Tag Archives: my sex life

Wisdom toothless crazy cat lady.

Somehow I have found the motivation to start writing again despite the urge just to sink back down into a pit of lethargy. I wish I could find the desire to write more, but it’s just gone. I’m sure it’ll come back eventually, but right now I have very little to write about. I am horribly uninspired. For this reason, I didn’t do NaNoWriMo. I thought about entering a short story competition this month but I know it’s not going to happen. Somewhere in the deepest darkest depths of my psyche, I’m sure there’s a little voice screaming, “You abject fucking failure!”, but, to be quite frank, I can’t even rouse myself from my lethargy to self-flagellate myself for once.

I know this makes me sound really unhappy, but I’m not really. I wouldn’t say I’m happy (and I’m certainly not content) but I’ve definitely experienced far darker days than this. What I will say is that my days just seem incredibly humdrum. It was, of course, Thanksgiving recently and then it was my birthday, but every single day, whether it’s a day of celebration or not, seems to be exactly the same. They all just blend into each other.

Sometimes I wonder whether I should be concerned that I’m not unhappy. I’m somebody (correction: used to be somebody) who needs (needed) a lot of stimulation, variety and change and yet here I am appparently OK with leading a very narrow, little existence. Besides Midwestern Man, I don’t have any friends. It’s so difficult to build meaningful friendships, as most people here seem to prefer having casual acquaintances. I can’t be bothered having superficial casual chit-chat, so I just stay at home, hanging out with my ever increasing menagerie of cats and dogs and, of course, my husband. On the rare occasions when I do go out, I have fun, but I would have been just as content staying at home with my pets. Is is natural that I’ve become a crazy cat lady, or is this some new kind of depression which has snuck up on me without my realizing it?

On Wednesday, Midwestern Man and I will have our first ever couples counselling session. There is nothing terribly wrong with our relationship, but I do think that we need to learn how to communicate better. And I do wish that our relationship and sex life were more passionate. I miss the days when I would be crazy with lust for a man. I just don’t feel that way for Midwestern Man. I think he’s extremely handsome, but I don’t have the urge to rip his clothes off at all. This worries me but, on the other hand, every time I did want to rip a guy’s clothes off, he was usually a completely unreliable, abusive arsehole. Midwestern Man (who, from now on will be known simply as MM, because it takes too long to type “Midwestern Man” – and, besides, it’s a ridiculous name anyway) makes me feel safe and stable, and I just don’t find that very sexually exciting.

It’s so hard for me to know what a healthy relationship is because I’ve never had one before. My lack of sexual passion for MM could be a glaring sign that we’re not right for each other; or it could be a sign that I’m only sexually attracted to people who are bad for me.

Oh, God, whatever…I’m boring myself here.

Since I last wrote here, I’ve had my wisdom teeth removed and went for my immigration biometrics appointment. The wisdom teeth surgery was far, far easier than I expected. I was sleepy the day of the operation (as a result of the anaesthetic) but I was back to normal the day after. I has absolutely no facial swelling whatsoever, which was a surprise. I almost wished it had been harder to get over because MM took care of me so well, and was so sweet and attentive, that I could easily have lived like that forever!

The immigration biometrics appointment was also a piece of cake. All they do is take your picture and fingerprints. It will get really interesting in February when MM and I will have to go for our immigration interview. Of course, we’ve got nothing to hide, as it’s not like we’re committing visa fraud, but such situations always make me nervous.

That’s all for now, folks. Sweet dreams.


Not only depressed…now depressed and scabby, too!

