I feel like a cheater when I let my kids watch the iPad while I take a break. I can hear it through the garage door: an episode of Bo, an episode of Busytown. Then mom has to get off her ass. Usually it happens once a day. Sometimes twice.

Our schedule is out of whack. I’m feeling discombobulated. I’m not used to going out on Mondays. That is almost always a stay at home and rest day for me. I do chores. When I leave the house at 8:15 and don’t come home until 5:30 I feel like I want to lay down and die. Holy crap that wears me out. Don’t wanna.

It’s weird being a pet. Only I’m not. I think that is the part of being a kept woman I never really understood properly. You are not supposed to have to do heavy manual labor along with your sex work. Kept women are not maids. Why do I confuse the two?

Because I don’t know who I want to be when I grow up. I’ve never been sure if I wanted to be a whore or not. It’s a family tradition. Both my father and my brother told me to. Literally. Before I even hit puberty. My mother told me that if you get married you have to be prepared to be a whore for that man. I was verrrrrry careful to check out the sexual abilities of people before I decided if I wanted to get emotionally involved with them. Boring sex forever would be a deal breaker.

Which is part of why I am so confused by the not-orgasming thing. I really like sex with Noah. We have a lot of it. It’s part of the deal. Deliberately and clearly stated. That’s the deal: lots of sex. If I am truly uninterested I am getting better about saying no. It’s still hard for me. In the core of my being I have a hard time believing it is ok to say no. I grew up reading The Clan of the Cave Bear. That was one of my first exposures to a more adult idea of sex. Clearly it was not the civilized view of adult behavior.

But I am Other. In ways large and small. Hell I even have type O blood. I am a bloody Neanderthal. It’s not that no woman gets to say no to sex. It’s that people like me don’t get to say no to sex. I know the other women when I meet them. We have a way of sizing people up. “Would I fuck you?” It’s hard to miss.

I’m kind of hoping that a lot of my response change is due to still breastfeeding. I think I am dry though. I’ve never been able to tell when I am ovulating. I cycle but it is getting farther and father apart with the running so if nothing else the running is probably suppressing ovulation. My body doesn’t think it’s a good idea to make a baby right now. It is so fucking right.

It is weird to discover what other people must get from sex. Most of the sex I have had has not been what you might call loving and bonding. When I hunt I look specifically for highly aggressive men. To wit: I look for rapists. I try to hurry up and say yes in the first few minutes. Then even if I ever change my mind I will keep my stupid mouth shut. Because I’m not entitled to say no.

I have tried to say no a few times. I don’t drink or do heavy drugs like that around people any more. I am terrified of getting drunk around anyone unsafe ever again. Dan handed me drinks and told me to drink drink drink long after I said, “I think I’m drunk enough.” But I wanted him to like me. So I woke up with a sticky wet cunt and an empty bed at 2am. I had told him in advance that I didn’t have unprotected sex with new partners. Oh well, right?

I’m fighting the idea of getting involved with communities again. There are too many Dan’s. I’m afraid to go if Noah isn’t with me and Noah doesn’t share pretty much any of my interests. And soon he will have far less time for me. My eighteen months aren’t going to happen. He wants to get started in January. He has someone to work with. They are both very fired up and eager. I’m god damn requiring that I get through Christmas this year. I have been a work widow. I’m very sad about doing it with a two and a four year old. Calli is just… not… quite… old enough. It’s going to be hard. And I’m not supposed to spend money. I feel like I am seeing all of the ways to get my needs met ripped away from me. The only way I will be able to live through that and be a nice person is if I reduce my needs. That is going to be very hard.

I’m not sure if I am being a martyr–I don’t think so. I’m making a conscious choice to invest in our future together. If it works then I will be very glad I did it. If it doesn’t, well… that happens. I’m scared though.

I’m not sure how to come out of this without being bitter. I have to. For all of us. Because this is all I have. I can’t fuck this up. I truly can’t. This is the highest stakes task I will have this lifetime. Will I do a good job raising my kids? Will they want to have relationships with me when they are adults? Will they make it through to adulthood happy and healthy and ready to be adults?

My crystal ball is busted. Do you have one?

Lately I’ve been doing a lot of telling myself, “I want to be here. I want this.” It’s complicated. I’m really looking forward to the marathon. Forty six days to go. Then things can settle down with my body. I can stop looking ahead to something and fussing over that and giving a lot of myself over to it.

I need to not look forward for a while. I need to just be. I’m not particularly good at that. I think that will help me with feeling frustrated all the time. I have a few more house project things to do. I finally went and bought a damn ceiling fan and light replacement for the play room. It’s been broken for over a year. With one thing and another it has just never made it to the top of the list. It is currently at the top of the list. Now I need to find spare energy. I also need to do dishes, pack lunch, and hurry my sorry ass up because park day is going to start in an hour in Alameda. Gotta go.

(Although before I do I will say that it worked today when I let Noah fuck me for a while then I pushed him off and got myself off with a vibrator. Then I let him fuck me again and I came during the sex. I’ll be doing that again.)