laundry day

the plan is to put the clean laundry, which I dumped out on my bed this morning, away; which will enable me to place the sun dried comforter back on the bed as well. Once all the stacked pillows get arranged and the incredibly soft throw blanket is strategically placed across the bottom at a jaunty angle, making the bed look all the more inviting, I’m going to ask you to come fuck me until the sheets are soaked and torn from the neat edges as my fingers clutch them during the series of multiple orgasms I know you’ll force upon me, so that I am rendered unable to coherently respond to anything but the sexual demands you’ll keep placing on me. The best part of clean sheets is making them smell like they’ve been well used.

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glaring eyes mean anger

you save the best of who you are for anyone else and simply give me the garbage leftovers of your personality. it’s worse when i hear you being kind to others and then you turn around and are trite with me. i vacillate between feeling enormous affection for you and then hating your fucking guts. feeling both in equal measure and not quite understanding how to reconcile two polar feelings, often occurring within the same day. you’re under pressure. i know because i am the one you take it out on. god forbid you focus it towards the assholes that created it. they might do more than fight back verbally. you don’t react well when other people challenge you. you disappear as quickly as a melting ice cube under boiling water. you acquiesce to anyone who is clearly in the wrong and you take on their errors as your own. and then you blame me by trying to pick stupid fights over anything, because you failed to man up and stand your ground. and somehow that’s my fault. and because you know that I’ll stay. as mad as i get. as much as i hate you. i’ll stay. so you can treat me however you want and there are never any repercussions. my anger and feelings mean nothing to you. irrelevant. a bird doesn’t care if it shits in the grass.

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so easy to forget

it would be so easy to say yes to you. so easy to forget you are unreachable. part of me thinks you are trying to resolve feelings you have for me. you don’t know what to do with a woman who has no conditions and who has stayed in your life while not having a sexual relationship with them. i can see you struggle with it occasionally. not knowing how to place me. clearly not wanting an emotional connection and yet having one, makes you uncomfortable, like wearing an ill fitting shirt. and yet you try.

the sexual attraction takes me by surprise. you’ll move a certain way. i see the shift of your shoulder under your shirt, or the light catches the shadow of your beard, and there it is. it makes me catch my breath. i respond with a powerful sexual awareness, that i’ve never experienced with anyone else. when it happens to me, you notice. we could be in the middle of talking and then i look up into your eyes, realizing i’ve gone silent and so have you. and you are looking at me, looking at you, with a feral hunger in your eyes or a flare to your nostrils which speaks volumes while nothing is said.

it’s like electric currents pass between us in those moments. i don’t even have to glance down, to know you are getting, if not completely hard, already. i can feel the gentle tingling of my nipples tightening as my pelvic floor involuntarily spasms. i have no idea why this biological attraction is there between us. it’s so unique to me i wonder if you have it with others, even though you said you haven’t. it’s just so strong. and distracting. i don’t trust you and never will again yet my body will not let me forget you.

i’ve known for years that you were the game changer for me. more than anyone before or after, it’s you. it’s always been you. the missing limb is accommodated and adjustments made to how you live after it’s gone, and yet the memory it, the sensations coursing through something which is not there, remain. It would be so easy to allow that to control me. so easy to simply lay with you and forget about how my heart will feel if i let you back into my mind.

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a childless mother

15. you should be sneaking out, going to the 7-11 and buying nachos and getting that horrible slurpie stuff in a mop bucket when they have the ‘fill up anything’ promotion. you should be hanging out in the rec room in the basement with your friends talking about the girls with big tits and who told off what teacher that day. you should be learning to do laundry, a pro at mowing the lawn, getting stupid excited that you’re going to be driving soon! you and your buddies talk about getting your first jobs and maybe even the people you like.

have you had your first kiss? did you like a girl enough that you went from friends to something more? did you hold hands with someone you really liked and who really liked you too? you’re batman pj bottoms are crumpled up on the floor beside your bed. you’re rooms a mess. your school backpack smells like sour food and dirty socks with crunched up papers at the bottom. clearly something spilled in there. you were too busy socializing, laughing, always laughing, to clean it up.

