Maybe it's not that crazy...
Rentals are down. I could get a 3-month lease on an apartment and furnish it with my staging furniture (did I mention that my second business is home staging?)
That would give me time to have some space. I truly believe that if I had space, I would want to come back to my husband. It would allow all of the annoyances to play backfiddle to the strengths that he has: loyalty, faith, intelligence, practicality.
I do want to want him. I don't want to be divorced and lonely. I don't want to be like my mom and live for 40 years without a man that I adore (funnily enough, she has one now at age 65!)
Sitter, Hubby, and Mom could handle kids on a daily basis. I could plan to be there after school to get in quality time. And we could do the every-other-weekend scenario.
SHIT - I can't believe I'm advocating this fucked up lifestyle! I have a friend who divorced her husband when her kids were 3, 5, and 8. I love hearing about her dating exploits, but, up until 6 weeks ago, I used to thank God above that I didn't have her life. What is wrong with me??
I just keep thinking about the freedom and how great I would feel about myself and about work. But would I feel great about myself? Or would I feel like the loser mom who abandoned her kids?
You know how most people live together before they get married? Well, this would be like trying on divorce before actually doing it. Then again, isn't that what legal separation is? A trial divorce?
And I would be gambling that I would want to come home.
What's that cheesy 70's saying? "If you love something, set it free..."
How can the thought of this apartment feel like heaven and hell simultaneously?
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Single Ideation
If you've ever taken Psych 101, (or if you've ever attended high school), you've probably heard of suicidal ideation. Basically, if you think someone is suicidal, you ask them questions to determine how serious they are about following through. If they have done things like giving away prized items, planned what they will use and where they will be, they are a lot more serious than the blubbering spoiled 14 year-old who whines about how everyone would be a lot better off without her.
The weak analogy I'm drawing here, is that I think I'm having single ideation. I've escaped to our family vacation home (don't get all snotty, it's a cottage on a river - no heliport, no domestic staff, not even central air), and after 3 glasses of champagne, I'm indulging in the fantasy of being single.
What would it look like? I would want a small, but fabulously decorated apartment in town. I'd need two bedrooms, because the kids would need one.
What? You think I'm cold because I would leave my kids with their dad?
Actually, that's an act of mercy for all concerned. Their dad would make them his world for security and sense of purpose. And my in-laws would go ape-shit if they had to go through me to see the grandkids. No, Hubby is better suited to be a single parent than I am.
Don't misunderstand me, I am a fabulous mother. I worked with kids with special needs for over 10 years before starting my own business. I gave my kids everything they needed for a successful foundation in life. And I will be their mother forever. But Hubby has no identity outside of Dad and husband. If I were to break free, I would want the space - he would crave the security.
So...this apartment...
The weak analogy I'm drawing here, is that I think I'm having single ideation. I've escaped to our family vacation home (don't get all snotty, it's a cottage on a river - no heliport, no domestic staff, not even central air), and after 3 glasses of champagne, I'm indulging in the fantasy of being single.
What would it look like? I would want a small, but fabulously decorated apartment in town. I'd need two bedrooms, because the kids would need one.
What? You think I'm cold because I would leave my kids with their dad?
Actually, that's an act of mercy for all concerned. Their dad would make them his world for security and sense of purpose. And my in-laws would go ape-shit if they had to go through me to see the grandkids. No, Hubby is better suited to be a single parent than I am.
Don't misunderstand me, I am a fabulous mother. I worked with kids with special needs for over 10 years before starting my own business. I gave my kids everything they needed for a successful foundation in life. And I will be their mother forever. But Hubby has no identity outside of Dad and husband. If I were to break free, I would want the space - he would crave the security.
So...this apartment...
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The Final Text
Hubby wants sex. He is trying to overcome (pun??) an addiction to porn. I find out that in the last 14 years he has not gone more than 2 weeks without jacking off to porn in the bathroom with the computer on his TV stand. We, on the other hand (another pun??), have gone without sex for over 3 months.
