I’m of course talking about the experiment measuring a child’s ability to delay gratification for greater reward. You can have one marshmallow now, or if you wait just 15 minutes you can have two. I always liked to think of myself as the type of person that can contain the immediate urge for greater reward, however I’ve recently discovered that as a sexual demon, I’ve opted for the single immediate relief one marshmallow, multiple times.

The gratification received is certainly instant, but as quick as it comes it goes (sure, pun intended). I would love to say that I could fuck and leave it in the hot sweaty mess left behind, but I guess I know now, there is something about having a level of connection that fills my cup rather than emptying it. Right now I’m wondering, am I hedonistic sex gremlin, or, am I craving something more, a craving that is momentarily appeased from momentary pleasure? Or, am I both? My past relationships and current obsession with my electric duo have me believe that I’m certainly a little of column A and a little bit of column B. Sex has never been something lacking, and in fact, I often find myself either matched in level of gremlin or being the more forthcoming party.

Having had very intimate, close, loving and lovely sex – the type of sex where just looking into the eyes of that person gives you an internal pleasure so great, so intense, so exhilarating that you could be doing the most vanilla thing yet still explode with excitement – I feel as though I’ve tasted the forbidden fruit. And, I want more. Now. The regular p in v sex feeds part of that craving, especially when its physically sensational (im talkin’ sexy bodies, im talkin’ sexy scenery, I’m talkin’ sexy angles)  however there’s certainly an element missing. I guess you could say,  the p in v =  one marshmallow, intimacy = two marshmallows.

The joys of being an extremely self-aware person has me observing the almost sadistic and intentional cognitive dissonance playing out in front of me between a genuine desire (and soliciting for that matter) of one marshmallow sex, versus knowing that the one marshmallow come-down can at times feel overwhelmingly empty. “But it feels so good at the time!” she cries. For now, this desire for one marshmallow is too great, and I’m kind of willing to let it take over for a while.  Being in lockdown post-break up doesn’t really allow one to get much out of the system.

Sure, if I was a perfect human role model I would protect my subconscious  from the mental gymnastical exercise of trying to figure why on earth someone would willingly continue to engage in activities that may lead to aforementioned lonely-girl feelings. I know the spiel, I’ve delivered it many times before “Don’t rely on others to validate you”; “Do things for you and only you”; “Don’t let others define your happiness” etc. etc. But, believe it or not, I’m actually not the perfect human role model, and I probably will look for external validation. It’s all a cycle and I guess I’m just in that phase, and this phase is certainly a welcome distraction. In time, I’ll no doubt need to deliver that spiel to myself, and then I’ll be hermit and retreat away from all human contact while I introspect and do things for myself and find internal happiness again. That will happen, in time.

But that’s life isn’t it? Letting these feelings come and go, noticing their appearance, observing how they play out and then when your psychologist tells you that you need to intervene you intervene right? Like I said, I’m an emotional sadist at times. I at times enjoy feeling bad. Of course I enjoy not feeling bad, but when I do (or at least after I do) there’s a moment of realisation, a moment of acceptance, a reminder that’s like, oh yeah I’m a real human being with emotions that cares enough about shit that sometimes it hurts, and sometimes it feels beautiful and amazing and I can’t contain my gratitude. Yin and yang right? Balancing the negatives with the positives, dark with light and all that.

Final words of cut throat advice my cut throat sister. “Think with your head, not with your fanny”. Words to live by, but, maybe in a few months’ time.