July 5, 2005



Over the past couple of days, I’ve made a few serious attempts to communicate productively. After being interrupted, I did ask her about me generally and how she felt about me. She said that I was hard to talk to, which is true. She acknowledged the defensiveness she sometimes feels.

Last night I tried a little lighter approach We talked about some of our college memories, which was pretty nonthreatening and pleasant. At the risk of pushing my luck I got some questions from the Ungame. All it is, is essentially questions like:

“How do yo feel about growing older?”

“What is your most prized material possession?”

“What sort of advice would you give a young couple contemplating marriage?”

“If you could do any part of your life over, what would it be?”

These are deep questions, but not specifically threatening. However she got really uncomfortable after the first one, which is the first one above. Then she begged off entirely saying it was too late at night.

Okay, so it was late. But she simply did not feel comfortable talking to me about any of these questions. She keeps saying she’d like us to be friends. Aren’t these the sort of things you could discuss among friends? I’m at a total loss, here.

So this morning, while lying in bed with her sleeping in our customary inverted position, with her feet at my head, I began nuzzling around her bottom. She darted away, “Sorry.” I suppose an apology is something since it’s more than I normally get. I was still sore and hurt from being pushed away AGAIN. I wasn’t out for sex as the kids were already up. I just wanted a little intimacy and affection.

As you can tell by now, I am practiacally starving for some sort of intimacy. It is THE major reason why I got married in the first place. Maybe some people are okay being single. I really was trying to do the right and honest thing by looking for intimacy within a marriage. Isn’t that why God created the institution? I understand that I have done poorly and was hideously ill prepared. But I’ve been trying to grow and improve as I go.

Lonliness is one of the cardinal signs of a marriage in trouble. And I’ve been there for YEARS! I cry out to God, “How much longer?” This blog, and you, the readers, that’s where I go. And of course, there is God. But I feel the need for comfort just a bit more on the tangible side.

I have flirted with the thought of striking up a prison penpal type of relationship. For some odd reason, striking up such a relationship holds some amount of appeal to me. The idea of someone who would actually be waiting everyday to read what I have to say. Someone who would have the time to know me and be known. Writing is my first and best medium. I like doing it, but long for the intimacy of a more personal exchange. Someone who was convicted of, say murder, would be in for 20 years to life. That would be about right. About the time the kids get out on their own. Something to look forward to, maybe.

Maybe that’s crazy thinking. I’m not willing to walk out now and I’m not sure I would in the forseeable future. But having a fairly concrete “Parole date” for me would concievably bring some benefit to my mood and outlook. Knowing that in 15-20 years, I might be able to pursue a life for myself.

My insurance card says that Elmo, my youngest, “expires” in the year 2020. Would establishing such a terminal date have any benefit?

“Arwyn, you have until the year 2020 to either make this work or not. I am willing to promise you at least that long. In the meantime, we need to work to get us pulled up by our boot straps so that neither of us feel constrained and trapped by financial constraints. I don’t think we benefit by feeling trapped, anyway. So let’s work to untangle the mess we are in. “

Ill concieved? Probably.

She’s presently grousing and complaining about the amount of time I spend writing. Sorry I’m not being more productive towards the pursuits *she* thinks I should be doing. But she’s the one that’s been on the computer from 9-2, not me. I didn’t pick this up until after 1:30. Now she’s walled herself up in our room.

What the hell am I supposed to do? You mean you want me to pay someone else to listen to this crap?

Please. Go sell crazy somewhere else. We’re all stocked up, here.


I just sauntered over to Jay’s place and looked at what he wrote. I am letting it roll around a bit. I understand what he’s saying and I’ve just said the same thing above in a more convoluted way. To love and be loved in an adult and recirpocal way. Is that asking too much?