It's pathological with me, this reaction to stress. Dr. Phil would have a neat little explanation for it (which is why I hate his know-it-all ass), but still, like after 9/11 when I did some odd things in the search of comfort, whenever I feel major stress, I seek solace in sex.
With the Jersey City Artist Tour almost here, I find myself distracted by every attractive guy in my orbit. Maybe it's the nature of the project (recreating DANCING WITH THE DEVIL and its dark erotic themes), but lately I flirt shamelessly like an alley cat in heat. Though that's not entirely unusual for me (I'm a flirt, its part of my charm), this time its different, this time I don't care who I hurt or offend. That's a very bad thing.
Fortunately, a good friend from DC -- when I whined about my stress/sex connection -- gave me the best cut-to-the-chase advice ever: "Tell 'Little Taylor' to chill the fuck out and focus!" He's right. Thanx, Don. That's just what I'm gonna do.
3 days to go. Damn I'm horny. ~~
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