I sat and rhythmically squeezed a smiling, yellow rubber-ball and watched my blood, as dark as shiraz, inflate the flat canvas of a plastic bag.
I was at the Kilasch hospital in Godrej, India on a field trip to study sustainable practices in a small village. We were given a tour of the hospital which was designed with sustainability in mind. When we arrived at the lobotomy lab, our tour guide, Pranav, told us that the hospital was dangerously low on blood donations.

I can see that

“So, this isn’t just going to be drunken sex if we keep going.” She said. She did not want to think about the consequences of having “sober-sex.” Sober-sex means sex with clarity, sex with intention and without excuse. To blame this, or our little affair, on alcohol is one thing, but to blame it on feelings is something else.