Let This Be Stated in Book Seven: Reconstruction 2020

This shall be a recap of my weekend and an ongoing narrative of thought from today. However, before I continue, I shall state that which has been obvious but not shared in such specific wording:
My wife has ZERO emotional awareness. Her E.Q. is at 0.0. That isn’t me dissing her or throwing shade or being a jerk. That is me finally coming to grips with the biggest, most frustrating, most maddening thing in our failing relationship. While everyone approaches emotions differently (their own or someone else’s), Martha seems to be exhibiting signs of such an emotional disconnect as to be alarming.

I updated a little over the weekend, so I won’t go into depth on what I’ve already said. I’ll simply lay out what I feel are highlights that need to be covered.

Saturday, Martha had laid out some items to thaw for dinner and I asked her about them. SHE actually had a recipe she found that she wanted to try! Awesome. However, at around 6, when I asked her if she wanted or needed help with the recipe, she had put everything away in the refrigerator. I asked after her about it and she told me that the boy she went out with last week asked her out again and she was trying to make up her mind. AT THIS POINT: Since I imagine I’ll be discussing him more and more, we’ll call this boy VINCENT. So she had put everything away just in case she decided to go out. Fine. Just… let me know what you bloody decide. I check back at 7:00 because… dinner for humans and dogs alike. What is Martha going to do? She decided too late and Vincent went out with his friends instead. Well, kudos to Vincent. He learned something that I never did. If “the girl” is taking too long to decide, just hang with your friends. I far too often would simply wait for her decision. And as we know, it can take her forever to make a decision of any kind. So… Martha waited too long and had to stay home. But she was no longer in the mood to try the recipe so… fuck it. We both just made food for ourselves and called it a night.

Especially as she is now (apparently) going to be spending more time with Vincent… it is time for her to get the hell out of my house. So on Sunday, I had scheduled an apartment visit. In order to make it make the most sense, I pitched it as a walk for the dog. Nala still isn’t great with the car… if we’re on the interstate, she’s okay, but anything else and she’s terrified because she doesn’t know what is going to happen. AS I AM DRIVING, I can’t do much for her there. And after 10 minutes of Martha telling me what Nala is doing, I finally decide that clearly Martha has no concept of what to do for a vulnerable creature feeling fear. So I clearly, calmly, slowly instruct her to pet the damned dog. If Nala is scared, pet her. If she’s worried, show her comfort. If she’s uneasy, soothe her. How is this so hard to understand?! So what does Martha do? She pats Nala on the head and goes back to her phone. That’s it. WHAT?! So I try to pet the dog, contorting myself into uncomfortable positions while trying to stay on the road. At which point I announce, very pointedly, “This is really hard to do while I’m trying to drive!” (UGH) Nope, Martha… still staring at her phone. So I just ask. What is so important on her phone? What is taking her attention? She’s re-reading her science textbook. FACE:PALM. K. Good to know that even while in a car, after I’ve expressly asked you to pet the dog for her benefit, re-reading your homework is more important than emotionally comforting the dog you claim to love.

As we pulled into the town, Martha is quickly dismissing the entire experience. She can’t be more specific but continues to call the town “depressing.” She isn’t wrong, per se. The town has less than 800 people and most of the houses are for sale. But the apartment complex in the town is actively advertising that they have availability for every size of apartment so… get to it! We pull up at the apartments and… it actually reminds me a bit of Schitt’s Creek. The whole “apartment complex” looks like several motel buildings re-purposed. Martha is already saying No, no, no, no. They look too small, too dirty, too unappealing in a depressing town that is too small, too dirty, and too unappealing. “Besides”, she says, “There are a lot of opportunities back in IF.” Okay. So I follow up by asking about them. She has scoped out 4 or 5 places. GOOD! What are they asking for rent? She doesn’t know. Because “scoping out” means… checked their appearance. She hasn’t phoned the numbers or talked to anyone about them. Kindly, without the bitterness or anger I felt, I suggested that she start making those phone calls. AGAIN because… fuck if this isn’t her all over… excuses! “Well… some of them look like they don’t provide air conditioning.” Fine. NO, no. This is good. I need this energy to push me to the place where I start dropping diplomacy and kindness. START MAKING THE PHONE CALLS OR YOU WON’T HAVE A PLACE TO LIVE! Haven’t said that to her yet. Genuinely considering it. Because… lady? What the fuck? Actively talking to Vincent but NOT actively looking for a place to live? What the fuck is wrong with you?

