There’s no feeling in the world like Lust. It’s like being hit by lightning, blended into a milkshake, and fired from a cannon. It makes me feel alive by making me feel like it’s killing me. It resembles bungee jumping, roller coasters, shooting guns, the hottest buffalo wings on the menu: it’s an extreme sport.
Locking eyes with Her, I’m skinned like a fish and sizzled on a griddle, and I like it. She’s playing my heart strings like a heavy metal guitarist. It’s out of control and feels like ultimate control.
In every relationship I’ve pursued for the excitement, though, the girl has a countdown clock on her forehead. The minute we start talking, I keep trying to ignore this clock on her head that’s ticking down. The countdown clock tracks my waning interest. After a few weeks, she no longer overwhelms me. The clock hits zero, the spell is broken.
Lust has a shelf life. I have canned vegetables in my cabinet that have lasted longer than all my relationships put together. I need to form a relationship that lives past the expiration date of a can of corn… one who's expiration date is the date of my own expiration. The SA sobriety definition supports this dream.