So, in his new attempt at coming out of his shell (when will the puns stop?), he is going without self-stimulation. We have sex when I get back from the conference for the first 2 nights. It's surprisingly good. I have pent up frustration, and he is eager to please.
But after that, I just get angry at his whimpiness. The constant need for reassurance is trying and nauseating. So I haven't been interested. But I've noticed his mounting frustration (another one...), and last night, he makes it clear that he expects to fool around.
It's amazing how subtle things can get in a marriage. He mentions to the kids that he's had a difficult day and is tired. I say that he should just go upstairs and get a good night's sleep. he responds, "Oh, I've got much more important things to do than sleep." Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
It probably doesn't help that I have been to get my second brazilian wax that morning...
So we lock the doors and send the kids downstairs to watch whatever on TV. We're down to it. I have to decide what to do. I just can't muster the "I love you so much" kisses and stroking that we usually go by. I turn over and shove my butt into his crotch and start grinding. He reaches around and touches me. I manage to come by imagining some silly fantasy, then roll over to receive him.
I thrash and bang as much as possible to make it quick, but also to vent the frustration. It must be confusing for a husband to be told that he needs to be less controlling, but to have his wife want him to be a strong man, regardless.
When it's over, I jump up and run to the bathroom. I sit on the toilet furious. I just want to get OUT! I want to leave now. I don't want to lie in the bed next to him and listen to his 130th insight on what he needs to improve, or what my true need is.
I grab my clothes and tell him that I am going to Wal-Mart for the boring school supplies (hand santizer, baby wipes, tissues) and ice cream.
I put on my Lily Allen Pandora station and drive the, oh, 3 minutes to get to Wal-Mart. I decide that I want the music around me in the store. I don't have my earphones, so I just hold it close and turn the volume up a little.
Before I get out of the car, I decide that FB has written me off. He won't meet with me, and he hasn't reached out to me. So, with one tear rolling down my cheek, I text:
I wasn't ready for it to stop. I'm sorry my husband is a paranoid neurotic. I miss fucking you. I know, too much drama. Still wanted you to know.
I stroll numbly through Wal-Mart, half expecting to see a client or business associate, listening to my Adele and Kate Nash.
No response.
No surprise.
I check out with my Ben & Jerry's Heath Bar Crunch and sanitary school supplies and drive home.
So, in his new attempt at coming out of his shell (when will the puns stop?), he is going without self-stimulation. We have sex when I get back from the conference for the first 2 nights. It's surprisingly good. I have pent up frustration, and he is eager to please.
But after that, I just get angry at his whimpiness. The constant need for reassurance is trying and nauseating. So I haven't been interested. But I've noticed his mounting frustration (another one...), and last night, he makes it clear that he expects to fool around.
It's amazing how subtle things can get in a marriage. He mentions to the kids that he's had a difficult day and is tired. I say that he should just go upstairs and get a good night's sleep. he responds, "Oh, I've got much more important things to do than sleep." Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
It probably doesn't help that I have been to get my second brazilian wax that morning...
So we lock the doors and send the kids downstairs to watch whatever on TV. We're down to it. I have to decide what to do. I just can't muster the "I love you so much" kisses and stroking that we usually go by. I turn over and shove my butt into his crotch and start grinding. He reaches around and touches me. I manage to come by imagining some silly fantasy, then roll over to receive him.
I thrash and bang as much as possible to make it quick, but also to vent the frustration. It must be confusing for a husband to be told that he needs to be less controlling, but to have his wife want him to be a strong man, regardless.
When it's over, I jump up and run to the bathroom. I sit on the toilet furious. I just want to get OUT! I want to leave now. I don't want to lie in the bed next to him and listen to his 130th insight on what he needs to improve, or what my true need is.
I grab my clothes and tell him that I am going to Wal-Mart for the boring school supplies (hand santizer, baby wipes, tissues) and ice cream.
I put on my Lily Allen Pandora station and drive the, oh, 3 minutes to get to Wal-Mart. I decide that I want the music around me in the store. I don't have my earphones, so I just hold it close and turn the volume up a little.
