2004-12-16

Yah, right, so it’s the middle of enrolments and I am fully loaded with work but do you think I can keep my mind on any of it? Nuppo. Instead I am dreaming of lying beside a slow flowing stream with lilies and willow trees, being the Lady of Shalot in a white gown, admiring and adoring the smooth muscled body of my fine young lover… phew, what a lot of literary referencing for one sentence (the bibliography would be longer than this whole entry!)
I keep vacillating between being overtly flirtatious which can be a major turn off, or completely reticent, which can likewise come across as a bit ice-queenie, or holier than thou. My punani tells me to pursue, to be Diana the huntress, relentless in my quest for bloodlust and satisfaction. My brain says “Boy are you gonna be in trouble if hubby finds out, and what will the rest of the world think?” My heart keeps telling me that I am not satisfied with life as it is. So which way to jump?
They should run lessons in relationships at school, or at the very least have rules governing attraction and interaction. Where I am getting caught up is in the knowing of whether they are in the same frame of mind as I – the signals are mixed, the glances from beneath lowered lashes say ‘go forward’, the body language is right, but the verbal cues are not explicit. Sometimes I would love for everything to be straightforward and upfront, with no messing about and just a hey, wanna shag? But it’s also a pleasurable pain to NOT know, to be hung in the balance between acquaintance and intimacy, and to spend time pondering do they or don’t they want me too. Jane Austen knew about it, that pleasurable pain, and Shakespeare, Trollope, Wilde…
So I am aching and needing and hunting and thinking and trying to imagine what life would be like if I could do what I wanted. How jaded would I become if my needs and desires were satisfied? Can I ever achieve a smug satyric smile?

Eeew, am starting to sound like Candace Bushnell with a Bronte sisters overtone.

However, plagued as I am by delicious fantasies and the inertia of not knowing, I am constantly checked into reality by my whiny husband who can’t seem to find one nice thing to say about the world, and who has started wetting the bed because he can’t get out of it in time to get to the loo. What on earth have I signed up for? Addicted to painkillers, sure. Cynical and depraved, no worries. Wetting the bed? And furthermore he is totally reluctant to just let me have one bad day. I am not allowed to complain or be upset or troubled in his presence – he always manages to find a way to whinge the loudest and longest, and to be the poorest kid in town. I am fucking sick to death of it. The balance is starting to tip with him, and not in his favour. He has to this point always managed to redeem himself with some grand act, but he’s really going to have to pull something miraculous out of the bag to make me forget his downside this time. But what to do? To be a rock and not to roll? Could I really talk myself into going? There is no evidence to support my being able to do this, and I am afraid of my own capacity for loneliness. Hell, this is nearly the most alone I have ever felt.

Well, now all that’s off my chest I can get back to shuffling paper. Ah, the pursuit of knowledge, carnal and otherwise.

bitch - moan