I miss you

Why do I do this? Why am I cooking French Vietnamese duck and savoy cabbage cream confit for a white man who will say the faintest thank you in between hours of complaints about everything that has nothing to do with me, and not for the man who introduced me to Alice Coltrane and listens for hours while I talk about what matters to me, the universe, and my brain mirroring the natural order, the flaws that it exposes the natural order, and the general wonder at the idea that anything can be a flaw when the actual objective of the place where the flaw fits has yet to be defined, so how did we even come up with the idea of right and wrong, and why do we so quickly point out wrong while debate until the end of time what is right?

Finally, a confession. In Fine Print

I want to remember him wearing a black rubber apron with nothing underneath, which I also find incredibly sexy. I don’t know why, but it is super hot. I used to think of My ex like that, who was insanely attractive in his welding gear and apron and gloves although it is probably a really stupid idea to be naked underneath. My only regret is that it took me up until this point to totally conquer the shame of having a fetish, which is so weird because I have been a dominatrix for most of my life.