I don’t actually think Noah will change. That’s not a stinging indictment. Noah does a lot for me all the time. I think I read MDC to remind me that Noah helps more than average. He does a lot of solo time with the kids. He has gotten a lot better over the years about helping with house work. He cooks breakfast every morning. He cooks dinner three or so nights a week. He does bedtime at least three nights a week and some weeks almost every night.

Noah is trying. Noah is doing the best he knows how. Noah isn’t trying to be cruel by ignoring my birthday he is simply treating me like I am him. I’m not. But he feels pretty comfortable around me.

What I want from Noah is something that can’t be ordered. It can’t be asked for. It can’t be requested. It can’t even be properly explained. I want him to want to. He doesn’t. Ok. That’s that.

Noah is the most exciting person to have an affair with I have ever found. He likes paying a lot of attention to me. He likes having intense conversations. He has spent more hours than I want to think about helping me crawl around in my brain. He works hard on supporting me. He really does.

He’s done. He’s tired. He is over extended. And no matter how much I sit here and cry he has to be able to function and go support our family. I can’t really keep pushing him. I can’t get mad at him for not coming up with more want to. If he is out of it then he is out of it and it makes sense. Marriage to me isn’t easy. I can see how it would wear a person down.

I called Pam this morning because I didn’t want to cry by myself and she is on the east coast so I didn’t feel too bad about calling. It was still early by her standards but it wasn’t completely obscene. She told me that she knew me for years before she knew I was depressed and suicidal. I hide it well. I’m moody, sure, but so what?

I am doing better socially in the home school group. I can talk to them about kids. That’s easy. I don’t know how to socialize with more generic people. I feel terror and anxiety when I try to talk to people I know in other ways. Who is going to send the next nasty letter telling me how bad I am? I’m afraid to open my mouth. I already know that I am bad. I don’t need to be told any more. So talking to people is hard. When will this person decide they hate me?

We went to a party when the girls were at the Godmamas’ house.  I compulsively bring up sex (no one wants to hear about my kids—right?) and then feel awkward and weird because I shouldn’t talk about sex any more. If you are not interested in fucking people you shouldn’t talk about sex. It’s just not a good idea. That’s my life experience.

I don’t know why anyone would bother to talk to me. I don’t feel like I have anything to offer. I can hear Taylor and Kira ranting in my head already. Ok, I know why you tell me. It doesn’t feel like enough.

Once upon a time a father had to come up with money to give a man in order to marry off his daughter. She would be an imposition on her new husband so here is a gift to ease the burden. I have no dowry. I have nothing of value to trade for the burden of knowing me.

I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter. I know some pathetic people who keep right on trucking. But I tell you, as I sit here and watch the sun dance on Shanna’s golden hair I think that I don’t want to be poison. It would be bad to have poison in this house. She is so wonderful. I don’t want to hurt her. Don’t I hurt her by living? By being this person?

I think a lot about what I am teaching my kids. For some strange reason I haven’t been talking to them much in the past couple of weeks. Shanna has even commented on me being quiet and she asks me what I’m thinking about.  I told her I am thinking about things that provoke really strong emotion in me and I’m trying to figure out how to resolve the issues in a more logical fashion—which is hard to do while feeling strong emotion. So it’s taking me a long time and I find that frustrating. But the only way to solve a hard problem is to keep trying no matter how frustrated you are.

I’m still not talking much.

Several of my friends have been posting about their kids reading. I’m so glad Shanna isn’t reading yet because she is looking over my shoulder right now. That will be inconvenient very soon.

My friend Kira listened to my pity party and offered to take the girls for a full day tomorrow. Another friend has borrowed them for a few hours here and there. Calli prefers to stay with me but Shanna is enjoying going out.

It’s weird and hard that I have more support than I think and less support than other people think. There are people in my life who are willing to babysit. But they are all very busy and have a lot of things going on and no one is available consistently and I don’t have particularly close relationships with most of the people who are willing to babysit.

I’ll be honest and say I don’t like using babysitting services from people I otherwise don’t know very much. I do it because I don’t have a choice. I try to do it as little as possible. I try to get to know people. Given the degree of social anxiety I feel it’s challenging.

I don’t have a close personal relationship with someone where I can say, “I’m in a bind can you watch the kids for three days in a row.” Yeah, no. If I was in labor again something could be found. If I were involuntarily committed I’m sure the community would rally to support Noah. Given that we don’t really want to do anything that drastic no we just don’t have consistent help.

It makes things complicated. When I talk to people about this they always suggest this long list of options that require a)money to burn or b)relationships I don’t have. I wouldn’t take my kids to a church group I’m unfamiliar with and leave them there even though it can be had for basically nothing because I don’t want my kids indoctrinated in pretty much any faith. I’ll take burn out.

So it’s all my fault and I need to shut the fuck up. Beggars can’t be choosers.

The kids asked if we can walk to dinner. Out of time. I didn’t get to tell you about the Ideal Most Perfect Suburban Night Ever we had last night.