I’m not feeling very good tonight. I’m tired, and I’m depressed. My rent is due on the 1st and, as per usual, I have made nowhere near enough money. I should have worked this weekend, and fully intended to, but I only saw one client, and just couldn’t be bothered seeing anybody today. This would all be fine if I had actually purposefully chosen to take a day off, and had filled it with fun, relaxing activities, but instead Midwestern Man and I just wasted time, lying about in bed, walking with the dogs to get tacos and sangría, and then walking somewhere else later to get fries. This sounds like a nice, relaxing day, doesn’t it?, but this is all our relationship entails…walking pointlessly and randomly to get something to eat somewhere….and, oh, yeah, watching “Deadwood” on the sofa and drinking wine. The only reason I go along with such slacker-like aimlessness is because I never allow myself to have any “official” time off so my poor body and brain just malfunction and grab any rest they can at inappropriate times. It would be much better to take designated days off and schedule interesting, meaningful activities, but somehow I never manage to do that.

I’m also feeling pretty angry at Midwestern Man right now. Why the fuck can’t he ever organize something fun and interesting for us to do? He could say “Well, we always end up wasting time on Sundays, even though we say we’ve got stuff to do, so why don’t we take a nice day trip somewhere?” Anything! Anything! Anything just to break the fucking monotony of our relationship. I know I could try to organize something, too, but it would just be nice for him to surprise me occasionally.

My husband’s idea of fun is having sex on Sundays, talking, lolling about in bed for hours, and then having sex again. In the meantime, I’ll be starving because we won’t have had anything to eat all day and I’ll be dying of fucking boredom because I stay in my house every SINGLE fucking day, and the last thing I want to do on my days off is lie in bed.

I’ve had yet another pointless, aimless Sunday and my house is a fucking mess because I didn’t clean it, as I should have done. It’s the same thing every fucking Sunday. My house is never ready for the new week…dishes in the sink; the made unmade after sex; the washing not done; the pet bowls not cleaned etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc. The chaos of my house just mirrors the chaos of my brain.

The worst thing is my bed. MM sweated all over it during sex today, and now there are three animals lying on it asleep. “Bed” is not the word for it. It’s a collection of filth and dirt! But I don’t have the energy to get up and change the sheets. What’s the point in having clean sheets, anyway, if I haven’t hoovered the carpet, cleaned the litterbox, picked all the stuff off the floor and filed away all the papers strewn all over my desk?

If all this wasn’t bad enough, I have also picked so much at a spot on my face that there’s now a scab there. Luckily, the scab is directly across from my left eye, right next to my hair line, so my hair covers it. This is the first time I have ever picked so relentlessly at something which is technically on my face. Usually, I pick at places on my scalp. I know there’s a condition called “dermatillomania”, which is basically just the constant picking of scabs, and it would appear that I have a mild form of this. It has never got out of control, and you’d never be able to tell that I pick at stuff by just looking at me, as I usually just confine myself to my scalp. I’m lucky that I’ve never got a bad infection, as I will sometimes stick pins in the wound to get a particularly difficult piece of the scab off. Yes, I know, I’m gross.

It’s good that I don’t have a severe form of this condition but sometimes I think my main problem in life is that I have a wee bit of everything in a mild form. Right now, I have an irrational, intense hatred and disgust for MM, and I swing all the time between this and loving him. On my old blog, I wrote about how I think I have a mild version of Borderline Personality Disorder, and I’m pretty sure my mother does, too. There are so many aspects of my personality and behaviour, which could be explained by a Borderline Personality Diagnosis, but the symptoms in my case are relatively mild, so there’s not much incentive to seek help.

I don’t think that I’m an alcoholic, but I suspect that my terrible, despairing mood tonight is because I had a lot (for me) to drink this week: a couple of bottles of cider; a bottle of wine; a margarita and a sangría. If I drink for two nights in a row, I’ll feel the way I do now. Tomorrow morning, though, I’ll probably be back to normal mood-wise, so I’ll forget about how depressed alcohol makes me. Once again, there just isn’t the incentive to stop drinking completely or limit myself to a couple of drinks on a Saturday night.

It’s hard for me to change my behaviour because I don’t have one big thing fucking up my life in a huge, disastrous way. I know it’s crazy to say this, but I almost wish I was an out-and-out alcoholic, for example, and could hit rock bottom, so I would finally be able to say “OK, there is really something wrong with me. and I need help, or I can’t continue”.

