I woke up this morning with a heaviness I can’t quite explain.
Of course, there are many reasons to be heavy but none of them sticks to my brain. I am feeling restless, irritable and discontent.
I want to return ridiculously overpriced clothing I bought yesterday in a fugue state after therapy. And now- although I had every intention of driving to the store in Pasadena, my car ended up here at Amara’s Kitchen in Highland Park. I am writing. Because writing is the only way I know how to make sense of things. And it feels overwhelming, how much I need to make sense of right now.
“We can tell only what we know, but we know in the telling.”
There is a tightness in my chest. A vice grip is slowly closing. Tingling inside my nose. Warm salty water threatens to fall out of my eyes and roll down my face. But I am in a public place. Eating purple eggs and a cold yerba mate tea. I am craving the greens. I didn’t have tea this morning. I am joining my husband on a gut repair diet for two weeks. Only protein and vegetables. What was I thinking? I thought that I wanted to feel connected to him, and if this is the only way, I will take it. It’s not like he’s smoking crack or guzzling booze.
I finished my eggs and spinach.
I feel a little better. I think. I can always hold the rock from my therapist in the car. I can return the clothes now. I can reimagine the rainbow out of my head and access that equanimity. I can hold all of me. The fear and the strength. I can be all things. I AM all things.
Wish I could fuck The Ninja right now though. That sounds fun. And then it doesn’t sound fun at all.
I told my writer friend about this situation. The situation being an open marriage and me fucking The Ninja at some point while staying with my husband. His reaction was interesting. I thought he would be supportive considering how candidly he talks about sex, but he thinks it is a terrible idea. That what I think I might get from being with someone else is what I need to get from my husband.
He told me to stop talking to The Ninja and start talking to my husband.
I thanked him for his opinion and told him that it was just that, his opinion and at the end of the day, he had no idea what was right or wrong for me. That this just was and is. And it IS happening. There is no going back to my husband and talking about anything or trying to figure this shit out. The figuring out is me figuring out what I need, to be happy.
I was impressed with my ability to stay centered and defend myself. I am not complaining. I am sharing a new experience. It is new. It is different. Not many people will understand. That is okay. My poly friend warned me of this. I should call her.
My husband emailed me while I was working. He said he felt a little guilty that he didn’t make love to me on my birthday. And that he meant what we talked about. That he wanted me to be happy. And that he had asked his nutritionist/functional medicine doctor that charges us thousands of dollars for supplements and blood tests….about his testosterone levels and the doctor guy said they were fine.
When I returned home, my husband was there in the kitchen making a salad with nothing but lemon juice on it. I started talking to him about our situation. About why he didn’t feel like being intimate with me. Was it seeing me give birth? Was it personal?
He assured me it was not. And he meant what he said. And that he always was going to take care of our daughter and me- even if I fell in love with someone else and wanted to be with them. Although he hoped that wouldn’t happen, he would understand if it did. But that we would always be family. And then we joked about who would get the dog. He would. I am not sharing a dog. But let’s not go there. Even talking about splitting up gives me anxiety. It just doesn’t seem like the answer. To split up. We enjoy living together. I like our routine. So does he. There is nothing wrong with it. We have our type of intimacy, He admitted to feeling relieved he didn’t have to have sex with me once a week. Something I tried to instill a while ago but never took off.
He told me sometimes he did want to have sex with me, but that it was few and far between. When I suggested an open marriage, he was relieved and delighted because he thought we would have to split up for me to ever be happy.
I don’t remember being the one to suggest an open marriage.
But maybe I did?? Subconsciously.
I went to an event with a new friend from the private elementary school I want my daughter to go attend. I like her. She and I started talking at one of the events the school held, and it turns out she and I partied at the same dive bar in Hollywood for years. The HMS Bounty! We knew a lot of the same people! Small world. She is also a writer. A good one at that. For some reason, on the drive, I told her about my open marriage plans and I loved her response. Man. It made me feel so normal. And not so freaky weird. She said her and her husband of twenty years were discussing something similar. That she also felt it was the evolved marriage- the open one. It is the greatest spiritual practice. I fell in love with her right then and there.
I woke up to this message from her:
“AND – so so lovely to talk with you and to get to know you. You have such a wonderful mind and spirit – thank you for sharing with me all of your ideas and thoughts on writing. Get going with it – you have great stories to tell! I especially want to read about your journey that you are on right now – it would be really helpful in shifting our society’s consciousness, and I think there would be huge interest – a much needed heartfelt perspective to be considered.”
I feel a surge of erotic energy in me swirling and singing. The tips of my fingers are tingling. Electric. Just thinking about this kind of energy and freedom I have right is inspiring.
I even kind of like my Mom right now! I have reacted to my mother’s hypersexuality by vehemently repressing mine only to have it aggressively manifest in deviant ways. For what it is worth, I feel grateful to not feel that way about her, at least for today.
I also feel closer to my husband than I ever have. He doesn’t seem like such an enigma anymore. He looks like a real partner in crime. Someone consistent and stable that I can count on for the rest of my life. Till death do us part.
I was feeling all warm and fuzzy about my husband when I noticed he left his iPad. I picked it up and looked at facetime. He received a call from a strange area code I didn’t recognize not that long ago. I researched what part of the country the are code belonged to and it belonged to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Exactly where his high school sweetheart lives. A woman I have caught him having, what I consider, extremely inappropriate conversations with on Facebook. The last time it happened I freaked out and told him I never wanted him to speak to her again. This woman that he felt “met him on every level, mentally, emotionally, and physically.” Something he has never said to me.
I have jealousy coursing through my body now. Ugh. I don’t feel good at all.
I laid down and prayed.
What came to me is:
It is one wild motherfucking God. Sex is God too. Eroticism is God. Rough is God. Soft is God. If God is everything then this, all of it, too, is God. And then what do you do with that?
Nothing is wrong, bad, shameful.
When I got home, I opened up the dialog about non-monogamy with my husband again. I have to keep talking about it. I asked him if he planned on seeing his high school sweetheart when he takes a trip back to Minnesota. He seemed annoyed and quick to refute. Thinks it is ridiculous of me to keep thinking about her. But I want to scream- then why do you have a face-time call from somebody’s cell phone in Sioux Falls, SOUTH FUCKING DAKOTA!! I am not stupid. But I feel kind of stupid. Because, at the same time, I am jealous about this high school tart, I am lusting aggressively after The Ninja.
Hypocrisy at its finest.