelera like that song about the girl and “su chapa HK en Febrero” …
The other day I had an unnerving conversation with my best friend (I’d never even imagined that I would have ever fell like putting down the phone while she was talking to me). I was telling her that that woman hasn’t still gotten out of my mind, that, very disappointingly, even my own demons don’t mind her … I wouldn’t mind anymore that she kicked my heart (more like she has thoroughly trounced my ego!) … she was just telling me:
: How beautiful that you fell in love!
me: what do you mean? … and by the way, this is not the advice I need right now …
: Ach! Man, you just fell in love! How beautiful! Why are you fighting it?
me: listen … I see the beauty and good in it, but, right now …
: Don’t give me sh!t. Don’t start now hating your own feelings! I can tell why this is maddening to you, but don’t fight it, this is how people get grumpy and drive themselves crazy. By the way, that happens to people all the time they get fixations with “celebrities” …
me: she is my “celebrity” you said? but …
: Who knows? You may run into her one of these days …
me: whatever … you are not listening to me and you don’t know what you are talking about …
: How beautiful that you fell in love! …
She was double timing me and a Cuban painter (Pozo) and when I asked her how did it feel, she would just tell me: “you are -so- different!”. To me it felt like she was telling me: “you are so different that I feel like I am having sex the all men”. Imagine how “different” we are that when he applied for EU passport they refused his application telling him he had to send him pictures of himself! He wrote back assuring them there were his own pictures! LOL ;-) Now, it seems, we are the ones double timing her. She tells me she is “very worried about me” … even though she doesn’t feel like having sex with me. That to her I feel now like a some sort of triangulation between best “friend”, “brother”, “dad” … She was a big sister to her own “brother” and she tells me how he used to have involuntary erections when she bathed him: “Ach!” … ;-) she tells me, she kinds of feels the same about me.
Two weeks after that conversation, I called her again and she asked me: “Have you seen her?” However, by then I had already seen the good in what she was telling me. I was raised by a tough mother that made me think about matters a little boy can’t understand (like telling a 7 year old about Hannah Arendt’s “Banality of Evil”!). I kind of liked when teachers avoided me in school because they would let me (kind of encourage) cut out of school … but I also wondered why … I wanted to understand.
I remember, when I separated my wife (heavy involvement!) that I felt for a long time like there was a little Lynn inside of every woman waiting to jump out … until I “met” her and with so little, almost no “involment”, she put squarely, clearly showed to me how tired I was of being “tough”, how that seemingly “tough” shell is barely parapeting my deep longing for love … What I felt for her was so blindingly beatiful!
I am not stupid, totally blind to reality. I see interesting women out there, but they all feel a bit fake, like they are not her …
I know “it takes two to tango” and as much as I want for her to be my “tangoing partner”, I should respectfully accept she probably doesn’t give a f#ck. You can’t force feelings into people and in a sense, even if hurtful, I have always like that I am not a persuasive dog. Carlos Varela even if you try to shun it you will dream becuase deep down you know:
// __ Carlos Varela – Siete
and my niggah says:
// __ En el claro de la luna – Silvio Rodriguez
Entre las luces más bellas
duerme intranquilo mi amor
porque en su sueño de estrellas
mi paso en tierra es dolor.
Mas si yo pudiera serle
miel de abeja en vez de sal
¿a qué tentarle la suerte
que valiera su soñar?
I remember once friends told me “they were looking for me”, that “they were visiting gyms, where girls with money, their own apartments … were asking for more of ‘your kinds of boys’ …”
I told them I would rather come to “la Favela” even though I would go there for more than 6 months every single Tuesday wanting to see her …
I didn’t tell them I would rather deal with “esas diablas” … porque son las que me hacen soñar. Fine!, but, then stop whining! ;-)
When things started to get really rough I was like OK, sure, I can’t smell her armpit, the back of her neck, but I can stop masturbating (well, almost, at least the feral drive …) and finish some of my big projects … (cogiendo mangos bajitos ;-))!?!