HNT: Chocolate Chip Pancakes

They make everyone happy, especially on a grey Thursday.

Still Curious?

You may be pushing into mid-life, but you're still curious, right? Still a schoolboy at heart? It started with smashing bugs and berries on a rock to see what would come out. You threw rocks at things to see how they'd break. You read the World Book and medical books to see what it's all made of, from a star to a face. Maybe National Geographic nekkid ladies confused or even scared you.

Then they didn't. Things took a turn. There was a moment when you touched yourself the right way, and oh my God something came out. You could do this new thing. Here was a new world. Curiousity again: what did it taste like? could you do it underwater? what worked quickest? did everyone do it? how much could you do it before hurting yourself?

You've graduated from that. Barely. You still have a schoolboy's amazement that you get to do this thing with your body. And often someone else wants to do it with you or to you or for you. They like it just as much as you do! Unbelievable!

Here's my offer to the schoolboy in you. Here I am in front of you. On the table are five toys of different size. Lube. Ice cream. Oil. And I tell you 'You can put anything you want wherever you want.' Anything on the table and any part of your body into any part of me.

Just to see what happens.

Weekend Update.

Dammit, I'm up again at 1:30am. I haven't been sleeping well for the last few days so I took the tiniest little sleep aid tonight. I popped awake at 1, and, well, here I am. The pillows feel wrong; my third toe itches; and then the brain starts.

The almighty brain. What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen? What will I do? What will happen?

Next thing I know it's 3am and I'm flopping on the couch with horrible pillows and stupid blankets. Oh lord all I want is to sleeeeeeeeeep!!
*****
A lot of changes coming up in the next week or two. The boy starts school, which means that I have more time to myself, but it's more structured because of the drop-off/pick-up schedule. With that time I have to dig in and figure out just what my deal is. That whole stay-on-home identity will drop away and something new has to replace it. I have no idea what that will be. I'll have more time for girlfriends and writing and exercise (yay!) but less time for fun (boo. Seriously. boo hoo.).
*****
And the marriage has to change. The husband and I both agree that we have about three more months in us to figure this out. Either things improve, or we're done. This is my last chance to hop out of the stalled car to push it to the top of the hill. Maybe after that we'll cruise. Maybe after that there's another hill. Who knows. It feels as though I've been working at this a long time. Oh wait, that's not an illusion; it's true. But I think I've got one last sprint in me. (how's that for a mish-mash of metaphors?)
*****
Had hot and spicy thoughts as a consequence of an earlier conversation this evening. Nodded off to the lovely thought of being on my side getting ass-fucked while my simple purple vibe gets rubbed against my clit. . .

. . .then I get to use it on him.

Hmmmm. That still sounds good, actually. Really, just, um, fine. Have to, um, well...you'll excuse me now, won't you?

Spark.

Sitting at dinner tonight, out at a restaurant.

I think of my future self -- the single lady. Would she sit in this booth or rather at the bar? Is the latter trying to hard for a 30-something single mom? Does she carry a book or a magazine? If she doesn't, does that imply that she's on the prowl, wanting to meet people? Or does reading at a bar on a Friday night scream 'anti-social'?

Would this waiter find her attractive? Did he notice her when she walked in? Did anyone else?

Does she think he's attractive? Would she? Who else here? Like that guy who just walked by. Did he not look because I'm wearing a wedding ring and sporting a husband, or am I not attractive to him? Am I attracted to him, even?

These were just my mind's wanderings/wonderings, an idle exercise in seeing the world as an unattached woman again.

It felt lonely.

It felt exhausting.

And no matter how far I take my little imaginative exercise, it's nothing compared to the true difficulty of being single. I have lurid fantasies of jumping ship and the blissful freedom of independence. But that has its own miseries too.

God, does anyone win?

I'm baaaaaaaack.

Really, I should have nothing to do with anyone I'm related to. All they do is accuse, dictate, spaz, and annoy. All without giving me money. It's amazing how fleeting the moments of grace are (floating in the sea, blue sky above) compared to the absolutely relentless onslaught of criticism disguised in a cloak of concern (or more cunningly, outright hostile criticism).

I don't have the energy to get into it.

Here's what I want: to lie in bed zonked on (insert pharmacological agent here) and have the right person lightly tickle up and down my arms and legs. The kind of touch that gives you delicious goosebumps. Then when I wake in the morning, elves fix my shoes and my favorite NPR reporter Ivan delivers the news and French Toast. That's all. That's all I want.

Out of the Office.

Folks, I'll be away for the next week. Hopefully the vacation (beach, gin, pie) will help boost my spirits. Truth be told, I'm a little flat on the sex soda these days. We'll see how fizzy I feel when I return. Pop!

**OMG there's apparently this thing I didn't know about where a very skilled and attentive lover tickles your clit with his tongue while (and the timing is crucial) he begins to finger fuck your ass. Must try sometime.

