When I was little, on the farm in Iowa, during the spring the clouds would darken to black, the lightening would flash and the wind would blow. I remember hearing the radio, “If you can hear the sound of my vioce, take cover immediately!”
We would scramble down to our basement which was little more than a glorified damp, dark hole in the ground. If it had been Georgia instead of Iowa, the place would have been infested with snakes. There was one small window that lit the small space everytime the lightening flashed. We could hear the wind howl and the hail pepper the tin farm buildings. It was always dark and always scary waiting for the tornado. We would have our flashlights and a radio. And we would wait. Most of the time the waits were short, but to a kid of 4 or so, it seemed like forever. But what choice did we have? Against such an awful force of nature, there was absolutely nothing we could do except wait for it to either get us, or blow past.
And so it is with Arwyn, sometimes. The helpless feeling of having to hunker down in the darkness and wait. Wait for whatever it is to get me or just pass.
This morning I awoke alone but it wasn’t long before I had some company. Thomas is in the habit of coming into to our room as soon as he wakes up. This morning he drifted back to sleep.
I got up and padded down to hall to find Arwyn laying on the couch with her blanket and pillow. Both of us snore, but Arwyn is less tolerant of that sort of thing so often opts to move. I suppose that’s better than kicking and poking me, like she used to do. If I want to make her stop snoring, putting my hands on her upper thigh or on her breast usually does it.
I gave her a hug and a series of kisses and told her I loved her and just sort of kneeled by the couch with my face against hers, occasionally kissing. I was liking it. Alot. And then it came to me that if I kept up with this and persisted, one (or both) of us was going to end up mad, frustrated and resentful. It was time to stop. So I got up and rejoined Thomas in our bed.
The idea seems to be that when I push too much, too far it spoils whatever goodness there is in a moment. I’m better off just enjoying whatever is there and not grabbing for more. And just walking away.
The reality of the low libido person seems to be that there is always some degree of discomfort along the lines of it being too much, too intense, too hard, too soft, too long, too cold, too hot, too much work, too much effort. A half-full glass is too full.
The high libido will experience discomfort along the opposite line of not enough time, not enough intensity, not long enough, not enthusiastic enough, not hot enough, not cool enough. A half-full glass is not full enough.
It was difficult walking away from a perfectly pleasant encounter. I would have liked to have had the glass filled the rest of the way, but Arwyn was already starting to drown. She complained that the embracing was starting to hurt her back. Plus there was the headache. She was starting to try to think of other complaints but I could see where things were going. Like those early days on the plains, I could see the black clouds moving in from a distance. Time to get back in the basement and hunker down.