Weekend Wrap-up.

So what's going on this weekend. . .

A lot of work. Today was my only day off. I have to say that keeping this busy is good and interesting, but completely exhausting. I came home last night for dinner, and by the time I went to bed, my sneezes had morphed to a full-blown cold. I took meds last night and got to sleep late this morning, but I still feel as though I've been hit by a truck. Just that deep muscle tired. There was a lot of flopping around today done by me. Some useful stuff such as cleaning the bathrooms, some fun stuff such as making valentines with the boy, and some gratifying stuff such as making a very pretty leek and chevre quiche for breakfast this week.

Plus sneaking to the bathroom to masturbate.

I'm having frequent anxiety dreams about where I'm going to live. Like, duh. Last night it was about finding my room (#9) in a boarding house. Turned out I was on a pull-out couch sharing space with two other women. Ugh. Please, no.

Therapy reminded me that I don't have to focus on the future and 'how will I get through it' lamentations. I have been doing it. Just looking to the past year, I've made a lot of progress and have gotten myself through some terrible times. I've been confused and brave and sad. But I'm moving forward.

But I'm tired and snuffly again. Time to sleep.

Misc.

Today was a tough day to drag my ass out of bed at 6:30. I was just too tired. In that vein, I'm keeping it short and sweet tonight so I can get to sleep early. Or masturbate. Whatever.

This afternoon's mediation was as bad as it's going to get, I think. Considering how it could have been, I shouldn't complain. No one threatened to put a hole in the wall or anything like that. We just got surly and snippy and generally less than courteous. We are clearly so tired of being together. I can't stand his face or his gestures or little voices or affectations or complaints or issues or stupidity. Get out!

I got my renewed passport in the mail today and I look only slightly like a felon.

You all should know that I read and enjoy all the comments, even if I don't respond. it's simply a matter of time (not having any). I don't email or IM for the same reason. Also, my life is pretty complicated and tiring. And Josh, thanks for putting yourself out there; I can guarantee, though, that I have neither the energy for nor the proximity to you that you probably deserve. And I haven't ruled out women. We smell good, and might provide a welcome reprieve from the disgustingness of men***.


***which, a friend has noted, I seem to relish.

The New Plan.

So I was at retail work tonight doing some such mindless thing when I had an epiphany:

I can date women.

That's me: the celibate lesbian.

My God, it has to be easier, right?

Oh wait. Eleven million male bloggers say otherwise.

What do you know: not so great today, either.

My only consolation these days is that someday in the future I'll look back and say "That was terrible, but hey look! I got through it." Frankly, not much of a comfort.

I really wish someone would show up. All these friends who ask how I am or how they can help are certainly nice. But I want the Grand Gesture. I want someone who, when I tell him or her how badly I am doing, will fucking get in the car and come to my goddamm house immediately with maybe eleven bottles of wine. Or bourbon. But no one does. They all hang back and wait to be told what to do.

Besides, it kind of a mom or dad thing to swoop in unbidden, and I have neither of those, really. No siblings, either.

Fuck, it's bleak and lonely today.

Touch.

One of you suggested a massage, or some safe touch. That notion has stayed on my mind.

I lie awake either at night or in the morning and think about hands on my body. And of course, the first context I think of is sexual. Climbing near-naked into bed, having hands reach for me to draw me close, then a mouth on mine . . .

Yes, that sounds fine right about now.

But then I remember that part about being touched without having to give anything back. I dial back my mind and think of a massage. Theoretically it sounds terrific, but too clinical since I don't know her face or her hands or even the room.

So the next scenerio to cross my mind is being touched by a friend. But hell, I don't trust my male friends to keep it platonic. And I'm not that intimate with my local girlfriends.

But those women and men are out there, who know me and love me. Who would, if they saw me, wrap their arms around me and hold hold hold on to me until they were holding me up.

And that's where I end up, imagining my friends gathered around me to lay their hands on me, lending me whatever I need, but most notably being present and connected to my struggle. Then I understand that I am getting this, with every email and call that these far-flung friends send my way. All I need to do is ask. They are here.

Your results:
You are Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic)

Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic) 85% Inara Serra (Companion) 75% Zoe Washburne (Second-in-command) 75% Malcolm Reynolds (Captain) 70% River (Stowaway) 65% Derrial Book (Shepherd) 60% Dr. Simon Tam (Ship Medic) 50% Jayne Cobb (Mercenary) 40% Wash (Ship Pilot) 40% Alliance 35% A Reaver (Cannibal) 15%

You are good at fixing things. You are usually cheerful. You appreciate being treated with delicacy and specialness.

Click here to take the Serenity Personality Quiz

What In The World Can I Title This?: How Well I Am Not Doing.

Frankly, I don't know how to talk about my life these days. It's crazy and painful and hectic. I tell myself to buck up, get through the next thing, don't worry too much, and don't get mired down in emotion. Plus, I'm so damn tired by the end of the day, that all I can do is the routine household stuff, then go to bed. My friendships have all suffered for my lack of time and my unwillingness to think or admit how badly I feel.

