Even though she and I are polar opposities on the libido scale we do share some experiences and feelings that are very similar. She commented about how, when she reads about others having fabulous sex lives, it makes her angry and sad. I share this quality with her, at times. I suppose it is a lot of envy and jealousy. In Dewdrop’s case, there is probably a sense of isolation. She’s the most outspoken LL person I’ve met in blogland. But she’s not alone because obviously all of us male bloggers who have shit for sex lives have wives who feel similarly to Dewdrop, only without her spirit of compromise and accomodation.
I recently saw the movie The Notebook. This is a classic love story in the spirit of Titanic or other love stories where the rich girl falls in love with the poor boy and they have to overcome the objections of her family and endure all sorts of obstacles before eventually getting together. Of course, they do eventually get together, which makes this such a sweet story. But after watching it, I felt such a profound sense of sadness. I actually had an analogous experience to this movie, but my story does not have the happy ending the movie does. I ended up moving on, for better or worse.
Reading blogs like Ed and Sue’s, Housewyfe and Caveman’s and more recently Leela and Phoenix leave me feeling happy for them but sad for me. I have always wanted that deep intimacy, romance and connection. I long for it so deeply within my soul, my very bones resonate with a rattle of lonliness that sometimes wakes me in the darkest part of the night.
Every morning is a new day and every morning I try to make the dream come true. Okay, maybe not every morning, but most mornings. This is what drives my quest for spending two minutes of warm, loving intimacy with my wife every morning.
Two minutes. That’s it. Two minutes to build a romance and a relationship. 120 seconds. Less that 0.001 of a day to make tbe whole day and turn things around. It has been the most elusive quest ever. Arwyn always has somewhere she’d rather be and something else she’d rather be doing.
This morning, she woke up early having a coughing fit. As she sat up, I put my hand on her back. This is where the sadness often overtakes me. I am trying to offer comfort, but my touch seems to cause more anxiety. She got out of bed (our boys were still asleep) and got some water. Then something to eat. Then sat down at the computer. I brushed my teeth, came out, looked over and sighed deeply. I came over and kissed her. Once. Twice. The third time she turned her head and I opened my eyes to see her grimace.
The bitter bile of rejection washes through me.
Such is the way my Saturday begins. A day that is supposedly less filled with obligations. But weekends have more obligations without the structure of a work schedule. They present promise while mostly delivering disappoinment. I really don’t look forward to them very much. I don’t look forward to going home in the evenings.
I love my wife. I want to love her more. I want to be loved by her. I really can look at her and love her. But like watching a wonderfully sweet movie like The Notebook, I’m left with a profound sense of sadness at my longing.
Several of you have inquired about my email address. It is now visible in my profile, but I have to warn you that I can be notoriously poor about answering or responding. But you never know…