Rude and personal. Also probably boring. By all means scroll on.
Freewheeling sounds good, doesn't it, but maybe not, so much. Particularly not for a morality freak like me who likes to think that she's going in a straight line, or at least deviating by controlled (and safe) choice.
I've been mentally freewheeling this week in the absence of Husband, who returns today. For the most part, without even noticing, I've looked at the extremes of my personal restraints in all directions, moral and emotional. Its been a bad week.
Like a child I've sulked and fidgeted and let my imagination run riot; missed him desperately whilst at the same time intellectually postulating that my life is a totally uncreative dead end and its all his fault, because, hey, he's happy, so I blame him for my lack of impetus. In one sense that's fair. I don't seem able to function as a sane human being without him and I get withdrawal symptoms, so anything I enthuse about that he can't see a point to, gets put on the back burner. Where he's concerned I only ever act as part of a couple and I can't and won't shake that. Grumble about it, for sure. Change it? Never.
I seriously suspect, however, that I have become one of those people who would have a short circuit at the idea of travelling on my own - its that bad.
Its no good having dreams if you're chicken, so instead, as I've imagined all these disparate life paths during my enforced solitary confinement this week, I find I've been blaming him for not sharing my (constantly changing and unspoken) desires, like a teenage girl would blame her gang if she had to walk the path of eyeballs to a nightclub loo all on her own.
I wonder when I developed this unattractive need to be pack-handed; possibly during a 23 year stint as mother to junior school children. It won't do. Maybe all this fidgeting and grumbling marks the beginning of coming out of that. (Ing, ing, ing, ing - sorry.) Fingers crossed, eh.
At the same time as feeling too emotionally heavy and dull to have a proper conversation with anyone, at the same time as worrying that my laugh sounds as fake and hollow as the over enthusiastic whooping of a twelve year old boy (and can't they just ham it up in the chuckle act), at the same time as spending a whole week in a sort of suspended animation like there was something else I was supposed to do but I just can't recall it, I have also (slap my wrists) been silently looking over an ex from my teenage years and imagining where a different path would have taken me. Not shopping you understand, just comparing.
He and I DO NOT SUIT EACH OTHER, (that was shouted for my benefit, not yours.) Quite apart from that, I am blatantly useless without Husband and totally in love, even when I want to kill him. Nonetheless, ex was there to talk to, if only by msn chat, and as he is open and honest, trustworthy and honourable and completely oversexed, I did fantasise about turning up on his doorstep, with an opening gambit along the lines of "Right, my train home is in two hours, roger me senseless and sideways, take photos, whatever, and lets get it over and done with."
It strikes me that I don't know him that well anymore - a line like that would have worked in the past and I might even have got a cup of tea or a beer out of it afterwards, but these days I wouldn't put it past him to call the police, and anyway its a displaced hunger, I just want my H to come home.
Ex - I know you may read this- so there you go - have a good chuckle at this - when (and only when) my husband is based in some swanky hotel at the company's expense and I am home indoors cooking fish fingers for warring kids - you constitute a very nicely distracting fantasy, plus fuel for my resentment.
Resentment is good. I find that anger fires me up and allows me to keep functioning, in a mad-woman, closed off sort of a way, whereas soppy sappy emotions make me totally useless. Actually, experiencing soppy sappy feelings makes me angry. Hmm. I wonder if thats a coping strategy, 'If vulnerable and panicked, become a belligerent old bag'. Ouch.
Maybe I'm just too moral and chicken to manage to fantasise about strangers or non existent people. I've tried and it doesn't work, because a huge chunk of my conscious brain sits there chanting 'tacky, slutty, tacky, slutty' til my libido gives up. Somehow, if I'm really going to seriously imagine building a sweat up with someone, it has to be someone I trust completely (especially with the sort of scenario I have in mind), and not having made some very good choices in my life, well the available selection is elite, to say the least.
Its fun to imagine things, very liberating and daredevil, but at the same time my inner schoolmarm starts raising a disapproving eyebrow and keeping me in check. If I go too far, even in the realm of dreams, I start to feel under the weather, ill, out of sorts. I guess I have fidelity hard wired, which is at once a pity and a wonderful thing, depending on how defiant I'm feeling.
Oh what the hell. I don't use tools or scenes and I don't even watch dirty movies, my imagination and my libido are enough that they just aren't warranted. One dirty look from Husband is enough, and as I've aged, I've come to subscribe to the wonderful attitude that if one of us is naked and smiling, the other should just make the most of it and be happy!
That's why I understand and respect those that hanker for a bit of play acting in their private lives, without being able to subscribe on my own behalf. Imagining things is wonderful fun for me, but really doing them would be a whole different ball game, as I just couldn't see the point, not in real life. You don't 'become someone else' by putting on an outfit or a couple of cuffs, or anything else you can imagine, you only allow yourself to feel a certain way. Once you know what way that is, you can switch it on and off mentally without need for any more assistance that a pair of eyes to look into, knowing that the intent is playing out in synchronicity. At least I can. Does that make me odd?
Anyway, thanks for letting me work out where my head is at. Unless someone comments, fast, to say that they know EXACTLY what I mean, this post will self destruct in the near future, being consigned to my own email inbox as a kind of 'Dear God' letter.
As for Husband: Get your butt home in good time today boy - and make sure it's not tired, otherwise I think I just might have to kill you.