I started teaching full-time while still working some evenings and Saturdays at retail, something like a 56 hour week. Husband and I still live together, but in separate bedrooms. We are moving through mediation, and are close to a draft Separation Agreement. The plan is for him to move out by February 1.

We are getting along well and able to make a lot of good decisions about how to separate our lives. Some choices are difficult not because of their substance, but because they are existential questions about who I am at my core, and how I will shape my future. Splitting up from my partner of 10 years feels surreal, disappointing, sad, and exciting all in the same moment. The ambiguity of the future usually scares me, and I try not to think about it, but that's probably how most people feel all the time.

My son is ok, definitely aware that things are changing. School, sleeping, and eating are all going well, and he's healthy.

Brushing my teeth last night I thought that I could see the tidal wave of a breakdown on the horizon. It wouldn't be long, I thought, until it overcame me and I was going to spend a lot of time sobbing or weeping. I've just been going too long on sheer willpower; something was going to give.

Cripes, I didn't even make it out of the bathroom. The wave hit.

And today it's all I've been able to do to not cry at work. I just think to myself "I'm not doing well," my eyes brim with tears. But I kept it together until dismissal. Then my supervisor looked directly at me and asked how I was doing. I lost it. Shit. I hate crying at work.

But I'm not doing well. I need help. I need my mom but I don't have her anymore so I also have to think about who can help me and then ask them. Do you think that is easy for me? It is not. Also, I don't really know what I need. Life to be different. To stop crying. Money. Hope.

Oh well. Oh well. Oh well.

Time to throw the pasta in the water and get dinner on the way.

Next.

Two Updates

I think I've been understating how difficult and strange it is to be living in the same house as my husband. We decided to separate at the beginning of November; now it's halfway through January. Imagine breaking up with someone and still living with them two and half months later. Fuck, man. I'm really unhappy with this. After a week alone, I am acutely aware of how stressed, annoyed, and frustrated I am with this situation.

Also, I take back every hesitation about the new vibe. It's fine. It's good. We're going to be friends after all.

Scroll Down for the Sexy Bits.

It's 10pm on Sunday night. I just came home from seeing Children of Men by myself at the theatre. Too bad I forgot my white hat. Man, that is a good fucking movie. Generally I don't get too deep into movie reviews, but I would say to see this one. The plot is exciting and executed with emotional poignancy, and has a cool futuristic shabbiness to the production.

But don't worry, this isn't all about movies.

The boys came home yesterday. Seeing the little one was purely joyful and fun. We hung out all day playing games and legos, and hugging. I made homemade mac and cheese, which of course the boy didn't want because it wasn't Kraft. We were together again today at the train museum. Right now, and believe me I know it will fade, I am really glad to have him back in the house waking me up for pancake breakfast, prattling in the backseat for a cheesestick, and spontaneously offering over pizza 'Mommy, I love you.'

There is a nagging thing, and that is that I am worried about his height. Up against the wall where we mark such things, it seems he hasn't grown since June. OK OK I'm actually fighting against pure panic and wigginess on this one. Don't know what to do.

Having the big boy at home is a pain. I can't do anything but think of him as a big messy lunk of a person. Boring stories. Lazy habits. There is so nothing there most of the time. Over the past two months there have been flares of caring and compassionate feelings, but they're few and far between.

What I felt for the past week was a fledgling life of my own, full of work and new habits, trying something new here and there. And suddenly, PLUNK, he comes back and I'm pulled backward into the morass of separation and still being tied to and tired of this marriage. I want to be done with it. At the same time, I'm glad it's taking some time because I've had enough space to re-evaluate some of my decisions about money. As in, 'step up, buddy. I'm not paying for everything' decisions.

But this isn't all about the boys, either.

So I mentioned a new toy a few posts ago. It had a good virgin run (thanks, you). Since then, though, I'm not that pleased with the curvy bit. Also, I can't easily prop the base on my ankle so my hands are free. Damn, I wish you could try such things before buying. The texture is very good, and since it's silicone, I don't have to worry about pthalates or whatever those dudes are called. I feel as though I'll have a giant box of toys just to find the ones I like. Is there a freecycle for this stuff? I'm a tough consumer, though. I'll get my money's worth. Oh by the way, Liquid Silk is da bomb. No odor, no taste, not stringy.

I mean, what am I saying. I came hard last night with the new vibe and the old purple one in action. So hard I simultaneously saw stars and my eyes crossed. What am I being so picky about?

Perhaps I'll always be unhappy with the vibes as long as I'm wielding them alone.

But I'm using them again, at least. The soda has felt pretty flat these days and it has me worried that I'll slip back into complacency about sex. It's hard fucking work to keep up a feeling that is so seldom embraced and returned, like keeping a revolving door going with no one inside it. It's there, though, and sometimes it jumps up and surprises me into getting off.

