I would love to be distracted from my thoughts so here, I’ll spill the beans on my latest distraction.  Noah likes to tell me that the way to get really good at things is to make a lot of mistakes.  So I’m still hunting.  That lets you know how I feel about this process at this point.  I don’t know why in the fuck I am beating my head against this wall.

Only I do.  I’ve kind of abandoned all of the truly casual possibilities that appeared immediately via the internet already.  I’m not interested in that and I know it.  I want to have an affair.  If I could logistically make it happen with Noah I would, but I don’t see a way to find that kind of time.

I really want to feel exciting and interesting and seen.  This really isn’t healthy.  It makes me so sad that I want this so much.  If I’m honest with myself what I want is to go break my heart.  I want to have a relationship that reminds me of how awesome Noah is.  Because I think I’m taking him for granted.  I feel like I’m not seeing him.

I don’t see people very well unless I see contrasts to them.  And even other casual friendly interaction is just not the same.  I want to have a reason to really appreciate the fact that I can whisper a few words: youngish but not innocent, she really wants it, out in the woods, three boys… go.  He will then improv a whole story for me.  He only has to think for a minute or two.  And sometimes it feels like Noah can read my mind.  He just knows what to say.  I don’t need porn.  I have Noah.

And as of last night, Calli is sleeping in Shanna’s room.  I can’t arrange an affair, but we can have sex in our bed more.  That will be nice.  It will be nice, but it won’t be an affair.  Because we will be here and trying hard to not talk or make noise.  We will be trying not to be interesting because then the kids want to join in.  Ah, parenting.

In the meantime there’s this guy; I’m not going to post a link to his profile because even I’m not that crass.    I asked him to have an affair with me and he’s trying to decide if he wants to.  From the heart-stoppingly-awesome emails I can tell that he is a lot more interested than he wants to be.  That’s interesting.  According to okcupid we are a frighteningly good match.  I don’t think he is Noah competition because he sounds too cynical.  But he sounds really really fun.  He sounds like someone I can fall in lust with and then be stupidly wistful about.  Kind of like Chris.  A different Chris than the last time I said Chris.  I  kind of love being a slut.  It’s frightfully useful at times.  Anyway this new Chris and I had an on and off affair for multiple years before I had kids and now we are very cordial when we run into one another without wanting each other.  I think.  Err, he lost a lot of weight.  I feel really self conscious when I outweigh someone.  I’m … ok that’s a different ramble.  Back to the hot guy.

So he’s uhm a lot more conventionally good looking than I am generally willing to hit on.  I don’t know where I found the nerve.  On paper I sound like his dream girl err, or I would if I was single with no kids. Ouch.  The thing is, an awful lot of guys have thought I sounded like their dream girl on paper.  That just kind of happens when you are poly and kinky and you want to get married and you want to have kids.  It sounds like the holy grail to an awful lot of guys.  They don’t recognize that I’m not just those labels.

So really what I’m saying is I think he’s a Bonder and I’m feeling kind of guilty about the fact that I might be jaunting merrily towards breaking his heart.  And if there is a shred of honesty in my soul… I’m not sorry.  I’m nice to my exes!  I really am.  Well, no… I’m not.  Shit.  Mostly I am?  When they deserve it I am?  Oh that sounds awesome.  But it’s true.  I will only say something rude to you if I think you deserve it.  Uhm, or I’ve gone absolutely off the bed and then I will apologize profusely.  It’s not actually charming.

Really I think it is the caption on the early-morning-need-coffee-picture.  Yeah.  I think I could handle looking at that first thing in the morning.  He really has a beautiful smile.  I think that’s my thing.  If someone doesn’t have a compelling smile, it’s over.  I like one that is full of mischief.  Oh shoot.  I’m totally trying to find out if there are actually men other than Noah in the world who will really find me interesting right now.  That’s a damn dirty lie.  I want to be seduced by someone who is really sexy and smarter than me.  That’s fucking hard to find.  I want someone who wants to learn me.  And oh shit do they need to be smarter than me.

I feel really sad about the fact that one of the reasons I’m upset with my friend about the unfun sex is that in between eating lunch and getting back to sex he turned the tv on and watched appallingly bad television for about fifteen minutes before telling me to put my mouth back on his dick.  I want to prove to myself that there are people out there who want to be nicer to me than that.  Who might believe I deserve better than that.  I’m scared.  I fell off the horse and I want to jump back on.  But oh god this is complicated.

