A voiceover announces: "Previously seen on this blog," followed by images of:
- Me admiring the men at the opening of opera season, chatting up SalmonPants, my pelvis spinning me in a circle when a tuxedo walks by.
- Me, breathing, glassy-eyed, staring into space.
- A closed door and a buzzing noise.
- French President Emmanuel Macron.
- And finally me, coughing, relieved that the parainfluenza virus has tamped down the overactive sex drive to a manageable degree.
And I think that's where I was two weeks ago. And now? Cough is better, suspected bladder infection is again tested and found to be nothing, health is improving, so my libido is back up at peak performance and I am again spending a ridiculous amount of time on my new favorite hobby.
If I couldn't feel the spasms I'd think it was mania. (I'm still dogged by that label, even if it's dropped off my record.) And I've been experimenting with the anti-spasm meds; it seems they are somehow able to just target the bladder cells. Good? Bad? I don't know.
It's just peculiar. I'm not that mad about it. It's just cruel this would hit me just as that part of my life is supposed to be winding down, and there's not much I can do.
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