How Do You Harden Your Heart?

I’m so torn up inside. I feel like my chest is caving in on myself. I want to go over to his house; our house, our home. I want to hold him in my arms and smell his man smell. I want to tell him that we can work on this, we can fix this. But I honestly don’t know how.

I spoke to him tonight and we were so cold, formal. It destroyed me. I’m pretty sure it destroyed him.

I don’t know how to be mean. I don’t want this to hurt him so much.

What am I supposed to do?

I want to text him my new number, I want to write to him how much I miss him, how much I want to be with him if he would only give me enough time to work things out. I won’t though, I can’t.

We can’t go back to the way things were. We became too complacent, too hurtful. It’s really easy for me (and my mother) to blame it all on him, and I would say the majority of it is on him, but I’m not the easiest person to deal with.

I keep wavering. I keep thinking that it would be easier to go through a divorce, easier to end this chapter of my life, than to try and have him work on it with me and work on us and get us out of this vicious cycle that we seem to be stuck in.

But then I miss him, and I can’t imagine living with anyone else. I can’t imagine someone else’s arms around me. All I hear is the hurt in his voice, the sadness in his dark circled eyes and I want to kiss it all better. If I just go back. But I won’t. Not yet.

Do I pursue a divorce? Do I try and make it work? Will he ever, truly change? Is it even worth it? I don’t know anymore. I have two paths to choose, and I just can’t seem to make a choice. He is petty and mean, but he knows it, and claims he wants to try and work on it. It’s not in me to give up on love. I love him. He loves me. But he may have given me the best advice I’ll need to get through this…sometimes you just need to harden your heart. If only I could figure out how.

If we do give it another try, it’s going to take a long time before I trust him again.

There are other fish in the sea…maybe bigger, better fish.

I don’t know anymore.

It kills me to lose my best friend. The person I laugh with, watch television with, joke around with. I share songs with him, tears with him, phone calls…but he broke my trust by using some of that against me.

I really hope we can see the counselor soon, even if only to help me make a final decision…


Darkest Before the Dawn

I went for a walk tonight with my husband. We actually talked, something I think we both realized we haven’t done in a while. The chaotic family life we lead, running around with kids and work and co-ordinating schedules leaves us drained by the end of the day. We just like to veg out. Tonight I pigged out on ruffles potato chips and half of one of the big containers of herb and garlic cream cheese. (That’s primal, right?) Nope, not even a little. I feel sick. Oh yeah, and reece’s peanut butter cups.

He plays video games and I either read or write. While we’re in the same room doing these things, we’re not really spending quality time together. At least when we watch movies or shows we pause them to discuss our opinions on what’s happening in the show. I like to think it’s something quirky that’s unique to only us. Tonight we were heading up to bed, and when my husband was letting the dog out, he half jokingly said we could go for a walk. I agreed immediately.

“What about the kids?” He asked. I shrugged. It’s not like we were going to be out of sight of the house, and tonight was a spectacular night to be outside. So we went. It was freezing out, -25C but the night was crisp and perfect and the stars glittered magically in the sky.

When I look at the night sky on nights like tonight I always wonder about our ancestors. When humans lived in tents or in caves as a community. Did they look up at the sky on crisp, perfect winter nights and feel the awe of the universe? Did they go on moonlit walks, hold each other close under the night sky? Did they see their breaths, in smoky contrast to the clean air? Did they make love and huddle under a pile of furs to keep warm?

“Tonight would be the perfect night for winter camping,” I told my husband, as we blazed a trail behind our house. “But it’s so cold,” he replied. “Exactly! That’s why you bring enough stuff to keep you warm, and then you get to watch the stars and sleep toasty warm, breathing fresh air all night.”

Fresh air. I realized then that I haven’t been outside in ages. This is how I get every January. Seasonal Affective Disorder. Sad. Very, very sad. I keep myself cooped up in the house because it’s so cold and miserable outside.