your clean laundry is in the washer. how do i take it out? how do i touch it. if i touch it, i might break. shatter. it doesn’t smell like you anymore because i washed it. i washed away the scent of who you were. and now i want it back. and so i curl up in your bed. smell your sheets. clutch your pillow against my chest. my chest where my black heart is crushed and  purifying inside of my soulless body. i wish i was dead. dead. i want to be dead. i can’t do this. can’t feel this. this isn’t a feeling. this is torment, torture, violent hurting and pain beyond pain that i can’t endure.

your birthday card is in my calendar. i already wrote in it. i bought it 2 months ago and it cracked me up and i knew you’d laugh and so i bough it. a white envelope. unsealed. addressed and written in. just laying there. tormenting me with it’s presence. mocking me. screaming at me. i took it for granted. your birthday. i assumed that i’d give you this card and you’d laugh and i’d laugh because you’d laugh. i was waiting to laugh with you. and now you  never will. the card is garbage. ruined. a perfectly good card i presumed i had enough time to give you. and i don’t. you’ll never laugh with me again. and i stupidly waited to give it to you when i could have had that moment stored in my memory already.

you died. you died laughing with your friends and showing off. doing stupid shit that you’d done 100 times before. boy shit. look at me i’m doing semi dangerous things shit. shit that makes a mother cringe and a father say he’s just doing boy shit. yes, well now it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? arguing what is and what isn’t an appropriate risk? a right of passage? a boy thing? a normal fucking boy thing. other than the dying part. that’s not normal. how can dying when you’re 15 be normal.

your broken body. naked on a cold metal slab shared by 1000 other dead bodies, separated only by the chemical bleach used to clean the gore away, once a stranger dissects your once perfect and beautiful body. this stupid fragile shell of a human body. worthless without the soul of who you were inside of it. animating it. giving me the heat and joy of who you were. the animation of everything silly and funny and amazing of who you were. gone. forever. ended in a fraction of a second because of a stupid decision that you don’t get to take back. no do overs. no resets.

you died hearing the sounds of your friends laughing and cheering you on. it’s the last thing you heard. i should be grateful for that.  but i’m not. i hate them. i hate them for not protecting you and for encouraging you. i hate you for not listening to your inner voice that said don’t do it. i don’t hate you. i hate this. this is too much to bare. too much to understand. too much to process. too much to live through.  i’m tight with the contained violence. the rage, the sorrow. the despair. the void of nothingness. i need to hurt myself physically to release the pressure. to equalize on my body what’s happening in my mind or i’ll die from it.

i want to. i need to see you again. your rumpled hair as you flopped down the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing the milk and telling me you were going out with your friends swimming. how can such a casual every day conversation be the last time we’ll ever talk? it was normal. nothing indicating that you would die today. i could have stopped you. i could have asked you to do some stupid chore. i could have needed your help cleaning the garage. i could have ruined your life by asking if you had gotten to that science project and demanding it be finished before you went anywhere. instead i told you to have fun. have fun. yeah. you had fun until you died.

and now i have to live through this. ‘this’ what is ‘this’ called? what do you call a mother who has a dead child? you know why there is no word? it’s because its not  natural and it takes at least a sentence to convey the message that you are talking to a woman who is living because they are waiting to die and who is nothing but pain and sorrow, ground and butchered, rotting meat. hollow. nothing will ever be good again. or right. or pure.

don’t talk to me. don’t offer platitudes or condolences. don’t you dare try and comfort me. the only thing i want is to be stabbed by a thousand knives until i die and your soft and gentle words make me want to kill you instead. i just want to lay in his bed, holding onto the clothes that once touched him and I want to die.

(ps. this is not me or my situation – but a friends child)

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needing him

i can’t help it. he is the single male creature on the planet who makes me insanely excited simply because i read a message he sent. when i look at his face, everything melts and lights on fire. my nerves regenerate at super sonic speed and all i need is to be touched by him in order to ignite. i wish i didn’t want him so hard. so violently hard and hurting. he distracts me beyond everything i can adequately write. he leaves me in a panting liquid mess. i miss his touch. i ache for his touch. and when he wants me, there is nothing but stupidity stopping me. and i want him. god i do. and every time i go to him i say its the last time and its not and it doesn’t make anything better, because i want him more not less. i could not imagine ever wanting him less. that’s the problem. regardless of time spent and spent bodies, it is outrageously escalating every time i spend time with him. does lust last for years?

