La petite mort
La petite mort, French for "the little death", refers to one of my favorite things -- orgasm. (It's presumably one of Julie Andrews' favorite things, too.)
According to Wikipedia, "[m]ore widely, it can refer to the spiritual release that comes with orgasm or to a short period of melancholy or transcendence as a result of the expenditure of the 'life force'... Literary critic Roland Barthes spoke of la petite mort as the chief objective of reading literature. He metaphorically used the concept to describe the feeling one should get when experiencing any great literature."
Tomorrow, Joanne heads back to DC, while I will stay in Florida a few more weeks. (I have no commitments up there until April 4.) It happens that I hate separations, whatever the reason. There've been times when we've come close to splitting (one of which pushed me near a breakdown -- but Joanne detected it, rushed back, and got me into treatment, FINALLY dealing with my long-denied depression).
Anyway, she teases me that I'm as bad as our kittens in New Delhi. Whenever the suitcases came out, they recognized we'd be gone from their lives a while -- so they "occupied" the opened cases, to block our packing. Except for jumping into the cases, I'm the same -- I get pretty melancholy.
And, with J packing her car today, I am struck with the irony: with her, I have the occasional down of "the little death," WITHOUT the orgasm! Phooey!
According to Wikipedia, "[m]ore widely, it can refer to the spiritual release that comes with orgasm or to a short period of melancholy or transcendence as a result of the expenditure of the 'life force'... Literary critic Roland Barthes spoke of la petite mort as the chief objective of reading literature. He metaphorically used the concept to describe the feeling one should get when experiencing any great literature."
Tomorrow, Joanne heads back to DC, while I will stay in Florida a few more weeks. (I have no commitments up there until April 4.) It happens that I hate separations, whatever the reason. There've been times when we've come close to splitting (one of which pushed me near a breakdown -- but Joanne detected it, rushed back, and got me into treatment, FINALLY dealing with my long-denied depression).
Anyway, she teases me that I'm as bad as our kittens in New Delhi. Whenever the suitcases came out, they recognized we'd be gone from their lives a while -- so they "occupied" the opened cases, to block our packing. Except for jumping into the cases, I'm the same -- I get pretty melancholy.
And, with J packing her car today, I am struck with the irony: with her, I have the occasional down of "the little death," WITHOUT the orgasm! Phooey!