The girls (MadEye and Kurdles) were over last week and we went for a moonlit walk to the park and it was beautiful. I miss being outside. I miss adventure.

I told my husband how much I loved walking with him, even though it was almost literally around the house. I also noticed a lot of bedroom windows with the typical light blue flashes of television.  I couldn’t imagine how much less we would communicate if we had a television in our bedroom. Why would anyone want a television in their bedroom? The bedroom is for sleeping, and loving.

I also told my husband that I wished we could go on more adventures together. He laughed and said, “we’re on an adventure right now!” And although it was just around the house, it sure felt like an adventure. We talked about some of the stuff that had happened today. We fought and he was a giant jerk, and I felt vindicated when he later apologized. I told him that I’m trying to be more logical and less emotional when we fight, and I, as he attested, seem to be doing a pretty good job of it.

We talked a lot, and it came up that he thinks that when I go out to Starbucks he considers it a waste of gas. I told him that it’s unfair that he can go drive anywhere he wants and it’s never considered a waste of gas, but when I want to go somewhere, it’s a waste of gas. It’s also true that I do it considerably more than he does, but I can’t drive anywhere without him thinking it’s a waste of gas. Blah blah blah. He didn’t want me to feel like I can’t go anywhere and it’s not like he’s purposefully trying to make me feel bad. Anyway, the conversation changed and he brought up the fact that in a couple of years our son will be in school and a huge chunk of our debt will be gone and then we can start using the car for more frivolous reasons.

I started to sob. Our son will be in school in a couple of years and then what? What will I do with myself? All I’m good for is retail and I’m at the point in my life where I despise retail. I told my husband as much. He asked me what I would tell him if the situations were reversed.

“I would tell you to pick something that you love and we would find a way to get you the education you need to do it.” I think he was surprised by the answer. Probably also annoyed. We can’t afford for me to go to school.

If I could pick anything to do with my life, first and formost would be writing. I’m working on a story right now, as I can imagine thousands, hundreds of thousands, of other wannabe-writers are too. I really want to work on it, polish it off, and submit it for publishing. I want it. I have to work harder to make it happen. There is literally nothing stopping me.

The second thing I would pick, if money and time constraints were not an issue, would be a wilderness tour guide. I would teach adventurous people how to winter camp, canoe (though I’ve only been canoeing a handful of times in my life), hike, camp and explore. There’s a program at a college that’s an hour away from here but, realistically, I don’t see how I could make it happen. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, and when it’s time, I know I’ll be led in the right direction. Until then, though, I’m terrified (yet excited) for what’s waiting for me.

Normally I’m one to say, “embrace change!” But sometimes it happens so suddenly that you’re just not prepared. My husband held me and told me he loved me and not to worry about these things right now because it’s not happening for a few years. He said the exact right thing that I needed to hear.

I really did enjoy going on our little walk tonight, and I’d like to do it again. I think it might be time to plan a camping trip with MadEye and hopefully Kurdles too. Kurdles has never come camping with us, but I really hope she’d be interested in joining us. I think it would be a blast.

My cheeks are still burning from the cold and my body is energized. I really need to start eating more healthy and get more exercise. I bet I’ll sleep amazing tonight from that simple little walk.

An Ocean of Secrets

…buried in my heart.

A desperate yearning for love and the heart break that follows.

There was a boy in high school. I met him in grade 9 and he was cute and sweet and funny. I changed schools and later, years later,  at foot ball game I decided to drive down to the school and watch. I hadn’t done my hair (which was bleached and normally spiky) so it lay flat and lifeless. Coupled with the green baseball jersey I wore, I’m sure I looked like a cute little lesbian. I bumped into him there and we hit it off. He engaged me and invited me out. To be honest I couldn’t believe he was attracted to me because I looked my worst.

We started dating. Or at least, that’s what I thought it was at the time.  We used to make out in the field by his house under the full moon. He would tell me such romantic things, tell me I was beautiful, whisper my name while I nibbled on his ear. It was innocent, but I would have lost my virginity to him.