The days are counting down fast to NaNoWriMo.  I really do need to spend more time running than I am.  I’m doing a fuck ton of walking and only a little running.  I’m having a hard time with being in the in-between space of waiting to work on the book.  I don’t want to over think it.  I feel like I’m settled on what I’m doing.  I’d really like to have an affair while I’m writing the book because I’m going to want someone with a bunch of Bright New Shiny Stories to excite me and bring me back to the here and now.  I feel really bad for thinking about doing that away from my home.  But if I’m going to do it I’m going to talk about it.  The only sin is something you are ashamed to talk about.

I’m pretty sure that this psychiatrist today insisted on labeling me as bipolar because of my promiscuity.  She asked a lot of leading questions about it.  I am more incensed by the hour.  That fucking bitch.  Like, when we were in Paris and London and I wasn’t sleeping because I was in near constant panic attacks and I was a nervous wreck she asked me if I started acting out sexually then.  I said no.  I barely even had sex with my husband because we don’t do that in the same room with our kids unless we are really really really desperate.  It squicks me the fuck out.  And Shanna is starting to get old enough that it’s going to bother me more.  So no, we weren’t having much sex.  And I didn’t have sex with anyone else.  She grilled me for multiple minutes about how intrusive my sexual thoughts were during that period.

I’m sorry lady as I paced the garden of the hotel in Inverness and beat my head against the ground to get the terrible feeling that I was a despicable terrible person who did not deserve to live out of it… I wasn’t trying to pick anyone up.  Fuck you too.  With your smug little grin telling me you know all about the neurochemistry of trauma victims.  You’ll bring me in line with the norm.  You’ll give me this nice little pill (but I have to stop breastfeeding because after all at this point it’s only comfort for me anyway–right?) and all of a sudden I will be TOO FUCKING SLEEPY to go do anything inappropriate.  How lovely.

I can’t help but think that if I found a relatively sane guy to have an affair with for a few weeks who would pat me on the head and let me go my way by the end of November it would do just as much to calm me down as that pill.  And I wouldn’t be asleep.  But that coping mechanism is bad.  I’m bad if I do it.  There are whole diagnostic manuals that say I am bipolar because I think it is perfectly ok to break my cycles of irritability with sex.  Well God Damn Me.  There is this vast societal wide conspiracy that says it is far far better for me to take a pill every day and go through life like a zombie than have sex with someone I’m not married to.

Really people?  Those are some fucked up priorities.  No, I’m not even supposed to need the pills.  But I’m allowed the pills if that is what it takes to get me in line.

I hope he decides to say yes.  I want him so bad I am weak in the knees.  He is sarcastic.  He likes bitchy snarky strong women.  He likes women who argue with him.  We have a startling array of similar interests.  He clearly wants to save the world.  He likes women who are emotionally variable.  I swear to God his whole profile is littered with catnip.  Catharsis through motorcycling or sex.  (I’m letting Noah get a motorcycle again some day when the kids are older.)  He wants people to message him if they are very serious or very casual but nothing in between.  And be specific about what you want.

God I want him so much.  His profile is wickedly good.  Do you know why it is good?  He represents himself as a challenge.  He’s really specific about who he is.  He just rambles about himself.  He is good at representing his voice.  He sounds moody and broody.  He correctly used the word boorish, what is not hot about that?  Heh.  Do you know what he sounds like?  He sounds like he would be perfect for me if I really and truly wanted monogamy.  I don’t.  So he would be a shitty primary for me.  Ha.

I’m going to have to let Noah have an affair some year.  It’s going to suck.  Ah well.  I made my bed, right?  That sounds more bitter than I really mean it.  If Noah didn’t insist on that right he wouldn’t be so hot, would he?  I absolutely love knowing that other women lust after my husband.  I’m a total bitch.  I think that’s fucking awesome.  Ha ha I got him.  That’s one of those things you aren’t supposed to admit, right?  It’s weird to admit out loud that I feel really proud of myself for having landed Noah.  I managed to get this very good looking, well positioned career-wise, rich guy who is happy to treat me like his high priced mistress in terms of indulging my little fancies?  Oh man.  I fucking win.  I really don’t know how this is my life.

And I want to fuck it up by having an affair.  But if I didn’t have the affair I wouldn’t really work like a high priced mistress and it would all be a sham.  I have to keep up my sexual skills.  Sorry right wing people, if you want to actually be a good lover you have to work at it.  Sex is a physical activity.  Like every other physical activity, you get better at it the more you do it.  I really can’t make space for more of what I want to be practicing in my house.  And it’s hard to do it with Noah.

Party sex is different.  Party sex always involves the dynamic of acknowledging the crowd.  That means it is about showing off what I know, not really about struggling through the rudiments.  But the thing is, the slow struggle through the rudiments is what is so enticing.  Learning.  Growing.  New.  Shiny.  Shit. It really does have to be a new person.  This is much more complicated than I should be thinking about right now.

Bah!  Humbug.