But you know what? Three hours with two dogs on my lap doesn't make me feel half as good as a half hour snuggled up against another human being.
People wonder "Why am I here?". I'm telling you why. It's all about human contact. We're here to snuggle. And hold hands, and kiss. And, yaknow...other stuff, but let's focus on snuggling. It's a family-friendly blog, eff-bombs not withstanding.
This theory is forming as I type here. I could be full of shit.
I read an article not too long ago about obesity. The theory is that poor people are, on average, fatter than thin people. Not because they can't afford healthy food, not because they can't afford gym memberships, not because they're lazy, but because we all have a baseline of pleasure that we are wired to try to reach, and we will do it by whatever means we have.
The wealthy may be able to get their pleasure via leisure activities, massages, time with family, sleeping in, vacations, boffing the help, retail therapy.
The poor get their pleasure at Dairy Queen.
I'm not technically poor. Struggling and in debt, sure, but gainfully employed with a home and a car...and a mortgage, and a second mortgage, and a car loan. But I am suffering from a snuggling deficiency for which my dogs can't compensate. In a given month my chiropractor may be the only person who touches me. And I can't afford massages, my family is a typical 17 year old, meaning he only comes here when I make him. I haven't been on vacation in two years. You get my drift.
Taste is a sense. Just like touch. Yeah, food is supposed to be for survival but come on, sex is supposed to be for procreation so go ahead and frown on me for eating ice cream.
So yeah, I just ate ice cream. Is it a coincidence that the only human being I've interacted with today in person, without cash changing hands, is my son?
And that interaction consisted of "Hey Bud, why does your bathroom smell like feet?"
FYI...they don't take kindly to snuggling up to your barista at Starbucks. I'm a gold card holder but still.
So I went to DQ and got me an order of snuggling, with extra hot fudge.
And as I'm shoveling it in, I berate myself for being overweight, and tell myself this is why I'm alone.
This leads to feelings of self-loathing and hopelessness....which lowers the pleasure level, which makes me want (but, thankfully, deny myself) pizza.
Who devised this system? Colonel Sanders? It's a death spiral I tellya!
It's Sunday. I go to the doctor on Wednesday. I swear if he doesn't tell me I can start working out again I'm going ask for a referral to get my jaw wired shut. I either need exercise-induced endorphins or a man.
Or one of these, and a gun.
And with enough of the first, maybe I can get the second and never ever have to think about the creepy pillow thing again.
For now...it's 9:45 on Saturday night and I'm going to bed. Yes, alone. In my big comfy bed where I actually do still appreciate the luxury of having the whole thing to myself, even as I miss sharing it. And really I'm not feeling sorry for myself for spending Saturday night alone. Friday night was spent in the company of one of my favorite people, and tonight I did enjoy relaxing. Tomorrow I'm meeting a dear friend for brunch and a movie. I'm really blessed to have wonderful people in my life. I'm spending Thanksgiving with the sister I never had. And I'll jump off the Christmas bridge when I come to it.
Live in the moment. Enjoy the snuggles. Don't overthink. Back away from the ice cream. Be all zen & shit. Ohmmmmm.