The night I met his mother, I had done a play at school and looked like an emo cutter. I had big black smudges on my eyes, black nail polish and grotesque red lipstick. She judged me harshly in that moment, and he probably had no refuge from her judgment. Later that night we made out on the couch while she was upstairs. It was the first time I had touched his dick. I was trying to be really good at hand jobs,  but he was uncomfortable and told me to take it easy. I felt awful. In the middle of it his mom called down the stairs that it was time for me to leave. For all I knew the bitch was listening at the top of the stairs.

The next time I was over at his house, a girl from our class had to stop by to drop something off for a project they were working on. He looked and acted really embarrassed,  and I couldn’t understand why. The way they looked at each other really through me off though. It was quite obvious that she liked him and had assumed he would be alone. I felt like a third wheel. This was the girl that every boy wants to bring home to his mother. Pretty, sweet, confident, really good in school, very social. I found her terribly perky and didn’t like her much.

After she left, we watched a movie and he sat on the opposite side of the couch. I really liked him. I had applied to be a counselor at a diabetic camp that summer, but I knew things with him were getting pretty serious, so I decided not to go. He broke up with me a few days later. And he was harsh about it too. He told me that he never really liked me like ‘that’, that things were getting too serious, and that his mother didn’t really like me anyway. He was incredibly tactless with my delicate heart.

I always had the feeling that he was just practicing with me, practicing his sweet words, practicing with his roaming hands. He left me feeling empty and broken hearted. Not long after I heard he started dating that other girl. I hoped she was a cold fish. A dead fuck.  I think they’re married now. I almost bumped into him at the mall not too long ago. I looked up and saw him, I knew he had seen me because he made too much of an effort to avoid me. I was trying to catch his eye so I could ask him how he was doing and introduce him to my child. He walked by me pointedly looking away.

That hurt the most because he made me feel so special when I was with him. He always made me feel like such a lady, someone worthy of the devotion he gave me and then in one fell swoop he took it all away. I wasn’t really special, I was just the practice model until he found the real thing.

Another boy I met in a high school night class. I fell in love with him. He was the most unique person I’d ever met. He was interesting and I was enthralled with him. He invited me out to his birthday party and we got drunk and made out. I remember his best friend said that watching us kiss looked like a lion eating a gazel but the with the gazel fighting back to take it’s own share. We always laughed at that. He was tender with me, very open and honest. I loved him dearly, and imagined an entire future with him. He was stable, passionate (our sex was incredible), and  romantic. I used to love the way he would hold me, especially after sex. We were great friends and amazing lovers. I remember walking into his parents house (I would pick him up for school, with another friend of mine who was waiting in the car.) I knew as soon as I walked in that something was different. He was stiffer, cold. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. Finally I called him on it. He admitted that he didn’t see us working out. Things were getting too intense and he felt that I was feeling way more for him than he was for me. He didn’t think it was fair to me to not feel the same way. It crushed me.

All my dreams of him, of being with him, marrying him, making babies with him, gone in an instant. I truly thought we would be together for the long haul. I don’t think he ever really realized how much I loved him. Or maybe he did but knew he would never feel like that about me. He was tender to the very end, and I appreciated that from him. We met up a few years later and now we’re pretty good friends. He actually just got married. He’s a still a really great guy and a good friend.

I like to open my heart to people, especially my lovers. I don’t think they ever really knew that, or at least I tried not to let them know that. I always yearned for love.

I had a mad crush on a friend of mine (this was the next year). I yearned for him, wanted him so badly. He never reciprocated. He was a few years older than me and we used to drive up to his dad’s cottage. Of all the cottages I’ve ever been to, even since then, I’ve never seen the stars like I did there. Once he hosted a big party there and all of us got drunk and passed out in the cots in the basement. We were pretty close friends and we fell asleep together. I woke up to him grinding on me. It was really nice. I turned around and gave him a hand job. We kissed a bit and eventually he came into my hand. I thought for sure that he had changed his mind and decided we would be together. He whispered in my ear that now was the time to find something, anything, to wipe my hands on. We were in the pitch black basement of the cottage surrounded by our sleeping friends. It was one of the first, true, erotic moments of my life.

