I can see the eyebrows raising up right now... "Masturbation? Isn't talking about that what got poor Jocelyn Elders in trouble?" Well, I'm not advocating the kind I'm about to discuss. The other kind... well, to each his/her own.
I've found myself unable to stop myself. And the gratification I get is instant -- like someone wired an electrode to my brain, and I keep pressing the bar, trying to get my food pellet. The type of masturbation I'm talking about is the mental kind. Every morning, I boot up my computer, then I check my rank on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.com for What You Won't Do For Love, as well as for the first baby, Back to Life. The fluctuation in either direction either makes my day or makes me profoundly sad. Despite the fact that my editor told me that ranks, the Amazon rank in particular, is based on a small number of sales. But I'm like, "LA LA LA LA LA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!!!"
Then I Google myself (which sounds suspiciously like it should be on David Letterman's list of "Things That Sound Dirty but Aren't"). I see how many hits I have. As a matter of fact, today, when I saw that my blog showed up when I did the auto-Google, I was so happy, like Snoopy dancing on the dog house.
I must confess, the feeling of seeing your rank escalate and the number of your Google hits increase is actually better than sex. At least any sex that I've had recently. I can shut my computer down -- when I want to, by the way -- without having to cuddle, and I can spend the rest of the day with a smile on my face (which is how I know that it IS better than any sex I've had lately).
I know... you're probably like, "Oh, Wen, T.M. -- frickin' -- I." Hey, don't say that I didn't share.