That's the deal. That's the business. Goodnight.

The Boy.

Let's summarize.

Now I work two jobs, totalling 56 hours a week. I'm tired. Sometimes I start to feel sorry for myself and how harried I am.

Then I think, 'OK bitch, change something' and I realize that I'm not that unhappy, exactly, just stressed. Life is looking more as I'd like it to.

But it's been many days. I miss my little boy.

That's the short update and the reason I haven't been writing.

The Ultimate In Toys.

All of a sudden last night I got hot. Just fell immediately in love with the idea of getting off. I busted out the now-overflowing shoebox of sex toys and jumped onto my bed. I didn't play coy, but got right to rubbing myself with the smallest of the vibes. Pretty soon I got all wildcat on me with three vibes in various states of involvement. It was good. It worked out.

But afterward I wondered, why do I need three separate vibes? The rabbit, theoretically, could do the clit and cunt work of two, but in reality, it doesn't work that way for me. I don't like the little ears so I wind up using two vibes. Then if I want some ass play, I need another hand or vibe. Is it possible to hold three vibes? No. You have to bend your leg and prop one against your heel. I specifically looked for a two-in-one vibe at the store last week, but all they have is the ever-fucking rabbit. What I need is some sort of three-pronged mechanism I guess. Something that can fuck me, work my clit, and then sometimes simultaneously work my ass. But it would also have to go at each task at different speeds and tensions. Does such a thing exist?

Oh.

Right.

It's called a man.

Oh Right. This Happens.

As I've already mentioned, the boys of the house are away on vacation.

So what did I do? I stayed out late and crashed on a friend's couch. There was good Mexican food and a few beers, many more for him as the birthday boy. He really tied one on. I was glad to see him sitting in his favorite bar, drinking as many beers and Jager shots as he could; I knew he was having the birthday he wanted.

Did I have a good time? Hmmm. To a point.

When I recently started being out in the world as a woman who was separating from my husband, I became highly sensitive to my male friends touching me. I couldn't reliably discern between affection and more than. I wondered if my male friends had a different, more charged view of me. He was one of those friends but it didn't make a difference in wanting to hang out with him. I randomly speculated that I would have to have a preemtive talk with him sometime, but I never followed through. We were cool.

Last night, however, the more he drank, the more I got the boy vibe. He was never inappropriate. He never crossed the line. There was nothing tangible to point to. However, if I could have, I would have drawn wavy pheromone stink lines coming off him. I didn't have to fend him off but I feared I would have to, and that was the problem. This is exactly the dynamic I don't want in our friendship. To avoid it, I know that I can't hang out with him when he's drinking a lot, and I may need to hold him at a slight distance.

Rats.

If it's an issue, I'll deal with it. But I really hope it won't be.

**I should say that in a sober state of mind, he can be absolutely trusted. There are many real-world reasons why he will not lay a hand on me. I bet that if I talked to him about last night, he would be somewhat embarrassed that I sensed what I did.**

Update

Internet, done.
Darvocet, done.
Trashy magazines, done.
Goofy emails, done.
Eyes Wide Shut, done.
Chips and Dip, done.
Son's arrival in vacationland, done.
Nap, done.

Time to hit the shower, throw on some rhinestones and some blush, get therapized, then onward to birthday dinner. Gosh, how could tomorrow get better?

Friday's Agenda

Today the boys left for a week's vacation in warmer waters. That leaves me here alone with a sprained ankle, worrying about my boy rocketing through the sky in a big metal tube. Yes, I basically understand how jet propulsion works, but it seems a shaky premise when the passenger in question is my small boy.**

Aha, but we have a plan!

First: seeking wisdom and growth through the internet.

Then, Darvocet and staring at the ceiling and reading trashy magazines.

Forthwith, Eyes Wide Shut and chips and dip.

Later, therapy.

Onward, birthday dinner with a friend.

Somewhere in there I'm sure I'll get a nice phone call that son has planted his feet firmly on the ground.

**yes yes I know all about the statistics of air travel being safer than cars. But when was the last time a car plummeted, on fire, from 11 miles up in the sky?

No HNT

Morning.

Yesterday I rolled my ankle and fell. Although I doubt anything is broken, I'm laid up enough to not get the camera to take a picture. In fact, I'm going to roll myself sideways and back into bed.

Go to osbasso.blogspot.com to catch the other nekkid people.

Happy Blah Blah Blah. . .What?

As mentioned previously, I thought the end of the year would eat big fat donkey caca, but in fact,

it did not!

Things came perilously close to crashing and burning.

In the end, though:

I got warm fuzzies.
I got to yell WOOOOOOO!
I got to wear a party hat.
I got the Happy Happy Number One Fuck Me Breakfast.
I got new toys.

Yes, gentle readers, the year went out with a bang and we are grateful.