On Sundays Noah doesn’t have to work. Ok, that’s not true. But he doesn’t have to leave the house and he doesn’t get as cranky with me wanting to be in the same room distracting him.

I like the way he looks at me. When he looks at me I feel washed clean. I feel like I must be ok or he wouldn’t look at me that way. I feel like I do good in the world. I feel like I am good. I feel loved. I feel important. You don’t look at a pretty flower the way Noah looks at me. You look at things that change your life the way Noah looks at me.

I can feel the panic and the fear quiet down when he looks at me like that. That smile shouts louder than all the evil little voices in my brain. I can’t hear them over him. It’s hard that he doesn’t spend very much time looking at me. He’s busy. He has a lot of things he has to spend his time looking at. I live for those moments when I get his full attention.

Noah holds me together and tells me I am worth knowing. He thinks I should take up more space in the world. He likes being married to a writer. He tells people about it eagerly. He admires me. I inspired him to go write a book. (Then he promptly made far more money than me in far less time. I feel slightly huffy. But my writing isn’t stuff people will pay a lot for.)

It’s hard that I constantly feel reminded of how I am less than him. My labor is worth nothing compared to him. He has value. He is appreciated. He is high status.

I’m that freak crying at home.

I don’t understand why he likes me. Well, I do. He feels distinctly alienated from society as well. Last night he told me, “I never have to worry about you turning to me and saying, ‘Why can’t you be normal?'” I laughed. No. I don’t need you to be normal. If you were normal I’d be waiting for you to fetch a pitch fork and come after me. Normal people all seem to hate me after a while. I do things wrong. I make them feel bad.

When I am with Noah I feel safe. It’s not that he is protective–he isn’t. But he is my provider. He is my helpmate. He cleaned the house while I napped on the couch yesterday because he knows I try to go through and do it every evening and I was too tired. That kind of thing makes me cry. He knows it is important to me to clean up right before bed otherwise I trip in the morning because I walk around in the dark. Technically he trips more often than I do. So it was kind of selfish. But not really.

Noah could scorn the household tasks. He is supporting me in a lavish lifestyle. Noah could look down on me so easily. Noah could think that I owe him. And he doesn’t. Near as I can tell it doesn’t cross his mind. Sure we make jokes about trading sex for heavy lifting and every so often I find something so unpleasant I tell him, “I’ll give you a blow job if you do that.” I feel slightly mixed about it but only slightly. I’d give him a blow job if he hinted he wanted it so it’s not like it is a big bar.

In other news I found my leather ball gown yesterday. The one Noah gave me for my 23rd birthday. I played for a bit with him. He was very excited. I am glad I get to wear it for him.

Shanna woke up. Time to go.