Before I get out of the car, I decide that FB has written me off. He won't meet with me, and he hasn't reached out to me. So, with one tear rolling down my cheek, I text:
I wasn't ready for it to stop. I'm sorry my husband is a paranoid neurotic. I miss fucking you. I know, too much drama. Still wanted you to know.
I stroll numbly through Wal-Mart, half expecting to see a client or business associate, listening to my Adele and Kate Nash.
No response.
No surprise.
I check out with my Ben & Jerry's Heath Bar Crunch and sanitary school supplies and drive home.
Is It Over?
It's Tuesday, and I'm sitting in my bed typing this at 1:53 p.m. I have a shitload of work sitting on my desk, but I can't focus. I want to see FB, but I think he's avoiding me. So much has happened...
I now have a husband who is desperate to keep me. He cries, he confesses, he praises, he waits.
"I feel like for the past 14 years I've been trying to murder the parts of you I didn't like."
You mean the parts that are fun and sexy and powerful? Those parts? Damn right, you have!
"Will you teach me how to dance? I want to be able to take you out dancing and not feel uncomfortable."
Um, okay. Why don't we just go and watch people dance first, so you won't feel pressured?
"I'm praying that God will tear out the part of my heart that is hard and afraid to be vulnerable."
Gees, who could ask for more than that?
The man dropped 20 lbs. while I was at my conference. Granted, that was because he was so jacked up on anxious adrenaline that he stopped eating...but he's eating again and has still dropped a few more pounds since.
He's wearing smaller pants and shirts that fit. For fuck sake, he's even putting conditioner on his goatee so that it doesn't hurt my face when we kiss!
So why do I still want FB? The other night, I was awake at 1:00 a.m. ruminating. I finally just said his name over and over and over, thinking that maybe I would hit a saturation point and be done with it.
Feelings are fickle. I got drunk with power, thinking that FB wanted me as much as I wanted him. That he would miss me when I'm gone.
But there's no evidence of that.
But there's no evidence to completely disprove it, either (hope springs eternal - what an idiot I am!) Last Friday after our networking meeting, he tell me that Hubby "harassed" him while I was at the conference. Turns out, Hubby sent him a pathetic, psycho email during that week asking him to tell him, man to man, "how far did it go?". All I can do is look at FB with dumb disbelief and ask are you fucking kidding me? I walk away from him in a daze.
I had sent him a text from the conference that went solo. I sent him a text about his business earlier last week that also hung in midair. So I call him later on Friday, ready to apologize for my paranoid, neurotic husband. He says, "Can I call you back? I can't talk now." I say sure, and go for a run with phone in hand. (I do love to listen to Pandora while I run.)
Of course he calls back after my run when I'm sitting in the kitchen with my sitter and kid. I say I just wanted to say I'm sorry. But I can't say anymore. I can't ask if he thinks I'm just not worth it anymore. I can't tell him that I'm probably willing to live recklessly if I know that I haven't fucked him for the last time.
This weekend, I'm working on the computer. I send an email asking if we can do a networking 1:1 meeting over coffee or lunch. I want his help with invitations to an event we're cohosting with 4 other people. No response. So I send a text yesterday. He says, "Haven't had a chance to check my schedule." Really?
Today, my 2:00 1:1 meeting gets canceled, so I send a text that I have the afternoon open. The response is, "Can't meet this week. Sorry."
Damn! So it's like that ;)
Sorry. Busy.
I know.
Now...sure seems like I'm not on the A-list anymore. Where do I go from here? Hubby wants me, FB doesn't seem to give a rat's ass anymore. What do I want from FB anyway?
The body, of course. So fun to touch, hold, fuck.
The validation that I'm wantable. (Why? I already know that...)
The escape from a relationship that is stressed and heavy.
Yeah, that sounds about right.
I now have a husband who is desperate to keep me. He cries, he confesses, he praises, he waits.
"I feel like for the past 14 years I've been trying to murder the parts of you I didn't like."
You mean the parts that are fun and sexy and powerful? Those parts? Damn right, you have!
"Will you teach me how to dance? I want to be able to take you out dancing and not feel uncomfortable."
