The monkey is off of my back.

And I don't care any more.

Don't care that there's not one woman in this world that cares or attends to my sexual needs and desires.

I used to care.  I used to spend much too much of my devotable spirit/soul/mind pondering 'my dillemma'.

I used to.

And that was my monkey.

I think the monkey was on drugs.

It still probably is.

But it is now off my back.

So I simply don't care anymore.

About that.

***on another note***

Did you hear the battle call?

I heard it this morning.

Far and distant.

A far and distant call that sparks a fire in one's belly.

Better far and distant than perilously near.

It is better to hear it quixotically afar than Jericholly a'blaring at your door.

Well, it's an indisputable call for me to return to battlemode.

The damn thing is that I'm now in better shape (for battlemode) than I've been for the last 20 years.

I am indisputably in the best shape I have been in for over 20 years.

And I dare any one of my incarnated (sometimes inflated) warrior-selves of the last 20 years to challenge my fully-defensible boast.

Double-dog-dare-ya.  Go ahead.  The Master has returned to the Cave.