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distracted and unmotivated

distracted. i wish i could focus on a single thing and complete it. i’m torn between several urgent and must do things if i decided to prioritize them and quite frankly, I am at the point where i simply want to retreat and do nothing. it’s a horrible feeling, being our own worse enemy for time management especially when you are used to functioning at a much higher level. ultimately, i know why. and i know this will be another thing i shall push through and get past. but life would be better if it was fixed sooner. and i am tired of spending so much time in transition rather than simply enjoying the experience of what i’ve built. this cyclical event happens in May and June annually because if is the season of loss for me. too many memories and reflection on what might have been and people i miss. it’s funny how our minds tries to shield our hearts from hurting.

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unexpected presents

i sat quietly, listening intently to the things he was saying, staring directly into his eyes, as he made a play for my time and attention. he had started off quite confident, bold and very much in control and the longer i sat, tilting my head on occasion, raising an eyebrow or slightly smiling, the more he changed his cadence of speech,  until i could tell i had him flustered and unsure of himself.

as his posture and tone changed, i shifted, leaning forward I raised my right arm, taking a fingertip and paced it off center on his bottom lip and slowly dragged it to the middle, pressing down so that his lip followed, slightly parting his lips to expose his teeth as he instantly became quite, eyes slightly widening. my finger, dragged downwards across the stubble on his chin and his lip flicked back with a suddenness which sparked deep interest and sudden desire into his eyes.

i smiled. “you talk too much for someone who’s done nothing to actually engage me with a reciprocal conversation. you’re either self centered or nervous. which is it.”  i could see him swallow, as his eyes moved from my lips to my eyes as indecision rippled across his face. I could see his expressive face battle with the desire to maintain a pretense or be honest and it made me laugh out loud; sultry, low and feminine, the kind of sensual chuckle women have when they know they’ve flexed their sexual muscles and a man has noticed.

as i leaned back into my chair, crossing my legs, which directed him to follow their movement, breaking contact with his face, he smiled widely, looking back up at me like a young boy who has just been given a very large ice cream cone. decision made, then. “you made me nervous because i couldn’t tell if you were interested and that doesn’t happen that often. my not knowing.”

“and now?” “and now I know you are. interested that is”.

I unfurled my legs, standing up slowly after leaning slightly forward giving him an innocent view of my cleavage beneath the scooped neckline of the sundress I was wearing;  getting very close to his wide chest and inside his personal space, to brush my breast against his side as I slowly passed to his left, my hand trailing from his shoulder to discretely capture his wrist and turn him with me as i walked between him and the mass of people surrounding us.

“let’s see how interactive your questions become in a more private setting”, i whispered into his ear, as i took the lead, pulling him behind me, not waiting to see how he would respond. i already knew. he’d do whatever it is i wished of him. he was neither comfortable with or confidant in, having control once he knew I was a dominant woman. it’s why i could fluster him in the first place.

he couldn’t see my smile, but i’m sure he could hear it in my voice. i’m positive none of the other parents noticed as we left the birthday party, swimming pool and bouncy castle in the backyard and around the side of the house, slipping quietly into the laundry room.

well, positive that none of the braying or shrieking wives did anyway, as it was only the side long glances of a few of the fathers I saw following us, underneath reflective sunglasses that were being adjusted, as they subtly shifted their bodies or leaned around people to keep me in sight, as I towed a towering man behind me and away from the mayhem of a busy birthday party.