Um, okay. Why don't we just go and watch people dance first, so you won't feel pressured?
"I'm praying that God will tear out the part of my heart that is hard and afraid to be vulnerable."
Gees, who could ask for more than that?
The man dropped 20 lbs. while I was at my conference. Granted, that was because he was so jacked up on anxious adrenaline that he stopped eating...but he's eating again and has still dropped a few more pounds since.
He's wearing smaller pants and shirts that fit. For fuck sake, he's even putting conditioner on his goatee so that it doesn't hurt my face when we kiss!
So why do I still want FB? The other night, I was awake at 1:00 a.m. ruminating. I finally just said his name over and over and over, thinking that maybe I would hit a saturation point and be done with it.
Feelings are fickle. I got drunk with power, thinking that FB wanted me as much as I wanted him. That he would miss me when I'm gone.
But there's no evidence of that.
But there's no evidence to completely disprove it, either (hope springs eternal - what an idiot I am!) Last Friday after our networking meeting, he tell me that Hubby "harassed" him while I was at the conference. Turns out, Hubby sent him a pathetic, psycho email during that week asking him to tell him, man to man, "how far did it go?". All I can do is look at FB with dumb disbelief and ask are you fucking kidding me? I walk away from him in a daze.
I had sent him a text from the conference that went solo. I sent him a text about his business earlier last week that also hung in midair. So I call him later on Friday, ready to apologize for my paranoid, neurotic husband. He says, "Can I call you back? I can't talk now." I say sure, and go for a run with phone in hand. (I do love to listen to Pandora while I run.)
Of course he calls back after my run when I'm sitting in the kitchen with my sitter and kid. I say I just wanted to say I'm sorry. But I can't say anymore. I can't ask if he thinks I'm just not worth it anymore. I can't tell him that I'm probably willing to live recklessly if I know that I haven't fucked him for the last time.
This weekend, I'm working on the computer. I send an email asking if we can do a networking 1:1 meeting over coffee or lunch. I want his help with invitations to an event we're cohosting with 4 other people. No response. So I send a text yesterday. He says, "Haven't had a chance to check my schedule." Really?
Today, my 2:00 1:1 meeting gets canceled, so I send a text that I have the afternoon open. The response is, "Can't meet this week. Sorry."
Damn! So it's like that ;)
Sorry. Busy.
I know.
Now...sure seems like I'm not on the A-list anymore. Where do I go from here? Hubby wants me, FB doesn't seem to give a rat's ass anymore. What do I want from FB anyway?
The body, of course. So fun to touch, hold, fuck.
The validation that I'm wantable. (Why? I already know that...)
The escape from a relationship that is stressed and heavy.
Yeah, that sounds about right.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Big City Conference
I'm flying home from my conference. For the first time since all of this started, I feel tearful. It's a relief. I've been worried that my heart for my husband had gone cold.
I think the poor man sent me about 50 texts in the last 4 days. Most of them desperate pleas for me to find time to call him and reassure him and reassure him and reassure him that we are okay, that nothing happened beyond what I told him, and that I'm not screwing every man at the conference.
It's tough to have a blow up like this, then watch your wife run off to a big, fun city to a conference attended by 90% men. It makes me pity him, which doesn't make me want to go home.
I vented to several guys there, and told my GM, "I don't want to go home," at least 10 times. But now, I'm surprised that imagining being in my home with my kids and Hubby feels like a hug instead of a burden.
Got a lovely 2.5 hour delay in for my connecting flight. I missed it by 5 minutes because my first flight left 50 minutes late.
I think the poor man sent me about 50 texts in the last 4 days. Most of them desperate pleas for me to find time to call him and reassure him and reassure him and reassure him that we are okay, that nothing happened beyond what I told him, and that I'm not screwing every man at the conference.
It's tough to have a blow up like this, then watch your wife run off to a big, fun city to a conference attended by 90% men. It makes me pity him, which doesn't make me want to go home.
I vented to several guys there, and told my GM, "I don't want to go home," at least 10 times. But now, I'm surprised that imagining being in my home with my kids and Hubby feels like a hug instead of a burden.
