Day 2: recovery, second impressions.

People go to clubs, and I don't think many go to socialize. Some grab a few drinks and stand around. Some grab a few drinks and jump around like spastic chickens. Some grab a few drinks and make like that song, "We Want Some Puuuussy!" (ech). But the one they're all trying to emulate is that slick dude with the girl draped all over him, doing the bump and grind, who eventually walks out with a big grin and the girl in tow.

Now, I am very well aware of the sexual soul trap. I've been there. I've seen other people write about it. It's not funny. Some of us come back after death and live more lives until we learn enough to move on. Some don't. The pursuit of sex is a soul trap, and you don't come back from that one. I was lucky enough to experience it while living, while I still have a breathing body to anchor me here.

I should clarify that sex in itself is an amazing, beautiful act. Everybody does it, and it's natural and good. God didn't give us hormones and reproductive organs so we could sit around debating the virtues of celibacy.

In some ways, the typical club experience is as close as it's possible to get to the soul trap while in normal consciousness. Everybody comes to get some, and everybody strives for release, but nobody gets it. And those that do are perhaps even worse off. (I understand that some people go "just to dance." That's different.)

So, when all was said and done, when I asked that girl for her number, she gave it to me. Immediately. She'd come with a friend, who was very surprised.

I did it because I was afraid to do it, and I'm tired of being shy and afraid. I'm not looking for sex. I used to, but then I discovered that it really wasn't at all hard to find, and now I'm looking for a partner. Meanwhile, I am honing my skills. I'm afraid I used her, although I probably shouldn't worry about it because I gave her what she went there for (At least, I'm pretty sure I did, judging by the reaction).

I went back home and slept alone (happily), and I haven't called her. But I am somewhat surprised at myself. First for reaching out to her on the dance floor, and then for asking her number before I left. I've changed a lot.

For the wannabes, let me give you a hint; stop trying to get your rocks off. It's about the girl, stupid, not you.

Anyway.

I rolled out of bed very late this morning. Brad, two of his tenants, and I went down to Chinatown for lunch, and ended up eating an excellent meal at a new Thai restaurant. Afterwards, we walked down to the Capitol Mall, through the National Gardens (indoors), past the Capitol, and then home.

I was left with a very negative impression of the Capitol. It reminded me quite strongly of the People's Palace in Bucharest. A different flavor, perhaps, but the same grandeur coupled with spirtual poverty. The place is somewhat dirty, but the whole energy is very oppressive. It's not cold or dead, but instead actively unpleasant. I find this strange, because the surrounding neighborhoods are decent, clean, and bright.

It's a bit strange being a racial minority.

It might be a good idea to mention that I'm taking a vacation in Washington D.C. right now, so as to put this post and the previous post in perspective. I took the regional service Amtrak train down yesterday, and I'm taking an overnight back Tuesday night.