So, you’ve heard of NaBloPoMo, but what about NaSexHaMo?

Readers from my old blog who have followed me over here are no doubt stunned at what a prolific writer I have become on “My Petrichor Past”. On the old blog, I’d be lucky if I wrote a post per week. Over here, however, my little fingers have been flying over the keyboard because of “National Blog Posting Month”, or “NaBloPoMo” as it is known more informally. The idea is that you have to post every day for a month.

Right now there is nothing I would rather be doing less than writing a blog post. I have terrible allergies and I would much prefer to be curled up on the sofa, sipping a nice piña colada (which, for some reason, I have been craving all day…God knows why, as I can’t even remember the last time I had one). I am feeling extremely uninspired and tired, but, nonetheless, I am going to post. This is precisely why I like NaBloPoMo – it makes me accountable. I’ve posted for the previous twelve days of September 2009, and it would be a damn shame to stop now. Also, I’m competitive as hell, and I can’t let all those other NaBloPoMo’ers beat me! It was the same thing when I was training for a marathon. I had to start training at 6:00 a.m. every Saturday morning, meaning that I’d have to get up at 4:30 a.m. (I could have got up later, I suppose, but I do so love having a nice leisurely breakfast in the morning). There’s no way in hell I’d ever have got up that early if I wasn’t training with other people, and didn’t have the prospect of kicking some ass.

Being so intensely competitive is probably not a very nice quality but can I say? I guess I must be a Type A personality. This is probably why I’m so unhappy being a sex worker. I suppose one could be incredibly ambitious about giving a great handjob but that has never been one of my goals in life!

However, I digress…

Earlier today, just after I had finished having sex with Midwestern Man, I was wondering what to write about for today’s post. I thought about how it can sometimes seem like a chore to write a post every day for NaBloPoMo; but then it occurred to me just how good it is to be forced to write something every day, even if it is usually some self-indulgent, self-pitying nonsense. What I’m writing about may not be great literature, but it is, nonetheless, writing. NaBloPoMo and blogging, in general, keep me connected to writing, and this is huge because I desperately need a creative outlet. They also keep me connected to the outside world, and help me “meet” other people (one of my new favourite bloggers, Terry, over at Bazookah Joe is someone I “met” on the NaBloPoMo site).

What I also like about NaBloPoMo is that it helps me get over my overly romantic notion of writing and creativity. So much of the reason why I’m not more creative is because I have always spent so much fucking time waiting for my bloody Muse to show up. It’s not sexy or exciting, but it’s helpful for me to think of writing like a chore or a job. The funny thing is that when I do that, I find myself getting inspired anyway!

As I was lying in bed with my husband having these thoughts, it occurred to me that we could perhaps use the NaBloPoMo model to stimulate my practically non-existent libido. You are probably thinking “huh?”, so let me explain. Well, I just said that I often don’t feel like blogging because I feel uninspired, but I do it anyway because of NaBloPoMo and end up with my fingers flying over the keyboard. What about if there was a NaSexHaMo (National Sex Having Month)? If I don’t feel like sex, I’d force myself to have it anyway every day, and perhaps end up really enjoying it and feeling closer to Midwestern Man (and, curiously, it does often happen like this!).

I think this sounds like a very interesting idea! Who cares to join me in the NaSexHaMo challenge?! Maybe we could even have our own website, documenting our successes! 🙂

Distracted by Larry Brown

So much for my new routine of getting up early, feeding the pets, writing in my journal, blogging and then going for a run – all before starting a day’s work. This morning I decided to read a “little bit” of the novel “The Rabit Factory” by Larry Brown, which had been sitting on my bookshelf for ages. I think I got it years ago for some book group I never ended up going to. I’m not sure why I never read it. It was possibly because the main blurb on the back of the book was from the local “newspaper”, which I find very provincial. I must have thought, snobbishly, that nothing championed in that rag could possibly be any good.