Got a lovely 2.5 hour delay in for my connecting flight. I missed it by 5 minutes because my first flight left 50 minutes late.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Surreality
Friday morning I get out of bed and immediately hide in my computer.
Hubby wants to discuss, dissect, and talk. However, I have a presentation to give at 11:30 at the networking group (in front of FB? Will he show? Will he be angry? Will he ever speak to me again?)
I research and type away to create my handout.
Hubby finds solace in a Christian brother. I hear him pacing and talking on his cell phone. I hear the voice on the other end asking, "Did she cross the line?" He says, "No, no. But it's definitely a problem."
I imagine all of his men's group hearing the tale and warning him that I'm awash in sin. They tie me to the bedposts and I spew green pea soup and my head does a 360.
He comes back to me and says, "I'm coming to the networking lunch with you."
Oh fuck!! On so many levels…fuck!!
Hubby explains that his friend told him that he "needs to own this."
What, I ask, does that mean?
"It means that I need to become a part of your world. I let you drift away from me because I don't like to do all of the networking stuff that you do with the business. But in doing that, I created a separation between us that allowed last night to happen."
Wow. Christian brother knows his shit.
I have asked Hubby repeatedly to come to the weekly lunch.
To come to the conference.
To come to the networking social.
To come to the training.
It's always, "You know how I hate those things."
I have recently written Hubby a letter telling him that I want a sexy husband. That it doesn't matter what his body looks like, it's how confident he is. I listed at least ten things that we can do together that will give us an identity as a couple. A month later, none has happened.
So here we are. And now he wants in. Not sure how I feel about that.
But wait…there's more! We get to go see a therapist today!! Yippee!
He calls the one that was most recently recommended for biblically-based counseling. She's thankfully unavailable that day. He calls Jessica, whom we have seen together within the past year or so. She has her entire afternoon open. Jessica is Christian, but I know that she will not pass judgment on me. I think that maybe talking with her won't be a bad idea after all.
He goes upstairs to get dressed.
I swallow any remaining pride and hurriedly type (then delete) an email plea to Mitch and Laura asking them to be my alibi for last night. I tell them that I met FB for a drink. Nothing happened, but Hubby is pissed that I did it.
Laura's comes right back: You naughty girl! Of course I'll vouch for you. What time did I leave?
Mitch pops up a few minutes later: I'm at the beach this week. But I sure had a great time at Frank's last night! Let me know if I can help ;)
My friends ROCK! Delete, delete.
Now my only hurdles are getting through my presentation with FB and Hubby in the same room, and negotiating their meeting without public profanity or bloodshed.
Thankfully, our drive to the lunch is filled with phone conversations with corporate clients who need updates on projects. So there's no room for small talk.
We arrive on the scene early, and greet each member as they enter. Everyone is very friendly and happy to meet Hubby (which I knew they would be.) Hubby impresses me by actually remembering things I've told him about some people. He always does well in social situations. Everybody always likes him. What is his problem?
He informs me later, "I was the biggest person in the room." Who gives a fuck?
Things are going well, and I'm wondering if FB has decided to bail. I'm scribbling last minute notes on scratch paper for my talk. I look up, and he's there. My already quivering hands and fish-flopping stomach kick into overdrive. He sees and ignores me. I do the same.
Hubby wants to discuss, dissect, and talk. However, I have a presentation to give at 11:30 at the networking group (in front of FB? Will he show? Will he be angry? Will he ever speak to me again?)
I research and type away to create my handout.
Hubby finds solace in a Christian brother. I hear him pacing and talking on his cell phone. I hear the voice on the other end asking, "Did she cross the line?" He says, "No, no. But it's definitely a problem."
I imagine all of his men's group hearing the tale and warning him that I'm awash in sin. They tie me to the bedposts and I spew green pea soup and my head does a 360.
He comes back to me and says, "I'm coming to the networking lunch with you."
Oh fuck!! On so many levels…fuck!!
Hubby explains that his friend told him that he "needs to own this."
What, I ask, does that mean?