Update: Ok it's beginning to soak in that the next few days will feel fairly lonely, without a place to vent through writing or my pals to share beers. Even right now, I'd love to go on and on about my mother-in-law, but really, am I going to say it to my husband? I probably should, once again, say how fed up I am by her antics. Getting ourselves untangled from her would be a good idea and requires mutual effort. She rents property from us, and we've loaned her money in an effort to help her get her feet under her. It hasn't worked and, I think, makes her resentful. Truth is, she isn't much of a mother and her dependence on us is one concrete way it shows. I just tell myself that I won't have to deal with her forever. She is not part of the life I want to live.

Daily Affirmation.

I was in a perfectly good mood today until I talked to my husband.

Gotta keep getting those ducks in a row.

I will have the life I want.

HNT: None.

Sorry folks, no photo today. Neither yesterday nor today's activities really allow it.
And today we are getting ready for vacation. Time to run.

Why I Am An Insane Person.

Well we all know how well the last fews days have gone.

Today I had the house, and my life, to myself. I ran errands, did paperwork, housework, etc etc. Lots of wife and mother chores.

I've been struggling with how to find work when my son will be in school only mornings. Who hires someone for three hours a day? Well, so, today I called the school and asked them to take him until 3:30. No problem! Easy peasy! Done! Oh the relief. Now I feel as though I can take genuine steps toward finding work. Feeling: Super happy!

Then the dreaded couples' therapy. I divulged, crying, that I feel complete panicked at the idea of continuing to toil like this, day after day. The debates, the late-night discussions, the exercises, the pain of constant naval-gazing. Ugh! Therapist didn't really react very much, just wanted to find a way for me to feel that we were making progress. I felt as though no one takes me very seriously when I say I am really fucking fed up. I think I will have to say it a bunch more times. Feeling: Despondant and panicked.

We went out to dinner with the boy and had terrific food and wine. It was a chatty fun time, celebrating the new opportunity I have to find meaningful work. Feeling: Good!

Stopped at the bookstore on the way home. I got to wander around a bit, and hit the table with all the 'Women's Wisdom' books: What I Wish I Knew When I Was Younger; How Smart I Am, and Great My Life Is Now That I'm Not Your Age. You know the ones I mean. And I picked one up thinking, Well, maybe this will help. Maybe this will give me a g*dammed clue. I felt such longing for guidance that it palpably hurt. Would someone just please tell me how to do the right thing, how to live well, how to know myself and honor it?

In other words: Where Is My Mother?

Guess what sister, she's gone, not coming back, and she couldn't be that voice for you anyway. Feeling: Crippled and despondant and lonely.

Drove home and got into stupid discussion with my husband and thought repeatedly, 'You're dumb. I hate you.' Feeling: Mean!

Now I'm home and hoping that everyone will leave me the fuck alone and for once in the last five days I won't have to stay up late talking about my fucking marriage to a fucking boy-idiot. Feeling: Ranty!

Ta-daaaaaa! That's my Monday. Hello rest of the week! Let's really rally and push toward that full psychotic break! Awesome! Go team!

**The comment count script is broken so don't believe it when it says '0 dances.' Oh I got comments. I got comments right here, pal.**

Sunday Evening.

Maybe I should just learn that by Sunday night, I'm tired and depressed and lonely.

Tired because I've had multiple days with my son and husband around 24 hours a day.

Depressed because it's the same cycle of parenting debates, marital discussions, and arguments.

Lonely because I'm so unfulfilled by the company I keep.

I saw a (difficult) friend on Saturday. She gave me a hard time for not keeping in better touch. I told her I didn't have much new to tell her. The truth is that she is always critical. I tell her I need to find a job and she says 'You haven't figured that out yet?' That kind of thing. She makes me feel as though I'm an idiot for not immediately fixing what's wrong. So I thought to myself, Ok, why don't I fix what's wrong? What's in my way?

Well let's look at my typical week: all the meal planning, all the grocery shopping, three days of full-day child care, five mornings of cleaning up the kitchen from breakfast, at least five loads of laundry, two therapy sessions, constant discussions with my husband about Where Our Marriage Is, five evenings of getting the boy ready for bed, five evenings of cooking dinner; and trying to fit in my own essential hobbies (reading, music, writing, extra-curricular activities, movies, friends) that help me live my life.

That's what I do. Please to be explaining to my face how to also integrate major changes like finding a job?

No really, I'd like to know.

***

Two highlights this weekend: my toddler son knocking his blocks over and exclaiming 'Holy Crap!' (extra points if you know the internet character whose tagline this is).

and

Lazing around on the blanket and playing music in the park today.

Film Buff.

Know what part I love...and miss? The part when you're watching a movie side-by-side on the couch, and you're curled up next to him, leaning in, and he reaches his arm around you so that his hand rests on your thigh. You skirt has ridden up so he's touching bare skin. Your naked leg. Then he intentionally spreads his hand wide so he's got a grip on you. Every once in a while he adjusts it to keep a handful of you in his palm. It's just your leg he's holding, but it's proprietary and intentional and you know that he's watching the movie and totally tuned in to your body at the same time.

Damn, you think, we are going to really hit it when this film is over.

And then it is. And then you do.

HNT: Wardrobe.

Take it all off here.

Good News and Meat Cake

If you don't want a political rant, check out Meat Cake.

