06/21/00
"...say you don't want it, this circus we're in...but you don't really mean it...how many fates turn around in the overtime?..."
I am trying again to present backgrounds of soothing, muted colors. Yeah, most of them look like puke, but I hope you all appreciate my concern for your eyesight.
The storm managed to dwindle down to a light rain by the time I got home yesterday. I decided to walk the beasts as soon as I got home just in case another torrential downpour hit.
I cannot tell you how much I was seriously hoping for some snogging action in that damn wet field yesterday afternoon. I cannot tell you how much I wanted to cry and kick something when it didn't happen.
He did show, and he wasn't wearing sunglasses, just his regular specs. He is kind of cute in that "little-boy-will-never-grow-up" kind of way. This time I asked him "what have YOU got for ME today?" and that made him smile like a school boy who just got his head patted by the hotsy teacher. We walked and he did most of the talking. I don't know why, but for some reason, I completely lose my ability to communicate effectively when I'm around him. He probably thinks I'm one of those non-speaking wierdos along the Silent Bob line. It seems that when I do manage to say something, however, that at least it's pretty good. He was talking about how this chick wants him to do some work on her house this summer, and how "she was pretty hot, too" (am I supposed to be jealous here, and of whom?) and how she's divorced and that he "can tell these things." I asked him how he knew she was divorced. He said because she had a kid and no wedding ring. (Okay, I know he's not that stupid.) So I ask him, "so? How can you know she's divorced just because she has a kid?" He repeats the part about no wedding ring. I say, "maybe she was never married." He finally gets it, and gets what an idiot he's sounding like, and smiles at the ground because I've got him cornered. He says something about how he ought to kick my ass but at the same time he's still smiling that "I'm a tard" smile. Anyway, he found a 4-leaf clover, then a 5-leaf, which he gave to me. He kept looking and found another 4-leaf and told me to pick it if I wanted it because apparently, picking one for someone else negates the good luck. So I picked it.
4-leaf and 5-leaf clovers in that field are actually not that big a rarity, probably because the "field" is what used to be a landfill, as in "dump." So the whole damned stretch of land is pretty much a toxic waste site. I'm sure I probably glow at night from walking over there. Still, I've gone over there and searched for 4-leaf clovers and never found one. He finds them all the damn time. Which either means he's luckier than I, or he pays closer attention to the ground.
I took the dogs home and put the clovers in the back of the journal I'm using for my story.
I spent the rest of the night bemoaning the fact that it's been about six months since I last had sex. And that in the last year, I can count the number of times Megan and I have "justified our love" on one hand.
Is it any real wonder that we're splitting up? Or that I'm stalking the pot-smoking social dropout dog walking buddy of mine?
Don't let anyone fool you into believing that you can have a romantic, "marital" relationship without sex. Maybe if you're a pilgrim. I am proud to admit that I am a complete nymphomaniac and if I'm not getting any, I get very cranky. Megan tried a couple of weeks or so ago to tell me that the reason she never initiates sex is because she tried one night and I turned her down. I'm thinking, when the hell was this, and what kind of world would it be if we gave up on everything the first time we got rejected? Give me a fucking break! If you're that damn sensitive, YOU'RE the one who should be in therapy, sister, not me.
So thinking about it this morning, yeah, I think I can definitely pin the decline of our relationship on two major things (there are many small ones that add up, of course, but the two biggies are): lack of sex, and lack of support when I had my mental breakdown this winter. I mean, total lack of support. Not just lack of support, but actual taunting over it. During every fight we had, the subject came up at least once. "I think you should go back on your Prozac, you're just not rational." "Did your therapist tell you that?" "I don't know what you expect me to do." It wasn't just like she didn't care...it was almost like she found the whole situation laughable. And that still pisses me off. I was sure as fuck there for her throughout her neurotic fits, her thyroid disease, her weight gain and loss, her jobs, her school, her car--EVERYTHING. And I really don't think it was ever appreciated as much as it was...expected. Hell, the time I stood up for her to her mom, she told me I really shouldn't have called her mom a "cunt" and asked me to apologize. I told her to kiss my ass.
Hoo, boy...is that anger I smell?
Yes, I'm angry. I'm angry that I've spent four years in a relationship that has oftentimes felt like a one-way street. But I really have no business being angry at her. I should be angry at myself. For not recognizing the problems, for not confronting her with them, for not insisting on working them out. I should have done something.
But I just lived the only way I knew how, right? If I had known any better, I would have done something. I can't be entirely to blame. Hell, no one can. It's a no-win situation, and we all lose.
So J came over last night. I told him what was up and dropped a seed in his head about my fascination with our friend Zak. He admitted that Zak is strange. (I have to say that J calling someone strange is kind of strange in and of itself, but...) He then cracked my neck, tried to work the knots out of my shoulders, and went on his way. I have this unsettling feeling that he may have thought I was trying to convey a message that HE'S the one I want to screw (as in he, J)--which is just an icky, icky thought. For starters, he's married...to P...and I'm friends with her and screwing married men just isn't my gig. For enders, J is built like Olive Oyl--about 7 feet tall and about 70 pounds. Also not my gig. I can handle "skinny" but "scrawny" just kind of puts me over the edge.
I'm an old woman. I need something with fewer sharp edges. Trying to screw something that bony, I could break a hip or something. Yuck.
Okay, I suppose enough of my sexual tension. Check back because I'm certain there will be more to come today...
But wait, there's more...