"It means that I need to become a part of your world. I let you drift away from me because I don't like to do all of the networking stuff that you do with the business. But in doing that, I created a separation between us that allowed last night to happen."
Wow. Christian brother knows his shit.
I have asked Hubby repeatedly to come to the weekly lunch.
To come to the conference.
To come to the networking social.
To come to the training.
It's always, "You know how I hate those things."
I have recently written Hubby a letter telling him that I want a sexy husband. That it doesn't matter what his body looks like, it's how confident he is. I listed at least ten things that we can do together that will give us an identity as a couple. A month later, none has happened.
So here we are. And now he wants in. Not sure how I feel about that.
But wait…there's more! We get to go see a therapist today!! Yippee!
He calls the one that was most recently recommended for biblically-based counseling. She's thankfully unavailable that day. He calls Jessica, whom we have seen together within the past year or so. She has her entire afternoon open. Jessica is Christian, but I know that she will not pass judgment on me. I think that maybe talking with her won't be a bad idea after all.
He goes upstairs to get dressed.
I swallow any remaining pride and hurriedly type (then delete) an email plea to Mitch and Laura asking them to be my alibi for last night. I tell them that I met FB for a drink. Nothing happened, but Hubby is pissed that I did it.
Laura's comes right back: You naughty girl! Of course I'll vouch for you. What time did I leave?
Mitch pops up a few minutes later: I'm at the beach this week. But I sure had a great time at Frank's last night! Let me know if I can help ;)
My friends ROCK! Delete, delete.
Now my only hurdles are getting through my presentation with FB and Hubby in the same room, and negotiating their meeting without public profanity or bloodshed.
Thankfully, our drive to the lunch is filled with phone conversations with corporate clients who need updates on projects. So there's no room for small talk.
We arrive on the scene early, and greet each member as they enter. Everyone is very friendly and happy to meet Hubby (which I knew they would be.) Hubby impresses me by actually remembering things I've told him about some people. He always does well in social situations. Everybody always likes him. What is his problem?
He informs me later, "I was the biggest person in the room." Who gives a fuck?
Things are going well, and I'm wondering if FB has decided to bail. I'm scribbling last minute notes on scratch paper for my talk. I look up, and he's there. My already quivering hands and fish-flopping stomach kick into overdrive. He sees and ignores me. I do the same.
Monday, August 16, 2010
At the Airport
I feel so much lighter! I could not wait to get out of Dodge.
I sit on the floor typing away in the Atlanta airport, on the way to my conference. Much has transpired, leaving me more double-minded than ever before.
Today is Monday. Hubby was out of town last week, returning around midnight Thursday. I had already had my date with FB Tuesday night. Fun and carefree - just what I needed. We watched a stupid movie, smoked cigarettes, and fucked (not necessarily in that order.)
But, the next day I started to realize that we had family plans for the weekend, then I would be gone the following week. When would I get my next chance?
Thursday after dinner, I ask Mom if she will watch kids so I can get a bikini for my trip. Clever shopper that I am, I find one at the first place I go. So…
Me: Whatcha doin?
FB: Goin to Frank's for a beer. Wanna join me?
Sure do.
I meet him at the bar. While he talks to his buddy, the manager, I get a new companion. Apparently, the hotel nearby is hosting a conference for stamp collectors. This 80 year-old professor orders his vodka martini and perches next to me. I chat him up, which seems to amuse FB. Then, when the prof gets up to go, he decides to chat with us both. One thing about FB that I love is the absolute lack of pretension with strangers. He ends up joking with the man about which of them will get laid that night. Hmm…I wonder.
But when we get back to his place, he decides he wants something he hasn't gotten from me before. Now, mind you, as fun as our naked tussles have been, I have yet to come. The first time it didn't happen, he said, "We'll have to work on that." I let it slide, because I knew something he didn't. The second time, he assumed he'd done his part, and wanted to know what my problem was. I explained that I can come in a heartbeat, just not during sex. So he touched me for, oh, two minutes. I gave up because I knew he wasn't into it. It really wasn't all that important anyway.
