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.