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sad profiles

i look at the silver streaking your hair and how the brown is still so shiny and soft to touch. i think about the years i’ve spent looking at you. sideways glances, seeing you in profile. knowing the outline of your forehead and nose, the turn of your lips and how your chin balances everything. you’re so handsome. decades have passed and you look like you did at 20, just more weathered and it has changed you from a prime virile young man to deeply masculine man of stature. i’ve always found you so incredibly attractive. a combination uniquely designed to be all i find desirable in a man. you know, i’ve never had a choice when it came to you. i’ve always wanted you. always fought for you.

and i was always disappointed that you would never open up to me. i’ve spent a lifetime with you. a lifetime. and yet you and i share nothing personal, nothing of value. we run a home and we spent neutral time together if we happen to be in the same place at the same time. we share no common interests and you have no desire to learn about what makes me happy. instead, you have let me go to do everything on my own, thinking that would appease me. it hasn’t. being lonely while being married, is one of the hardest things i’ve ever done. it’s pushed me into other mens arms, when all i wanted was yours.

i’d never hurt you on purpose. i don’t think you know how to love someone like me. so i don’t fault you for it anymore. i no longer blame you for not listening. i haven’t said i love you in over 8 years. which means you haven’t had anyone say it to you. i stopped loving you when you emotionally abandoned me during the worst period in my life. i simply could not cope with the magnitude of my loss, by myself. and it changed things for me, towards you. irrevocably.

over the years which have passed, i have become content with who you are because i lead the majority of my life alone and with you knowing nothing of what i do or who i am. our marriage is simply the thing we did that one time a long time ago. you think it means paying for house renovations and i think it means sharing emotional content and being vulnerable to me. we are not even in the same hemisphere when it comes to knowing who the other is.

as i look at your profile, i realize, that’s all you ever wanted to share with me. the surface of who you are. the skin you present the world. there is nothing in you to give to me, and nothing i can do which can force it to happen. i wonder if the only time you’d ever talk to me, is if you saw me happy with someone else. maybe then you’d believe me that i am unhappy with you. and it’s not because i don’t want to be. you’re all i’ve ever wanted for as long as i can remember. but i can’t make you want me. not i the way i need.

saying you love me, means nothing without the actions to support it. paying for a hot water tank is not loving me. sighing and acting like a teen forced to spend time with their parents, is not loving me. it’s not hard you know. doing those little things which mean the world to me. it’s my not asking you to wash the dishes you dirtied instead of leaving them for me. it’s about putting the bag back into the compost or cleaning the bathroom without my telling you to, then going to tell you to do it again because it was done so poorly. it’s about not muttering under your breath like a child when i ask you to do anything, because you don’t want to do it and so you passively aggressively start  acting like a petulant 5 yr old child.

i never wanted the job of being your mother, yet it was the only one you wanted me to have, since you had such a piss poor one yourself. we’re in a funny place you and I. the reason for staying together is now gone, really. i’d miss you if we parted ways. you were not the love of my life. just the man i made a commitment to stay with. and that came at an incredible personal sacrifice because i am not who i was supposed to be or who i might have been, if i had the support of a loving husband who placed me before his mother or work or commitments to other people.

knowing you rank last, does something to you as a woman. besides altering your perception of your spouse, it makes you feel unworthy, unattractive, un-lovable. it makes you seek out that need with other men and that in turn changes how you feel about yourself morally, sexually and emotionally. i shouldn’t have to wonder how you feel about me, considering the years we’ve been together. i shouldn’t have to look at you and wish your actions matched your words. i shouldn’t have to resent every time i am forced to act like your mother because you won’t act like a man.

i don’t know what’s between us. or what’s worth saving. i don’t know if i leave or stay or if i stay and live separately as i have been. i simply don’t know. and that is the most unsettling of ways to feel at this point in your life. because life is getting shorter by the day. and all of a sudden, i feel the weight of that, like never before. the urgency to live before death claims me.