If you don't think it's good news that Joe Lieberman lost the Connecticut Democratic primary to Ned Lamont. . .well you're wrong. Finally we have a chance to lose that dead carp of a politician.

If you think it's an issue of the war in Iraq. . .again you'd be wrong. It's about telling Lieberman and the Democratic establishment that he can call it 'bi-partisanship' or 'the ability to transcend party lines,' but it is not ok to blindly follow a president's agenda simply because dissent is 'immoral and weak.' (ok, I paraphrase. What Lieberman actually said is "We undermine the president's credibility at our nation's peril."

This is a guy who routinely touts his 'morality' and 'traditional values' while at the same time playing a crucial role in passing legislation to protect chemical companies from lawsuits due to defective products. (really, you should read Matt Tiabi's excellent Aug.10 Rolling Stone article to get the details).

And this is the guy who is trotted out at the one who should win? Please.

Thank you, Ned Lamont.

Just the Usual Rant, Nothing More.

I've cleaned up from dinner, did the dishes, gave the boy a bath. Now it's 7:30pm and I'm off duty. This is the lonely part of the day. I could get on the phone with a friend. I could send out some emails. I could surf the blogs.

*sigh*

But at the end of it, I am just craving something I don't have. I want to be excited to spend the evening with someone. I want this to be the best part of the day, our time alone. As it is, the husband and I usually wind up mutely watching a movie or reading in the same room. Throw in a fight or two and you've pretty much got the picture.

Oh god I am just done with this.

In a Different World...

...when we go out, you'd notice the attention other men give me. You'd seethe but let me get away with it. You wouldn't blather on and on during the drive home. You'd let me believe I got away with it, thrilled for the attention.

And we'd get home. You'd feign indifference to me. Let me pretend I was going to finish the laundry or make the boy's lunch. Instead, you'd surprise me with a pounce. Before I knew it, I'd be flat on the bed. Or on the floor. Or against the wall. I'd be immobile. You'd say you noticed how flirty I got. You noticed a wink. You noticed. And I was bad.

There'd be no mercy, no talking. You'd simply wrestle my clothing enough to get it out of your way. My skirt might be around my waist, my panties pushed to the side. If I denied your charges, you'd get mean. There would be a silent pause before your palm whistled down to my ass. I'd cry out. You'd feel no pity, only tell me that's what I get for disputing you. My bare ass would be under your hand, my pussy open to your cock. There's nothing I could do except repent.

But even that wouldn't stop you.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I would moan. But as long as your cock punished me with its merciless entry, I wouldn't mean it. I'd say just what I had to in order to keep you going. Is this why I did it? Was I naughty just to earn your excellent wrath? Oh that makes you angrier still. You'd really make me pay for false penitence. You'd make me live to regret it. Nothing flip about my apologies now that you're forcefully pounding my ass.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that's the world I want.

We are all bad girls.

HNT: The Nekkid Eye

No make-up. No expression. I could be sleeping, I could be ruminating. Maybe I'm meditating, why not? One thing's for sure, though. This is not me in action. Eyes rolled back in bliss, wide-open in surprise, or crinkled in teasing laughter. It's his privilege to see; he's earned it. This is what the rest of you get.

More Details About Writing.

I started writing this blog on the sly. Finding a place to confess, confide, and reveal myself felt crucial. Primarily I wanted to write about life circumstances that I couldn't share with my friends. I slowly felt more comfortable with the medium. I found that I could stretch myself a little creatively here, which felt as though I was using a dead muscle.

Constructing, writing, and editing all eat up considerable time. My husband was noticing how much time I was spending at the computer. I gave him an answer: I was writing.

A while later (a month or so) he asked what I was writing. I told him some fiction, some journal-entry type things.

A while later (two months or so) he asked again what I was writing. I confessed that some of it was erotica.

A while later (three months or so) he asked if he could maybe read something. I said maybe. I confessed to being nervous about what he would think of me, considering it was a side I was had gotten in touch with recently, and certainly hadn't been part of our marriage beforehand. He said he was nervous too, about being intimidated. Secretly, I don't want to share. It's mine.

Now, every once in a while, he asks about it. We don't get any further than these previous conversations.

Think you'd act the same if you knew what he knew? Wouldn't you be curious?

Lazy Daze.

With the hot hot heat, sometimes I keep the boy and myself inside the house. Finally, when the heat (kind of) breaks, I go out to the front stoop with the cocktail. We have a back patio with perfectly good couches and chairs, but for some reason, I like the steps. I can watch the cars, or the fireflies, or the grass. Whatever. Do any of you out there see me? I'm just a preppy-looking cute housewife on her stoop. Who would guess the sorts of things I think or write about? Not my husband, even. Or many of my friends. I keep a lot of myself private, I've found. Protection, fear, selfishness: the reasons could be many.

My husband knows that I write erotica, but both of us fear that he would be intimidated if he read anything I wrote. Those are his words, not mine.

Anyway, if I let someone see all these facets of me, the Jekyll and the Hyde, as it were...well, that's a big deal. But you know that already, right?