But Thursday, it was another deal.
Why should I blow you when you won't even take the time to make me come?
He's drunkenly adamant. He gets what he wants, no negotiating.
So I'm drunkenly adamanter. It's not that I'm against the idea. I can be pretty entertaining when I choose to be. It's that his proposal is fundamentally unjust and unfair! How can I set a precedent where I do whatever, and he does nothing for me?
Then I think, well, maybe if I do it, he'll soften (pardon the pun), and he won't be so stubborn. So I climb on top of him to kiss him. He stops me and says, "Now I don't want you to do this and be all bitter about it." So I pause, sigh, get off, and go home.
Driving...
Me: I could make your head spin if I went down on you. But why can't you do the same for me?
FB: That's the way it is. Goodnight or goodbye.
Tears. Had I made a mistake…
Hubby: Where are you?
Shit. It's 11:45. I'm literally 200 yards from the house.
Me: I'm home. When are you getting there?
Hubby: I'm home. Where are you???
Me: In the driveway.
He steps out onto the front porch as I frantically try to hit "Delete Thread" for, oh, the 2000th time.
But it doesn't work. The fucking phone is messed up and it's not responding when I tap it! Shit! He's watching me! Bang! Bang! Panic. Damn it! Then it works, but instead of hitting "Delete Thread", I hit "All threads". My texts are all gone. But that's better than the alternative.
He's upstairs when I come in. I go into the powder room downstairs and turn on the light. Red, puffy eyes. Shit, shit, shit. What am I going to do?? What am I going to say?? It's almost midnight, I taste like beer, and I've been crying. Doesn't look too good…
I douse my face, pat my eyes, turn off the light, and climb the stairs. I get into bed and stare at the ceiling. He waits, then asks with consternation, "What happened?"
I still don't know. But at the last minute, I decide that a half-truth is less risky than a bold-faced lie.
I sigh, You were right.
"What are you talking about? What happened?" he's starting to sound panicked. My heart is pounding, and I begin to feel like I might vomit. A feeling that accompanies me for the next 14 hours.
I was out with my friends. Mitch and Laura left, and it was just [FB] and me. He asked me back to his apartment.
His mind raced, "Did anything happen?"
No! Of course not. I told him no, and I came home.
The next hour is a sort of blur. He questions, he paces.
He finds my phone.
"Why did you delete all of your text messages?"
Shit.
I didn't delete them. I don't know how that happened. My phone has been freaking out lately.
"Why are you lying to me?"
Okay, I deleted them. I didn't want you to see the text from him.
So my wildly disturbed Hubby calls FB at 1:00 a.m. (or thereabouts, as I said, it was sort of a blur.) He walks away from me as he's talking into the phone. I have no idea what their conversation is.
"He said nothing happened."
Thank God! FB's given me a blank slate.
That's all I remember before Hubby finally gives up and goes to bed. Somehow I have moved from our bed to my 8 year-old's room. It's my default place to sleep when it's Hubby's turn to sleep in our bed. I grab my phone and send three contiguous texts that I don't remember because, of course, I had to delete them after they were sent. Some rambling apology about Hubby finding my phone and that I said Mitch and Laura were with us.
I fall asleep, still nauseated, but exhausted. Wondering what morning will bring.
I sit on the floor typing away in the Atlanta airport, on the way to my conference. Much has transpired, leaving me more double-minded than ever before.
Today is Monday. Hubby was out of town last week, returning around midnight Thursday. I had already had my date with FB Tuesday night. Fun and carefree - just what I needed. We watched a stupid movie, smoked cigarettes, and fucked (not necessarily in that order.)
But, the next day I started to realize that we had family plans for the weekend, then I would be gone the following week. When would I get my next chance?
Thursday after dinner, I ask Mom if she will watch kids so I can get a bikini for my trip. Clever shopper that I am, I find one at the first place I go. So…
Me: Whatcha doin?
FB: Goin to Frank's for a beer. Wanna join me?
Sure do.