We continue our walk. Nala is having a blast smelling an entirely new place. And out of nowhere something hits me that I decide to share. Presently, paying for Martha’s schooling and being a one income household in Rural Iowa… we’re not doing terribly. We’re not exactly saving money but we’re not hemorrhaging either. But it dawned on me. If Martha was working full time… just about anywhere… and contributing to the household coffers… we’d be at almost 6 figures. Meaning we’d be able to save about 5 figures a year. NOW… in my head I’m thinking all of this because… imagine if I find a woman that has no kids and no debt (impossible, I know, but just imagine)… as long as she isn’t as “lazy” as Martha… ANY woman would be a net economic positive for the household. But TO Martha, I simply mention how much more financially secure our household would be if she worked at all. Not to push her into working or even push her out of her studies… just to say… here’s a real world thing. She mentioned that she was “very seriously considering” getting a part-time job this summer. K. I mean… considering the separation and living on your own and the fact that we’re kind of headed towards divorce… making some of your own motherfucking money is probably a GOOD IDEA. But whatevs.

Then? Then she steered that conversation boat STRAIGHT into a head-on collision. Because then she said, “I’ve been thinking lately and… I think I’m going to take as many courses at Community College as I can and then stop.” I was confused and I asked her to elaborate. She meant… not finish getting her second degree. Just… take a bunch of classes and call it at that. She reckons that having those classes would still, at least, make her more employable. DOING WHAT? She still has no idea. She is turning 40 this year, is likely to be divorced within 12 months, and is considering just… not completing the degree that she’s been ignoring EVERYTHING in pursuit of. So, here, ladies and gentlemen, we have a prime example of someone who isn’t/hasn’t spent an ounce of energy in honestly contemplating what she wants in life! What. The. Fuck?! I mean.... granted… the last ten years, I’ve been the one zealously chasing down dreams. Dream 1: Law School. Done. Dream 2: Licensed Attorney. Done. Dream 3: Practicing Attorney. Done. And all the while, trying to encourage/help/move Martha to whatever wherever she wanted to be. Because I was trying to keep the marriage from falling apart. All the while, Martha spending ZERO time and energy contemplating… apparently… anything. Apparently, Martha’s entire existence was “Good. I’m married and my husband has ambitions. His ambitions will take care of us while I can spend my time complaining about my life, hating everything, and making it all his issue.” Yeah… I’m pretty pissed off here. You can make your story whatever you want it to be at any point of your life as long as you decide to work hard. And here we have Martha! For one year, she did nothing. No job. No school. Didn’t take care of the house and didn’t fuck her husband. NOT a great way to live your life, lady. So now she’s finishing up Year 2. No job. 2 Classes that she spends literally every minute of every day obsessing over. Barely takes care of the house. Completely disconnected from her dog and her husband. AND NOW SHE’S THINKING SHE WON’T FINISH HER DEGREE and has nothing, nothing, no concept or idea of what she’d do instead.

At this point… as I don’t want to spend the emotional energy required if I actually DID say what I was thinking… I’ll bite my tongue. But what I am thinking? “If you want to be a 15 year old girl for the rest of your life just fucking move to your parents and live that damned fantasy!” FUCK!

So we finished the walk. Went back home. Started preparing the dish that Martha wanted to make Saturday but cancelled while she overthought the Vincent thing. So, I made a joke… maybe lighten the mood. And I said, “So do you and Vincent have plans for Friday?” She said yes, and was shocked that I could guess that. Y’know… she’s allowed to do what she wants. She is. But this shit is really starting to absolutely PISS ME OFF! I don’t care if she’s emotionally idiotic. I don’t care if she genuinely thinks she’s just “making a friend.” If you eat dinner one-on-one with a man, and then have Valentine’s Day Plans… that isn’t “friends”… that’s dating. Get the fuck out of my house. So I guess… my Valentine’s Day is going to be.... me, Nala, video games, and porn. Or… really… what any weekend would look like anyway?

I have a friend (online friend) that reads both my Prosebox and my Fetlife. She quite accurately stated that I seem… less inhibited… in my fetlife journaling. One could look at that and think “Obviously, Fetlife is about loosing inhibitions so you would write more freely there.” But I realized that was what felt like permission to write freely. Why would I need permission to write freely?

And it occurred to me. Because I’m so diplomatic and emotionally sensitive (living in a world where emotionally sensitive has no value, no place, and no refuge)… that I feel in some ways that my permission to write freely in THIS space has been revoked. Like… writing about my fears, my wants, my desires… this no longer feels like a place where I can be as “exposed” without knowing that someone or something is going to come along and make me regret being exposed. And it isn’t just shit posting trolls, either. There are genuinely marvelous people whom I deeply care for on here that honestly try their best to be helpful or encouraging or thought provoking… but their reactions to what I write simply… upset me. Because as readers, many of us tend to pour ourselves into what we’re reading. If I sit here and discuss a case involving a teenage runaway stealing from a store… there are going to be MULTIPLE different likely impassioned perspectives. And that’s good. That’s important. But if we take that same approach “multiple different impassioned perspectives” and apply it to something a lot… closer to home… like my sexuality, or identity, or struggles, or self-care… then the “multiple different impassioned perspectives” can be… off putting. Upsetting. Because I’m not looking for judgment. I’m not looking for “proof on why wanting what I want means I’m a bad person.” I’m not looking for that. Here… I’ll share some of what I put on Fetlife (it’ll sound a lot like I used to here) and give you an example:

