Hot Fudge Sunday

Last Thing’s First

I had sent a private facebook message to mi esposo after I saw the hateful message from the JV squad I mentioned in my previous post. He tells me that I’ve been posting hateful shit for a month and a half and that she’s read most of it because my blog is public. Nice to know that one of my latest fans is also a fan of my husband’s cock…

I messaged him back that while I knew I shouldn’t take my anger at him out on her, she is the other woman (as mentioned in the previous post) and I have a right to be upset about all that. He hasn’t replied yet.

If she continues to read my blog, hopefully she’ll feel compelled to go back and read the archives from years past. Maybe she’ll see how deeply and–yes–madly in love with him I’ve been for all these years. If she is a human being, maybe she has a heart and can figure out that mine is broken. No, it’s not her fault. She couldn’t have taken him if he didn’t want to be taken. But she knows he’s still married. Maybe she’ll encourage him to file ASAP so they can put their relationship on a clean track.

Speaking of tracks

My brother and uncle came to visit. I told my brother about the Border Patrol’s prehire testing, about the pushups, situps, and stairsteps I cannot do. He proceeded to do 20 pushups in less than 20 seconds. I tried to do pushups and got 1.5 before my back and knee screamed louder than a clichĂ© horror movie chick.

I am not on as fast of a track to a healthy lifestyle as I’d like, and I’m certainly not ready to run around a track, or even down the block or away from the masked gunman. Is there a thing like a dating site, but for people to meet study buddies and work out buddies and such–something completely asexual in nature?

Mother nature

I remember when I got my first real period (as opposed to the time a few years before that when I started bleeding after forced penetration from a family member I should have been able to trust). I was so excited when the real deal came. I actually jumped for joy.

Subsequent cycles were usually met with joy (if I’d been active) or indifference.

Later, when Lord Muddybutt and I were trying to make babies, periods were met with sadness and a sense of loss. Miscarriages, of course, were met with overwhelming sadness, guilt, and feelings of inadequacy. Periods that delayed brought either worry (if I hadn’t wanted to conceive) or joy (when I had wanted to conceive). Husband says he remembers me bleeding a bit during my pregnancy with Luna and that I freaked out about it due to the two prior miscarriages (one a few months before her conception).

I bled at the beginning of my pregnancy with Freya as well. I had a few times in my life where I didn’t have periods at all for multiple months (the most recent being from after birthing Freya until the drive west this June, although I did spot occasionally during that time) without an explanation. I had some painful cycles and some between-cycle pains. I know I had a cyst during the miscarriage six months before conceiving Freya.

Since the drive out here (a 3 month time span) I have had seven heavy-bleeding periods, with spotting randomness between. I’m currently on another one of those heavy ones, complete with annoying cramping.
People say the stress in my marriage delayed the periods, but then claim the stress of separation is causing them to return with a vengeance. I probably just need to see an OBGyn and get advice.

The last time my husband and I fucked was June 20th or so, cowgirl style. I enjoyed it immensely. A three month period of celibacy hadn’t been on my agenda, but maybe my body is taking this time to cleanse itself thoroughly. In some cultures, menses is a time of purity. Women aren’t to be touched. Since there isn’t anyone touching me, I guess I can pretend I’m part of such a culture temporarily.

For fuck’s sake

Oh, there are plenty of men and women who want to touch me, who want to do things to me that would make Jenna Jameson blush. I just don’t see the point. For starters, I don’t think it is right for me, as a mother, to bring random people around my kids. If I really started to care for someone at some point they’d have to meet, especially if marriage was the goal, but as I’m still legally married to a man that I’m still in love with (in spite of him), marriage isn’t the goal of any relationship that might come my way.

There’s a guy here I met around the same time the husband claims to have met his potage du jour, a tall and muscular Byronic hero with big dreams and child support payments. The guy is attractive, and when he gets excited his Caribbean flavor spills into his speech patterns. I’ve kept him in The Friend Zone. Although I have met him in person a couple of times, we mostly chat via technology.

We talk about our marriages (he’s finalized his own divorce only just recently), our education (he’s pursuing a business degree), our employment (he actually works for Hell-Mart in the same shift as my estranged spouse, which made my mother LOL), and various other innocuous topics. Any passes he’s made have gotten brushed off; he knows I’m still hung up on someone who doesn’t want me and he’s willing to wait around (although I told him that he really ought to go out and find someone to ease his own fuckstration). I am not in love with this man and he hasn’t met my children.

Some friends say I shouldn’t hold myself back from relationships. Others say I should hold back for a few years at the least. Some say I should try to keep a cactus alive first. Some good advice I’m tempted to take is to schedule every minute of my day, every day of the week, right down to having hot fudge or on Sundays. For now, I’m tempted to create a dummy Facebook profile with nothing but a picture of my right hand (Handa) and add her as “in a relationship”, because she’s been my faithful lover for all of my sexual life, there for me when others weren’t. Handa and I have even had innumerable threesomes (most of them with my husband).

Exploding penguins

I have a mountain of homework and some dishes to wash. I wrote this post at 9.09p but asked Posterous to send it out in 5hrs; if it listens, those of you who read it may see the time stamp and assume that I was up all night. It’s entirely possible that I will be, but I would prefer not to be; it really depends on how time consuming annotating 7 pages of bibliographic content by and regarding rhetorical theorist Lester Faigley turns out to be. There are plans for all of us (me, the girls, my mother, my siblings, and my uncle) to head out to the lake tomorrow. All calls will be routed to a call center in Mumbai (the passcode is *****).

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