Hmmm.

An interesting turn of events.
The Mrs. has once again begun therapy, and appears to be benefiting from it in terms of overall mood and outlook.
She has not, however, become part of an abstenance program on the basis that her problem is depresssion manifested by excessive drinking, not alcoholism. Address the depression and the drinking takes care of itself, or so the theory goes.
We sat in last night and watched a movie together, whereupon she drank 3 beers and smoked a fag.
You have no idea how nervous this made me. I could just see another extended night with me waking up at 3 am and finding her shitfaced on the sofa again.
I was wrong, and she took off to bed pretty soon after I did.

This time.

Question is, at what point am I likely to not be afraid every time she decides to throw down a cold one? I should be able to trust her at some point, right?

I've

..discovered something.

The abbreviation "NSA", common amongst people looking for "no strings attached" relationships has 2 meanings.

The male meaning is, indeed, No Strings Attached, i.e. lets have some fun times, friendship and sex if the mood takes us, but no big deal either way.

For Females, however, it appears to mean "Non Sans Affection".

I think I've actually learned a lesson. If I am to be single (and the future is totally up in the air at this point), no matter how much fun it might appear to be to jump in the sack with a girl who wants me to, there's going to be consequences, no matter how "relaxed" and "cool" she says she is.

Of

...course, my friend who visited me at the beach now says she "really likes" me and things are now "complicated". I said in my defence, there was never any discussion about a repeat performance, nor indeed an expectation of sex when she came to see me at the beach. She drove the entire scenario, and layed the sex out on a plate. Now suddenly there's a need to "talk about it" and "clear the air".
WTF?
I don't understand. What is the problem with having a bit of sex during a weekend out at the beach? Why does there have to be an agenda? Why do girls always seem to have ulterior motives, and expect me to know and understand it?
Last night I went to bed early. I woke up this morning with eight text messages on my phone, none of which I'd replied to :-

"I cant b 2nd best. I am a hopeless romantic"

"Bye, have a nice night"

"If u want 2 talk, I took a long lunch 12.30-2"

"You choose"

"I'm sad about this"

"Whatever. goodnight"

"Nevermind. I'm over it"

"Go away. Ur so unavailable. Im not going there"

What the fuck???? Is this really the price of a quick fumble? I could believe it with a late-teen - twenty something girl, but I'm almost 41 and she's 32. Aren't we past this kind of shit?
I can't really say I'm looking forward to being single again if this is the kind of bollocks I'm going to endure every time I sleep with someone.


Jesus.

A

...little therapy yesterday.




Loving it.

From

..."On the road" by Jack Kerouac.

I'm reading this again for the umpteenth time for no reason other than it makes me smile, particularly this passage from page 15 of my copy.
Hope you like it as much as I do.

"He woke up with a start at dawn. Off we roared, and an hour later the smoke of Des Moines appeared ahead over the green cornfields. He had to eat his breakfast now and wanted to take it easy, so I went right on into Des Moines, about four miles, hitching a ride with two boys from the University of Iowa; and it was strange sitting in their brand-new comfortable car and hearing them talk of exams as we zoomed smoothly into town. Now I wanted to sleep a whole day. So I went to the Y to get a room; they didn't have any, and by instinct I wandered down to the railroad tracks-and there're a lot of them in Des Moines-and wound up in a gloomy old Plains inn of a hotel by the locomotive roundhouse, and spent a long day sleeping on a big clean hard white bed with dirty remarks carved in the wall beside my pillow and the beat yellow windowshades pulled over the smoky scene of the rail-yards. I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was-I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future, and maybe that's why it happened right there and then, that strange red afternoon."

Back

...again from the beach, this time. Still haven't found any peace in the maelstrom thats whirling around my brain.
Why can't the answer be as plain as the not-insignificant protuberance in the middle of my face?
I've unpacked and decided hats enough camping for now. My body craves the comforts of a warm bed and real food.
While I was at the beach a friend came to see me. She's aware of my wife and I having separated so she fucked me, four times.
Said it was the least she could do.

I

... took some time off work. My plan was to had into the local desert and "find myself", whatever the fuck that means.







I lasted 2 days. I'm not 20 any more, and I need a real bed more than I realised.

Why

...the Eternal Wannabe?
Because thats what I am. It seems on reflection that everything I ever do I think I begin with the best intentions but it all seems to go to shit.

I have a son I haven't seen in 17 years. His mother and I slept together a few times then broke up. A lot of why we broke up was to do with my drinking and amphetamine use which was , at the age of 19, excessive by any standard. I tried to clean up my act, but she saw through me and asked me to stay away and let her raise our son alone. The longer I stay away, the harder it gets. I pray for and dread the day , if it ever comes, that he wants to meet me.

My first marriage was a disaster, although when I married her I wanted to do the "right thing" because she too became pregnant. I was a little more successful in staying with her for six years, but constant fighting made the environment toxic, and I left. I took a job in Saudi Arabia as , when I left her, I left her with everything - I signed over the house and everything we owned to her and walked out with a bag of clothes and a bag of CD's.

Fast forward to today. I have good standard of living, great job, make good money and have what appears to many to be an ideal life. However, this marriage to is teetering on a precipice. My current wife is a truly wonderful woman in so many ways. She is beautiful and smart. She loves me.
She does however suffer from depression. This depression is frustrating for me because she is the type of person who won't ask for help with anything. Consequently, for the last six years she has stumbled over bouts of suicidal thought, self loathing and attacks on me in an attempt to make me hate her, thereby proving her lack of worth. Don't get me wrong, this was not constant, and a lot of the time her beautiful personality shone through and obscured her demons. Most people we know have no idea she suffers like this.
In the last 3 years her depression has taken on a new and more troubling symptom, that of binge alcoholism. She gets on a downer (and I ALWAYS know it's coming, even when she appears in every way normal) and she goes on a binge. I've found her shitfaced drunk, vomiting in the bathroom downstairs at 3 in three morning after waiting till I go to bed, then caning the booze.
She had surgery earlier this year. The first day after surgery I came home from work at lunch to check on her and she was drunk at 11 in the morning, not knowing I'd be home.
These are just two examples of many.
She refused to go to a therapist or a psychiatrist, but did try AA once. It wasn't to her liking and she quit.
After another weekend of her getting shitfaced drunk and fighting with me (we rarely fight when she's sober), I told her I'd had enough, and we were through. I tried everything I could think of to encourage her to get help .She refused and I felt like I had nothing left to give. It hurts me even now to think about being without her, and I will always love her dearly for the wonderful person she can be, but I can't deal with hidden booze,lying, sneaking around, waiting until I go to bed and "denying everything when she's breathing fumes in my face" any more. I just don't have it in me any more.

I not only want to be the husband my wife deserves. I also want to be a professional fighter, a professional motorcycle racer and a lottery winner. That'll never change, hence the name.

They

...say a change is as good as a rest. In my case, I've gone for the added security of both.
Odd to be even thinking about this now, with my life in such turmoil. Hopefully the discretion afforded by anonymity might mean this can be more meaningful than before.
We'll see.