I give up. This is the third day in a row that I’ve pulled LUST as my first card. Today my runner up was:
V. EMPEROR (Inverted)
As inverted, domination, excessive control, lack of discipline, inflexibility.
Well, David was certainly not a father figure, or part of the establishment, but he was in a position of authority, and I was desperate to fuck him. Did I really say that? Yes, Beatrice played with my dreams all week, and by the time of our lunch on Saturday, I was rather on edge, ready to jump on him at the slightest provocation. I remained unprovoked.
I think this may be the last time he conducts us. As spectacular as his Stravinsky was, his Bruckner was not. He seemed to lose control of us and compensated by becoming a control fink … freak in front of the orchestra. They didn’t take it well. I could tell he was disappointed at lunch, and he didn’t hang around long after the matinee today.
I wonder if Tommy could see what I was doing tonight. He could probably tell by what color I glowed. I’ve never been good on discipline.
Now that the semen, sputum, … err, season has started, I’m locked in for several weeks until the next weekend I’m not needed, an all Bach concert next month, but I’ll still be required for a couple of rehearsals that week, in preparation for the following week, the Britten War Requiem. My only real off weekend is around Thanksgiving. I think I need to get away, at least for a few days. I should have a couple of Sunday-Mondays free coming up, when we aren’t playing matinees.
Where I really want to go is the Whorehouse, but not only is it in England and outside of my 50 mile exclusion zone, it no longer exists as such. I need a couple of nights where I can be out, naked under the stars, and playing at Mahjong … um, magic. (Jem, if you are listening, you are welcome anytime for a visit.) I might try looking to see if there is a convent nearby, but a two-day retreat probably isn’t enough.
Tomorrow is my usual off-day, but since I was working today, I’ll have to run errands. I might try a dip in the pool, although I’ll need to wear a more demure swimming costume. The bikini I’m wearing now in the moonlight – I’m on the back porch, as I write – would be far too revealing for a public display. Even though Tommy can see through it, he’s watching me from his bedroom window, as if the bikini made it more interesting.
I’m regressed … distressed … uh, depressed. This has been going on too long. I’ve got to play the long game. I’ve got to survive.
Beatrice is winning.