I asked him later if it meant anything and he assured me it didn’t. It broke my heart again because I was sure that things had changed between us. I later went on to ‘date’ his friend. Well over a year later, when my feelings for him had cooled and I knew nothing would ever happen between us. We would all get drunk and his friend and I would make out. He was typically an asshole. A seriously mean asshole, but when he was drunk he treated me like gold. We would drink and make out and I loved rubbing his huge dick. I imagined losing my virginity to him. I used to grind on him in my little white panties, wondering what it would feel like to have his dick inside me. Man, he was an amazing kisser. After one such session, we went down to the kitchen for more beers and the guys were all hanging out there. He came up and hugged me close from behind. He held me like that for a while, as we drank beer and talked with the guys. I felt so special. I was surprised that he was so openly affectionate. It turned out that he was only like that when he was drunk. He treated me like absolute shit when he was sober. He barely talked to me, ever. It’s too bad he needed alcohol to open up and be honest with me. I had mentioned, “when we have sex,” because I just assumed I would lose my virginity to him and that freaked him out. He started getting meaner when he was sober, so I broke up with him. Which fucked him up real bad. He started drinking more and I went out with the guys less. Eventually he got over it, but I just thought it was mean that he couldn’t be nice to me unless he was drunk. It made me really sad too because I was falling for him. I could have loved him.

These feelings sometimes remind me of Kurdles. She is ready, willing, and able to give a beautiful, intense love and these assholes keep shoving it back in her face. Too much. Too intense. That’s how I felt with most of the guys I had been with. It was always the guys that were friends that I was ready love. A devoted servant, ready to placate them with hand jobs, and probably my virginity, if they would just love me.

Why don’t they like intense? I’ll never understand. If you show someone that kind of intensity they brush it off and call you crazy. I call it passionate and fuck anyone who says otherwise. I feel like she and I are of the same ilk when it comes to loving in a relationship. I want someone who is willing to fall with me, into passion. Who will be as intense with me as I feel for them. Who will fuck with raw passion, fuck the love into my pussy. Eye contact, heavy breathing, deep kisses and soft touches.

I think people are moving away from such intimate passion. There are new rules, stupid rules. Don’t be too clingy, wait 3 days before you call someone. I’ll never understand it. Luckily, I don’t have to. In my opinion though, if a guy wants to be with me, he’ll show interest, not a lack of it. My husband loves me. I love him dearly for all my whining about him. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about being too clingy.



The End is Nigh

How would you fuck, if you knew the end of the world was nigh? What if the world was going to end in exactly one hour?Who would you fuck?

If time and space were of no concern, and you could choose anyone to fuck in the next hour, who would it be? How would you fuck them? Would you fuck slow and languorously? Relishing every minute of your last hour? Or fast and furious, eager to get it done before the world ends? Would you choose someone that would otherwise find the encounter awkward or unsettling? It might be fun to choose someone who would find it awkward otherwise.

I would try to cum as the world ended. What a powerful way to end it all, with a great, big, bang of spasming muscles and a loud moan. La petite mort.

Who would I choose? Him. I would choose him. Our kisses would be tender and yielding and fierce with urgency. I would want to take my time to enjoy it, but I wouldn’t want to miss cumming at the end.

I would stroke his face, and look into his eyes, holding him close to me. His arms would encircle my waist and we’d stay like that for a while, looking into each other’s eyes, trying to fathom how it came to this. Our clothes would come off with a little awkward fumbling and laughter. We’d tumble to the bed, experiencing the newness of each other. Kisses long and deep.