How wrong could I have been! What a bloody good read. A total fucking page-turner, and it has absorbed me the whole day. How rare it is to find a novelist who’s an amazing storyteller. I’m all for experimentation in literature, music and the visual arts but, goddamit, I want to be entertained as well!

Now that I have five cats and have officially earned the “crazy cat lady” moniker, the first sentence even had me grabbed:

“The kitten was wild and skinny, and its tail looked almost broken, kind of hung down crooked”.

There’s also a (male!) pit bull called Jada Pinkett! Oh how I laughed out loud when I read that!

Speaking of stray kittens, the new addition to my family is doing better, as his eyes no longer seem infected, but they do still seem to be ulcerated. I thought they would heal better than this, so I’m taking him to the vet again on Thursday. I really hope that they can save his vision, even if only in one of his eyes. Cats are just such amazingly resilient animals. I doubt this kitten can see very much, as his eyes are pretty fucked up, and yet he still scoots about the floor chasing a little ball! I once had a cat with no eyes (he had to have them removed because they had also been attacked by the feline herpes virus, but they were too badly damaged by the time I found him) and you would never have known he was blind unless you looked at him very closely. He did all the things my other cats did, and only very, very, very rarely bumped into a piece of furniture, and usually because I would have moved it from its normal location.

Just how do cats do that? I’m just in awe of them. God, just listen to me. How many times can I blog about cats? I just got an email from Blogcatalog telling me that my blog had been approved for inclusion, or whatever, and guess what the google ads are on my blog page?! There’s one about sex and another about fucking cat litter! Sometimes I think Google doesn’t only scan the content of my emails and blog, but also has a window into my soul.

Something weird has happened to me ever since finding this fifth cat, though. It really does feel like I’ve been initiated into some kind of cat hoarding club. I can’t stop looking at my cats, and admiring their beautiful feline elegance and independence. God, I love them.

You may be glad to know that Midwestern Man and I finally fucked today. I’m nearly always too tired at night to have sex, so I decided to tell him to hurry back from work and fuck me in the middle of the afternoon. I didn’t really want to, but I know it’s not fair to deprive him of sex. It was really lovely, though, and I feel closer to him again. He says that I’m “like a man”, in that I’m only nice to him after we have sex. There is, sadly, definitely some truth to that. Today, one of my new favourite bloggers, Pandabox33, commented on yesterday’s post and said “I found that just doing it sometimes helps”. This resonated with me a lot because, yes, I find that iif just grit my teeth and force myself to have sex that I actually enjoy it…and then I want more of it. Unfortunately, we then have a small lull in our sex life and then I forget all about how much I like it. Sigh.

Well, must dash, as I’m attempting the Nablopomo challenge this month, and I have to post every day in September. It’s nearly midnight, and I don’t want to miss a day. Sweet dreams everybody.

Did you hear the one about the sex worker with no sex drive?

Midwestern Man didn’t have to go into work early today because it’s Labor Day, so we laid in bed together for a while, cuddling. It was nice, I suppose, but I actually wish he would just have left the house by 7:30 a.m., as he does usually, so I could have been alone.

I felt smothered by his kisses and affection, and his obvious desire to have sex.

I daresay I can’t really blame him, as I can’t even remember the last time we had sex. Probably about three weeks ago. And the second last time was probably two or three weeks before that. When we did have sex these times, I only did it out of a sense of obligation and guilt, and not because of genuine desire.

The idea of having sex actually quite repulses me. I just don’t want to do it. It requires too much of me, both physically and emotionally.

If it weren’t so disturbing, it would be quite funny really! Who’s ever heard of a sex worker with no sex drive?! Maybe there’s a coven of betrayed wives somewhere, sitting around a cauldron and stirring it gleefully, who cast a spell of frigidity on me in revenge for having given their husbands a handjob.