I meet him at the bar. While he talks to his buddy, the manager, I get a new companion. Apparently, the hotel nearby is hosting a conference for stamp collectors. This 80 year-old professor orders his vodka martini and perches next to me. I chat him up, which seems to amuse FB. Then, when the prof gets up to go, he decides to chat with us both. One thing about FB that I love is the absolute lack of pretension with strangers. He ends up joking with the man about which of them will get laid that night. Hmm…I wonder.
But when we get back to his place, he decides he wants something he hasn't gotten from me before. Now, mind you, as fun as our naked tussles have been, I have yet to come. The first time it didn't happen, he said, "We'll have to work on that." I let it slide, because I knew something he didn't. The second time, he assumed he'd done his part, and wanted to know what my problem was. I explained that I can come in a heartbeat, just not during sex. So he touched me for, oh, two minutes. I gave up because I knew he wasn't into it. It really wasn't all that important anyway.
But Thursday, it was another deal.
Why should I blow you when you won't even take the time to make me come?
He's drunkenly adamant. He gets what he wants, no negotiating.
So I'm drunkenly adamanter. It's not that I'm against the idea. I can be pretty entertaining when I choose to be. It's that his proposal is fundamentally unjust and unfair! How can I set a precedent where I do whatever, and he does nothing for me?
Then I think, well, maybe if I do it, he'll soften (pardon the pun), and he won't be so stubborn. So I climb on top of him to kiss him. He stops me and says, "Now I don't want you to do this and be all bitter about it." So I pause, sigh, get off, and go home.
Driving...
Me: I could make your head spin if I went down on you. But why can't you do the same for me?
FB: That's the way it is. Goodnight or goodbye.
Tears. Had I made a mistake…
Hubby: Where are you?
Shit. It's 11:45. I'm literally 200 yards from the house.
Me: I'm home. When are you getting there?
Hubby: I'm home. Where are you???
Me: In the driveway.
He steps out onto the front porch as I frantically try to hit "Delete Thread" for, oh, the 2000th time.
But it doesn't work. The fucking phone is messed up and it's not responding when I tap it! Shit! He's watching me! Bang! Bang! Panic. Damn it! Then it works, but instead of hitting "Delete Thread", I hit "All threads". My texts are all gone. But that's better than the alternative.
He's upstairs when I come in. I go into the powder room downstairs and turn on the light. Red, puffy eyes. Shit, shit, shit. What am I going to do?? What am I going to say?? It's almost midnight, I taste like beer, and I've been crying. Doesn't look too good…
I douse my face, pat my eyes, turn off the light, and climb the stairs. I get into bed and stare at the ceiling. He waits, then asks with consternation, "What happened?"
I still don't know. But at the last minute, I decide that a half-truth is less risky than a bold-faced lie.
I sigh, You were right.
"What are you talking about? What happened?" he's starting to sound panicked. My heart is pounding, and I begin to feel like I might vomit. A feeling that accompanies me for the next 14 hours.
I was out with my friends. Mitch and Laura left, and it was just [FB] and me. He asked me back to his apartment.
His mind raced, "Did anything happen?"
No! Of course not. I told him no, and I came home.
The next hour is a sort of blur. He questions, he paces.
He finds my phone.
"Why did you delete all of your text messages?"
Shit.
I didn't delete them. I don't know how that happened. My phone has been freaking out lately.
"Why are you lying to me?"
Okay, I deleted them. I didn't want you to see the text from him.
So my wildly disturbed Hubby calls FB at 1:00 a.m. (or thereabouts, as I said, it was sort of a blur.) He walks away from me as he's talking into the phone. I have no idea what their conversation is.
"He said nothing happened."
Thank God! FB's given me a blank slate.
That's all I remember before Hubby finally gives up and goes to bed. Somehow I have moved from our bed to my 8 year-old's room. It's my default place to sleep when it's Hubby's turn to sleep in our bed. I grab my phone and send three contiguous texts that I don't remember because, of course, I had to delete them after they were sent. Some rambling apology about Hubby finding my phone and that I said Mitch and Laura were with us.
I fall asleep, still nauseated, but exhausted. Wondering what morning will bring.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)