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We were naked, petting. She was talking about anything and everything that came into her head. She saked if I had noticed that she's no longer having periods. I had. I've noticed the hot flashes are less of a problem as well (though it has been hot, and she complains about that.) She talked about a friend of her that called her periods "my vacation" from the pressure to have sex. Her now-divorced friends. I was trying to concentrate on her curves, her scent, the feeling of being inside her. I guess, too, I was pretending she enjoyed it. Did she enjoy it? There was no evidence. She didn't say so. She complained of being overweight, and that her nose itched from eating raisins (this morning, on our walk together, she complained of an oncoming migraine from eating chocolate). She asked, "Why do I eat it? I don't want to." "You're addicted," I said. She denied it without even considering it. "I don't need it," she said, "I just want it, especially when I'm tired, in the afternoon." ================================================================ I declare a breakdown in my marriage. I keep pretending she wants to have sex and that she enjoys it, against all evidence. She says it's my fault. How can I expect her to want to have sex when we don't talk all week? To me, we don't talk because I come home and she's busy and doesn't have the time to talk. And when I do talk to her about something, she either launches into paranoia and finds a way to react with anger, or launches into complaints and criticism. So "us talking" means she talks, and talks and talks. We went for a walk together this morning. She talked pretty much the whole time. She told me about her trip to UCSB with our son last weekend, when he attended orientation. She told me all about her walk along the beach, about the rocks she found that had holes in them, all ready to be place on a necklace, even the white disk that she wasn't sure if it was a jellyfix or the bottom of an upside-down bottle. It seemed never to occur to her that I might have anything to talk about, or that some details just don't need to be said. I listened, and did my best to get her experience. It was a walk, with shapes and colors and textures, plants and even animals appearing and disappearing along the way. Along the way, the dog rolled in several wet patches of grass, pooped twice and panted a lot. Do you need to know this? Does it enrichen the story? Does it paint a better picture of self-absorbed she is, to be reassured that the world continued for me while we walked and she talked? It seems like she doesn't give a damn about sex... We had arranged to have our rendezvous when she returned from taking my son to a friend's house, around 5.
Copyright 2010, Randy Strauss>