BEGIN

So… my Wife has a date for Valentine’s Day. A holiday where, despite my genuine and passionate desire to be a romantic holiday that ended in sex… was not something she ever acquiesced to. You see, I am a believer in romance… romantic gestures, romantic gifts, romantic moments. Martha… is not. So I was adamantly prohibited from doing any “romantic gestures or romantic overtures” on Valentine’s Day. Or ever. So scratch that part of the holiday. So then… Valentine’s Day could for many be a wonderful evening for sexual fun times. But then… this is my wife we’re talking about. In our entire marriage there were only 4 non-consecutive years where she even allowed sexual intercourse. And I honestly cannot remember a single Valentine’s Day that ended in sexual intercourse.

So… we have the first Valentine’s Day after I began separation proceedings. Martha has a date. I’m home alone. In many ways, fine. Not an issue. Part of the growth needed. But it does percolate an idea, and that idea becomes a fear. My wife was with many other men prior to marrying me. For her, getting back on the horse sexually (if she decides to) won’t be an issue at all. Fuck, we didn’t even have sex that much so for her… perhaps I was merely the resting period anyway! BUT that isn’t the same for me. Martha is the only person I’ve been with. And I certainly have an abundant wealth of desires I would like to investigate, a plethora of experiences I would love to have… but there is more than simple ignorance in my heart at this. The ignorance is there, it is the ignorance of HOW? and it is strong and valid. I could barely get my own wife in the mood let alone attract women in my 100 mile radius it seems. So that is one hurdle. Simply finding someone that would want to be in the same room with me in an intimate setting of any kind. But then there is the additional hurdle. And this is where I most wanted to focus.

You see… I am of the unenviable position where I earnestly think “I need to get laid” but it is not of a “horny” perspective or even a “getting over someone by getting under someone else” perspective. It is, honestly… can I attract someone that I, too, am attracted to… and would that person be willing to have sex with me.... and would I even be able to have sex with her… and how would I feel afterwards? I mean… this is the big thing, ultimately. I waited for the woman I was to marry before having sex. I have never been in a relationship where my sexual partner was not in that role. What is worse is that even the woman that was in that role would make me feel unattractive through both her intentional and unintentional words and behavior. So… from a spiritual, emotional, physical place… I am of the opinion that I could use a good shagging. But I do put the caveat in there that it needs to be a good shagging by someone I’m attracted to. Because I have given thought to the alternative and the truth is? That would be emotionally devastating for me. If I were to simply shag someone because they were willing… and I wasn’t attracted to them… that would destroy me. First, it would make me feel terrible for simply “having sex with someone who was little more than a hole to me” because I am not that person. I never want to be that person. I take an oath that I would rather die painfully than become that person. Second, it would eradicate any self-esteem I have or would ever have. If the only people willing to have sex with me are ones I am not attracted to… then fuck. I should have stayed in the miserable celibate marriage. Because if I can’t attract people I’m attracted to… what’s the goram point? Finally, if I were to shag someone I wasn’t attracted to? I would hate my younger self even more than I do now. That attractive spirited boy who could have had models and actresses but for his dedication to “remaining pure for his future bride.” Well… the future bride was a let down and now you’re fat, fighting chronic pain, and largely alone in the world. So… thanks for using the best years of our life and being so “pure and good” without a damned thing to show for it.

So at the end of the day… that is my fear, though I can’t concisely state it. I am a man that honestly needs to get laid because I need to know I can. But I am afraid that I won’t attract someone I am attracted to. And that fear is not a “for now” fear. That fear is a “no matter what I do, how hard I work, what I attempt… I am afraid that I won’t attract someone I am attracted to. And I am afraid that if I ever do… I won’t be able to have sex with them. And I am afraid that if I ever do… I’ll be an utter disappointment to them. And so, like a man attempting to invent an advanced A.I.... I realize what I want to accomplish, but fear both the possibility of accomplishing it and the possibility of never accomplishing it.

END

Well.... so the rest of my day looks as follows:

Finalize Calendar for the Week (I only have court on Thursday)
Work on Calendar for February 17th to March 21st. Boss’ trial schedule looks intense so… may have to offer some pretty bullshit plea deals.
During Lunch- call my attorney to check in on paperwork progress.
Then that’s it for work. Tonight at home is pretty much just… tell Martha to get her shit together; cook some Cordon Bleu, and call it a night.