The irony is that I have to listen to so many men tell me that they come to see me because their wives no longer sleep with them when I’m now just exactly like their wives! Who knows why these women don’t want to have sex with their husbands. I’ve listened to these men, without passing judgement on what they’re telling me, but I’ve always wondered what the wife’s side to the story would be. It’s probably true that she doesn’t want to have sex, or is withholding sex, but the question is…why? I seriously doubt that the men are all poor, hard-done by innocents who are married to selfish bitches.

In Midwestern Man’s case, however, I really would say that the blame lies with me. In all my previous relationships, it was (mainly) me who gave, gave, gave – normally, of course, to men who didn’t want me, weren’t appreciative of my giving, or who were emotionally distant. Now, for the first time in my life, I find myself in a relationship where I take all the time. I know I’m doing it, yet I can’t seem to stop. I know it’s unfair, but even if looked deep in my heart for it, I don’t know if I’d find anything left to give. I’m spent. Emotionally exhausted. I’ve spent the whole of today lying in bed. Happy fucking Labor Day.

There are several hypotheses which could explain why I no longer have a sex drive. It’s hard to know which is the correct one…perhaps there’s a nugget of truth to every one:

(1) Radical feminists everywhere are probably screaming “Selling yourself to strangers has destroyed your ability to feel normal desire for your husband!”. This is the one hypothesis Midwestern Man bring up from time to time, and it’s hard to know what to say. Maybe it’s true; maybe it’s not – there’s really no way of knowing for sure.

(2) Midwestern Man is a (fairly) normal and healthy man who actually loves me, so perhaps I just have a hard time dealing with genuine intimacy. I never had a problem having sex in the past but that was probably because I spent years of my life chasing unavailable men; when we did have sex it was “safe” and “non-threatening” because there was never really any chance of genuine intimacy occurring. Now that I’ve finally got a caring and affectionate man, I don’t know what the fuck to do with him.

(3) Perhaps I’m not as attracted to Midwestern Man as I could be. Now, don’t get me wrong…Midwestern Man is a devilishly handsome specimen – gorgeous big, brown eyes; dark, curly hair; sensusous lips – but I’m the dominant one in the relationship. Midwestern Man tends to be passive, bordering on passive-aggressive sometimes. Instead of letting me know what his needs are, he somehow expects me to know, and then gets all moody and blaming when I inevitably fail to realize them. In the past I was always attracted to dominant, alpha males until I met Midwestern Man and he won my heart with his gentleness and sweet nature. I do love these qualities about him, but is it possible that I just don’t find them very sexy? Is it possible that I’m still an immature little girl who only gets turned on by bad boys? Friction is also caused by his lack of focus in terms of his career (although erotic masseuses who live in glass houses really shouldn’t throw stones). He wants to write graphic novels for a living – and he is really talented – but I just don’t know if he’ll ever do it. He wastes so much time, and never seems to get anything done. For someone who has wanted to become a graphc novelist for the last twelve years at least, it’s strange, and disconcerting, that he has never finished anything. He works in a café, and he’s always broke, and I’m worried that this will never change…

(4) I’m really fucking tired, broke, depressed and stressed. My libido pretty much disappeared as soon as I moved to the US and entered my disastrous PhD program. Since then, many thousands of miles from home, my life has lacked purpose and direction. I thought that applying to a teacher certification program would be the answer but, well, that didn’t work out too well, did it? I’m still going to attempt to be a teacher, but it doesn’t seem like I’ll have a job, and be settled, any time soon. I’m sick of it. I just want to know what’s happening next, and be able to take care of my basic needs, and to have money so I’m not living such a precarious existence.

Well, whatever has caused my lack of libido, I know I need to start fucking Midwestern Man soon. Who could blame him if he got so frustrated that he cheated on me?, and our relationship could never recover from that. But sometimes I think I wouldn’t really care if he did sleep with somebody else…