A Wee Bit of Self-Reflection with a Heap of Remorse on the Side

It's times like these I am very happy to have this here blog-ma-bob. Tonight, I fell asleep scratching the genius's back at 8:45, but then I woke up with my mind spinning at 11:00 and still come 12AM, it's time to surrender to the fact that writing will be the only thing that can decompress my brain. Well, sex might, but darn it if I didn't just cozy up to my computer here in my flannel and slippers. Plus, Mr. Bee and I are in a holding pattern that will likely stick (not that sex these days for me involves other folks, really).

I've been listening to my back-up of podcasts the past couple days and many of them are Dan Savage's, so, of course, I'm in one of my, "no wonder this didn't work out, I'm not a good candidate for monogamy" moods. The whole thing just freaks me out though. I, like a few bloggers/ writers I know can claim a certain amount of anti-socialism, yet I have been finding myself less and less isolated these days. Funny thing is, when I am having fun with awesome folks, topics re: sex don't seem to be too far behind and I am really finding my disfunctional marital situation to be in strong cognitive dissonance to my ideals.

How could I be so stupid? How could I have put up with ____? Where did I go wrong? and certainly there are those "What if I just do this again's"? Just noticing my responses to men and women is really baffling me. There is no doubt I love me some women. There is a directness, an unfetterd comfort and sense of belonging+ boobs, but laying in my bed, thoughts of this guy I have some dealings with in the meat world keep arising. But, they're neurotic as hell. While I receive great comfort in the fact that I am miles away from the idea of entering a new relationship in any sort of practical sense, I can't help but feel that I am in a place with my marriage that is so long over-due, this should have happened, the splitting up, years and years ago.

I am trying to stay in The Now™ with it all. Yes, it is the only logical place for me to be, and it's not that I need convincing. Rather, I need reminding. These sticky feelings are the reminders. Thanks sticky feelings. (Can sticky feeling sense sarcastic appeasement attempts? I think they do. I think they amp up their sticky resolve.) I think normal earthlings call this fear, or is it anxiety. I always get those two mixed up.

Thankfully, I have gardening a day a week at my kids' school keeping me grounded. I have my class keeping me on my toes. I have NaNoWriMo keeping me humble. I have my kids keeping me real. I have my neuroses and a spare tire keeping me chaste. I have a low tolerance for pain keeping me willing to cry. I have these stupid sentences keeping me writing, in The Now™.

This is about the point in a post where I let nasty thoughts take me downtown, into the nether regions of Mommy's little secret world where she writes about rednecks fucking rednecks, where she pretends that she is far removed from anything so base, so vile, yet with an uncanny knowing, no one can even pretend it's "artistic expression," though, kindly, they do. Florence Joe, she's old news (and, I'm booting her out of my "I was trying to be fictional" memoir). Debbie Downer, she's such a doormat, I don't think I can find her sexy beyond the little I've already used her (note to self- pay attention).

I need something new here, though, if it's not absurd, it won't interest me. Oops, lost that train from getting on Facebook. A poem-thing?

Within the grasps of my now fading attention span

Gummy, gooey, sticky, chewy.
Let me taste you;
Let me do you.
Did I act all business-phooey?
Did I miss an opportunity?
I don't really want to call the shots,
Yet, I'm antsy when I'm not.
Leader vs. bossy--
Uncomfortable with that.
Is it, "Will you mumblemumble my pussy?"
Or, "On your knees, suck my twat."

Bushy, Blushy, Random Mushy.
Do you like me?
Circle "yes" or "no."
Can I do your wife some more?
Kinky, kinky, naughty boy,
The past ten times I've had restraint.
This one time I'll wage complaint.
Your beard I liked,
Your gentleness nice.
When all else is silent,
We talk and talk,
But when we get close,
The phone rings,
The kids scream,
I am reminded,
It's only a (sic) dream.

You and your irreverent smarty,
You're an ideal pair.
We'll suck your cock
While I smell her hair.
Lucky for me,
I never gave you this link,
Else you'd know these thoughts,
The ones I think.
Here in this insulated world,
I'm your slut, your mustached grrl.
In "reality," to you, this is no big deal,
But for me in these last ten years
Being unappreciated has taken its toll.
My self-esteem, whatever that is,
Is on the floor with all the trash,
Waiting for him to want me back.

This poem has too much remorse
For my taste.
Regret is really quite the waste.
Since no one else has mentioned the rhyming,
Let me tell you another thing or two.
If this became some supafly rap,
You might think me rad,
Or whatever the youngsters are calling that crap,
But since I'm neither one of some ways
I'll be unchanged, stay just the same.
I'll wake up and forget this sticky feeling,
Forget when I was here fantasizing about your having to peel me off the ceiling.
I'll go the the bank.
I'll go to the store.
I'll let this pass like I did before.

Juicy, slimy, nifty, keen.
Keep it nice.
Keep it clean.
Yummy, squirty, lewd, and flirty
Who is gonna taste and hurt me?
In this second, there is "you."
But give it a day,
I'll be back alone,
Back in the anti-saddle,
Back in my home.
Turtles don't really have it so good.
When you see them stuck
In the parking lot,
Only six inches away from the grass,
They know.
But, in the opposite direction they must go.
I'd love to end this rambly part,
To jump right in,
Make a splart.