I would put my hand on his chest, and rub the hair there. I’d want him to talk to me, tell me all the intense things he would be thinking about, no matter how inconsequential. I’d urge him to keep his thoughts, as I busy myself sucking his dick. I’d suck the intensity out of his brain while I play with his balls. He would be nervous and I would find it endearing, all the while sucking on his dick. I would want him to moan, and call out my name.

I would have him take me while I was on my back. We’d discuss the finer nuances of life as we thrust together, sweat beading on our skin. I’d make him hold me close, as the fear of the end of the world and our orgasms drew near. I’d whisper to him that I love him and that I’m sorry we never got the chance to see things work out between us. He’d lean close and nibble on my ear, breathing heavy and sucking on my neck. For once I wouldn’t be worried about who might see the dreaded hickey. We would be in the moment, fucking, sucking, licking.

He would tell me that I’m beautiful, and that he can’t wait to see the look on my face when I cum. He’d continue thrusting, getting us both close to the end. He’d lean back a bit and play with my nipple, watching me throw my head back, revelling in the pleasure of it all. I’d watch him smile, a secret smile that only lovers know, and I’d grind harder. Finally, I would look at him with sadness in my heart, knowing that this is the end for us. I would tell him that I love him, that I’ve always loved him, since before I even met him and that I’m glad we could be together in the end.

Then we would cum together. As cliche as the movies. We would cum in rolling waves and the world would blow up around us, tearing our love asunder.

The End.

How would you fuck, if  it was the end of the world?

Turning Tables

(The title of this post is a line from an Adele song called “Turning Tables”.  I’ve been listening to her while I blog and I feel like her songs mimic what I’m going through right now, so I derive a lot of inspiration from her.)

I woke up today to my husband referring to me as grumpy. He called me grumpy all day but I wasn’t. I wasn’t actually grumpy until I had to leave for work when he had called me grumpy for the umpteenth time. Fuck off. I was fine, until you had to push my fucking buttons.

I left for work early. Before I left, he wanted to kiss and cuddle me, after he had called me grumpy. I wanted to call him an asshole and tell him to fuck off. How dare you ask me to hug you, expect me to kiss you when you’ve spent the day calling me grumpy?

That made him mad, and so he moved his van out of the driveway and I went to work. As I arrived at work, he texted me something so ridiculous that I couldn’t believe he had texted it.

“I’m officially done with you. You are selfish and take advantage of anyone who shows you kindness as well as bully others into getting your way. I’m taking my ring off and would like you to sleep somewhere else tonight. I expect you to be here by 7:45am tomorrow morning not a minute later.”

Um? Thank you, you fucking coward, for letting me know that via text.

I called him on my break and I told him it would be easier if he left, and then on the weekends I would leave so he could spend time with the kids.

“This is my house,”

“No, it’s the kids house.”

“I”m not leaving my house.”

“But you expect me to leave my home and sleep somewhere else?”

He talked to me about how he felt these things every time we fight and that it just needed to be said. “I thought about how you would say it, and you would just say it, no matter what.”

But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t tell him this shit 5 days before Christmas. I wouldn’t just blurt out that I want a divorce 5 days before fucking Christmas. “You would definitely say it, dear,”

“Don’t call me dear, I’m not your dear anymore. I’m not anything to you anymore.”

There was a long silence and he asked me if I had anything else to say.

“Is there something you want me to say? Is there something I should say?”

“Whatever you’re thinking,”

“I don’t feel like we’re compatible.”

Longer silence.


I told him I’d see him tomorrow and hung up. Then I called him back and asked him how we were going to explain this to the kids. Because I sure as hell am not going to go to his family’s place for Christmas faking a great big happy smile.

He told me that’s why he didn’t want me to come home tonight, because he didn’t want to be up until 3am talking. He can’t function if he doesn’t have his sleep, and he can’t afford to miss any more work. I get that, but still, it was cold.

