Improved mental clarity is a side effect of this forced and unwelcome carnal hiatus. I say with minimal bias that bK and I interact best when freed from the meddlesome barriers of clothing. Naked, every session, every exercise and even every debate is enhanced. Perhaps because somewhere in the middle everyone (usually) comes, perhaps because clothing is to primal urge and peaceful co-existence what foil hats are to mind-control. All that is certain is that clothes restrict us from greater achievement. Attention all former students who should have been placed in advanced classes but instead languished bored and untested in gen pop – I understand.
Or maybe I am just salty to be on a timeout while religious tenets are observed. In any case, our return to dressed workouts during Ramadan is paired with a return to tense exercise sessions. The former is now unnatural and foreign while the latter is all too familiar. In fairness his mom is in the hospital part of this time, which is always stressful. At least I am able to assure the nurse in the training session for the other big freeze that she doesn’t need to worry when she stresses the importance of birth control given the hyper fertility caused by hormone meds. The mandatory march through abstention desert continues…
Meanwhile, I am torn between annoyance and gratitude for the cancelled days. These unplanned off days are a welcome break from rushing across town for blood work at 7 a.m. and then back home before bK arrives, but rescheduling may be more painful than learning how to inject myself with hormones and medications. I was nervous about it but I’ve adapted to injecting myself with two different types of needles twice a day. Unfortunately, my lower belly grows increasingly sore – I guess stomach fat is good for something. These injections will never be as pleasant as those that have been so harshly withdrawn in the name of religion.
Despite these challenges, I miss our time chillaxing in Central Park so I mention to bK that we have not lounged out there in a while. Blame it on hormone surge that was raging, raging. Exactly how much am I supposed to sacrifice in the name of all that is holy?
bK initially responds that during Ramadan he strives to forgo everything that gives him pleasure, but by the next weekend he has invited me out to our spot in the park. From behind the reinforced windows of my glass house I cast judgment on this inconsistency, but I’m sure enough glad to be out there relaxing with him the next Sunday 😉 We are at ease and our conversations are good during afternoons in the park. And bK wears nothing but swimming trunks while sunbathing. Yay though I walk through the desert, I am tested by the proximity of forbidden fruit that I may not savor. We talk, we relax, he gets his fill of vitamin D while I am deprived of vitamin S. Injustice comes in many forms. So as we lounge in the hot sun talking and bK gives himself a pretty professional looking mani/pedi, part of my mind is preoccupied with thoughts of an ice bath.
Countdown to the end of Ramadan. With approximately two months to the big wedding day, time’s a-wastin’.
Massage rating? No G-D massage. No Sex. It-is-a-FAST!