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seasonal sidelines

after all these years and unresolved issues. knowing that you will never communicate with me as i need you to. seeing you make the choice to put your mother before me, year after year, by abandoning me physically and emotionally. knowing all your hidden history and inventing everything you refuse to speak about, i still miss you when you go. i still wish we had the marriage i thought we’d have. i understand why you do what you do, how your idea of a husband and father was shaped by your upbringing. you are far from perfect. neither of us are. but you make mistakes erring on the side of caution. you don;t take action because you don’t want the responsibility for them, if things fail. you need a scapegoat. and that’s always been me. but you love our kids. you work so hard because thats’s how you think love is shown, even when given direction that my needs encompass more than that. because you’ve sneered the sarcastic ‘love you’s’ at me in anger, when you say it in passing, i ignore it. i certainly never reply to it or say it back. it’s been 7 years since you’ve heard me say those words to you. and when i think about it, it’s probably been that long since you’ve heard it from anyone. certainly not your mother. as much as you seek her attention out, you’ll never be good enough or successful enough or smart enough. she has blinders on when it comes to you and her attention and affection came with conditions. mine never did. and yet, you still choose to keep the peace with her and ruin it with me and placed her needs over mine. then expected me to accept it. and i didn’t. so you ruined our happiness because i was not your priority. and still, knowing all this? i still miss you. i still want to be with you. i still want the potential for what we might have had. i miss all the years you gave up. and i start to cry thinking about the months i’ll be spending alone, while other people share connections and make memories. things will never change with you and so i did. i changed. and i sought it out from others what you refused to give me and what i couldn’t live without. and it didn’t fulfill me. it made me sad that you didn’t give it to me. because after all is said and done, even though i haven’t said it in a very long time. the truth is, i have loved you almost my entire life. even when i hated you and when you broke my heart and left me alone to deal with things to big for me to handle. and when another man holds me, or makes love to me; when he comforts me and needs me, all i can think about is how it should be you instead. you’ve complicated what should have been so very simple. and i wonder if any of it even matters to you.

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undiagnosed exhaustion

i vacillate between believing I have un-diagnosed health issues which are impacting me in several ways or i am a hypochondriac with far too much access to web md. cognitively, i am aware of my body, what ‘normal’ feels like. yet for a woman ‘ normal’ changes so often, that it becomes a cruel joke believing normal is anything quantitative.  for 2 years i have been going to my doctor and have had tests to diagnose what i ‘don’t’ have. and it’s bullshit.

i’ve stated with unequivocal certainty, what my issue was and provided the medical records from 15 yrs ago and medications i took. the reason i went off them is because they were not compatible with the ones i needed for PTSD/anxiety/depression for the period of 3 years or so i required them after i was violently assaulted and underwent group/behavioural/cognitive/individual therapy to resolve and learn to manage it.

ever since i’ve been off medications, i have been on a horrible decline and inability to function on what i consider a normal adult level. realistically, i function far far far below what anyone would consider a normal level. i can’t stay awake during the day. well i can. but it means i am exhausted. i live in chronic and utter exhaustion. like nursing a baby while having a toddler, kind of exhaustion. it doesn’t matter how many hours of sleep i have, i need 2 naps of 3 hr duration during the day, just so i can be in bed and asleep by 10pm and up the next morning naturally by 6:30-7am.

if i can’t nap, i feel impaired by 4pm. enough so that i don’t drive because i feel my reaction time is delayed. i don’t randomly fall asleep. but i can lay down anywhere at anytime and fall asleep immediately and dream. like on the cement floor of a truck stop or concert, kind of tired. by not laying down and napping, i am giving myself headaches, i get eye strain, i feel like shit. and i’m sick of tests ruling out things to get on medication i was on for years, simply because it is a stimulant.

i am basically ‘thisclose’ to looking for street drugs because i simply can’t take it anymore. i am not someone who abuses medication. i tolerate it simply to get me over situations. including the heavy pharmaceuticals. it’s massively impacting my work. i can’t focus because i’m exhausted. it’s like only having 2 good hours a day and i can’t get it all done that quickly.

i understand due diligence, but for gods sake, i can’t take this anymore and when you consider how many people get drugs who don’t need them, my asking for them, when i hate being on anything, should count for ‘something.’ right now i feel like a crazy person who keeps going back week after week month after month saying DO SOMETHING. I’ve got no patience left. i’m beginning to tell people i have tourettes because i can’t stop myself from saying ‘fucking idiot’ when someone acts like one, and it’s not like i’m being very subtle about it.

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