He also got pretty upset about me having a bad day. He likened it to me having lazy days and how nothing ever gets done around the house. I seriously hate cleaning. I do the bare minimum. It’s not something I’m proud of, and I’ve tried to make myself better, but it’s so tedious. The bordom of cleaning fucking kills me. It’s not like we live in squalor, but our house could definitely be cleaner, especially with me being home all day. I just have no motivation. None. I think I’m falling into a bit of a funk, perhaps a touch of depression. I hate to admit it, but there it is.

He might know me very well, but he doesn’t really know me though. Later in the night he left a message on my answering machine.

“Listen, I was doing a little bit of thinking and it was wrong of me to ask you to leave your home. I take back what I said about you having to sleep somewhere else tonight, you can come home, this is where you live and I’m not going to make you feel like you don’t have a place to be…I’ll be asleep when you get home.”

When I first read his text, part of me was relieved. The other part of me died.

I’m a nobody. I’m a dependant housewife with retail skills. I have nothing I can offer to support my children. I’ll have to go to financial aid tomorrow and see what, if anything, I’m eligible for. It’s horrible and embarrassing and it’s my own fault.

Right now I’m so sad. I’m so sad and tired. I’m looking at my wedding ring and resenting the way it was given to me. He who wouldn’t even deign to present me with an engagement ring because the very idea of them offends his sensibilities. He who proposed to me the night before our wedding with an engagement ring my mother gave to him just so I could have one. The wedding ring my mom had made for me. I’m getting petty now, but I don’t care anymore. All I wanted was an engagement ring. Of all the things a woman wants (expensive dress, crazy rings, ridiculously outrageously priced weddings), I never wanted anything over the top, nothing crazy expensive. All I wanted was an engagement ring, and it was the one thing he didn’t want to give me.

“I know I have a fickle heart and a bitterness, and a wondering eye and heaviness in my head, but don’t you remember, don’t you remember the reason you loved me before?” – Adele, Don’t You Remember

My sister recently told me that she was so happy to be out of her relationship. (They broke up a month ago.) She said that by the end she was eating her cereal as quietly as she could because the sound of the spoon clinking on the bowl would bug the shit out of her (now ex) boyfriend. He would get annoyed with her for making silly faces, which is sad, since she is amazing at making silly faces. Now she’s free. She can eat the way she wants, she can truly be herself.

I want that. I want to be myself. I don’t want to be crucified for being myself. I’m sloppy and forgetful and I don’t care. I’m laid back and there’s a lot of shit I consider unimportant that my husband thinks I should care about. I care about my children, and their welfare. I care that they are clothed and fed properly.  I care about my family. I care about my husband. I like to make sure he’s taken care of, I fucking cook and serve his ass dinner. The last time we fought, I didn’t serve him dinner and he didn’t end up eating anything at all. He would rather starve. What the fuck is that? I call that spoiled.

“There’s a side to you that I never knew, never knew, all the things you say they were never true, never true and the games you play, you would always win, always win.” -Adele, Set Fire to the Rain

Why do I put up with it?

Because I love him. When things are good, they’re so good. But our fighting is coming on more frequently and I truly believe when I say that we are not compatible. He told me during our conversation tonight that he deserves better, someone who gives a shit about living in a clean house. And I think I deserve better too. Someone who doesn’t mind that I just don’t like cleaning. Someone who will find my faults endearing and love me for me, instead of being frustrated and angry with me all the time.

We’re supposed to go get a family portrait done on Thursday to give out for Christmas gifts. What the fuck are we supposed to do about that?

I’m tired of caring. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of being so hurt. I’m tired of being sad. I’m tired of being caged.

“God only knows what we’re fighting for, all that I say, you say more. I won’t let you close enough to hurt me no more, no, I won’t ask you, you to just desert me, I can’t give you what you think you gave me, it’s time to say goodbye to turning tables, to turning tables. Next time I’ll be braver, I’ll be my own saviour, when the thunder calls for me, next time I’ll be braver, I’ll be my own saviour, standing on my own two feet” – Adele, Turning Tables