I hate that place. Please don’t ever make me go back there.
We went to meet a long time ago friend of My Husband’s and her family.
As we exited the tram at the parking garage, Husband helped a single mother with a small child get her stroller off. That simple act of kindness made me sad. He’s such a good guy. Why doesn’t he want me???

I have to love and want myself more than him. That is the most important thing. 

I know.

I am totally overwhelmed and getting sick of OkCupid. I vacillate from being excited and flattered to annoyed and done with it. You can’t tell shit from a photo. 

Is it cock-blocking God/Universe/Higher Power to online date? 

Maybe I should just let nature run its course.
Except I have little faith that nature gives a shit about who I date.

Hot Barista- I’m on fire
The Jonathan Club
Too many coffee dates
I can’t drink that much tea or coffee
How am I going to have time to write?
I love my daughter more than life itself
Anything for her

I finally acquiesced and had lunch with a high powered attorney that seemed aggressive and charming in his emails and said he knew a thing or two about polyamory.

It was probably a bad idea to go directly from therapy to lunch with him at a private club in downtown Los Angeles as I was feeling a little vulnerable to begin with. It’s called The Jonathan Club, and he was pretty impressed with himself that he was taking me there. I, personally, could give two shits about stuff like that but went out of morbid curiosity, I guess. 

I knew at first sight,  this date was not going to end up in anything but a polite and speedy goodbye, but I hung in there out of sadomasochism. That is the only way I can explain it. I must hate myself in some way and want to be punished. 

He was an overweight and aging fratboy navy army or whatever guy who proceeded to take me hostage for two hours with his interminable sexcapade stories becoming more and more grotesque as the lunch progressed. I finally gave up eating when he told me about the foursome where he sucked another man’s cock and swallowed his come. 

Now, I am no prude, and I am sexually empathetic as they come, but this litany was entirely inappropriate for a lunch date in a crowded restaurant filled with old rich fat white men. 

I felt mind raped.

As soon as I got home I curled up in the fetal position on the floor of my four-year-old daughter’s room and sobbed clutching one of her beloved stuffed animals. 

When I told my Husband that story, he laughed and thought it was funny. Especially the part about me sobbing on the floor of our daughter’s room.

I have an avalanche of sadness about My Husband and my marriage that is so huge I can’t even get close to it without feeling like I am going to die.
It lives in the middle of my body.
There is a little white ladybug sitting on my head. When I disassociate and go to her, I feel stoned and good.
There is a medieval iron grill around my heart that feels massive, but safe.
There is a pink and purple foam grill around my entire body that feels warm, safe, and protected.
If My Husband turned around and said he wanted to be with me and only me and that he felt passionate towards me, I would end this atrocious experiment in open-marriage immediately.

I am not sure I am cut out for this.


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