I've been blogging a lot about my personal problems.  This is like free therapy for me.  These aren't your problems.  I don't mind boring you with the details.  Like I said, I think it might be doing me good, the quality of blogs has been a little low lately, so I don't mind adding these blogs as I don't think it's dragging down the blogpage, and it's kind of like a soap opera.  You get to experience the worst things that can happen in somebody's like and not actually be there.

I was going through my old texts with my wife.  I wanted to see the exact language she used when she asked me to rescue her from the public restroom at Paris.  I noticed bizarre trends in the history.  The day before her drunken escapade, she had gone out to happy hour with her co-workers.  She didn't get drunk, or anything, just had appetizers, a couple drinks, and bitched about her job with people she worked with.  I hadn't had my surgery yet, so my sexual function was, more or less, intact.

She was sending me some pretty fucking explicit texts, perving our about things we'd done sexually the day before.  She even made a couple of indecent proposals about what she was going to do when she got home.  I was texting back particular variations I was prepared to do and not receiving responses.  I playfully inquired about the lack of response, "Are you scared?"  To imply she was too frightened to respond to my boasts.  It turns out she'd left early to make good on her threats and wasn't checking messages while driving.

It was a good night.  Everybody was being cordial.  Shit was pretty much working.

God... I just totally did a movie flashback in my head and sat there with both hands on my face for ten minutes thinking about the situation.  This really IS like a soap opera.

Even the night I had to go rescue her, the early evening texts were nice.  The actual text where she asks for help was... sweet.  It was really nice.  I had searched for the exact phrasing of the text without having altruism in mind.  I just wanted to see how a heartless shrew asks for help from the person they're going to take an Atomic Emotional Shit on in just a couple days.  It was sweet.  She needed help and was asking the one person she knew who would be there.  I helped her out.  I wasn't an asshole about it. 

I had mild anxiety about the surgery the night before.  I was to be there at 6 am so there wouldn't be much time to ramp up for it in the morning.  I needed my wife to take some time, give me a hug, tell me it was going to be alright, and she'd be there for me during the hellish recovery where my scrotum was going to turn into a diseased, black cantaloupe that's trying to eat my dick.  She'd have none of it.  It was time for bed.  She had training in the morning.

"Look, I'm not expecting an hour long fuck-a-thon or anything, you came home, took a bath, ate, studied, and now you're going to sleep.  You were talking to your friend on the phone and you were just downstair on facebook when I was taking a shower.  You wouldn't even have come back up until now if I hadn't called you.  You don't you could take ten or fifteen minutes out of your sleep schedule to spend some time with your husband?"

"I wasn't ON facebook."

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"Look, I'm really tired.  My eyes are rolling up in my head."

"That's fine.  You can be really tired and spend time with your husband."

"Look, I'm going to sleep."

I think that conversation rapidly degenerated to me going to sleep in the guest bedroom with both my middle fingers directed towards my wife as I left.  The conversation took somewhat longer than the ten or fifteen minutes I suggested in the first place.

EDIT:  By the way, I forgot to say, when I went downstairs, like a child I checked the computer history.  She'd been on fucking facebook.  Goddammit I hate this shit.  I don't think I've ever lied to my wife in 18 years.  To lie over something as trifling as that too.  I didn't confront her about it.  Maybe at the marriage counsellor...

I'm not usually a self pitying person vulnerable to butt hurt, but I must admit, I felt pretty fucking butthurt and alone that night in the guest bedroom.  I didn't sleep at all.  I was a shaking wreck in the pre-op room.

How could we go from what I was reading in the texts to that emotional dog turd in just a couple of days?  What had happened that had turned things around?  We hadn't gotten into an argument.  I hadn't eaten the last cookie.  I didn't leave the toilet seat up.  Is she using me?  Did I really marry somebody who can only take emotional support?  If I live to be 100, I'll never forgive her for the disappointment I feel in the last week or so.

I think the problem was the night she went dancing at Paris.  I might have mentioned, my wife is smoking hot.  She's a lot hotter than her friends.  She HAD to be the girl in the posse that every guy in the place was sniping for.  Every guy in the place wanted to take her home.  Guys were probably queued up to dance with her.  It really made her feel sexy.  I take her out dancing now.  But I'm not very good at it.  I'm also probably not doing it properly.  It's supposed to be like birds do in a mating ritual.  That's not where I am in my mind when I'm dancing with my wife.

My wife and I are having problems.  We've had a couple of set backs in our road to repair our marriage.  This one is a bad one.  I think that my wife considers every day spent working on our marriage is one more day in front of being a dancing queen with her single friends every weekend.  She hasn't considered the logistics of being a single mom in her 40s doing the singles scene in Vegas.

I had another revelation, but I'm bored with typing and kind of depressed after typing it out.  I'm going to take a gross, hash topped bong hit of Afgoo Berry, make a cup of coffee, and two Smores Pop-Tarts (my kids like them).  I'll continue the saga of my disintegrating marriage later.

Oh, on a side note, I have become so emotional that it's become a problem.  I barely suppressed a melt down on my daughter for not being able to pre-heat the oven.  She was already upset when I choked it off.  I gave her a hug.  Told her it was okay.  Explained that recovering from surgery made it hard to control your emotions, being in pain all the time.  I told her that her mother and I were having trouble and it wasn't fair for me to take it out on her.  It was a nice moment, but could have been disaster.  I was going to pull a "Well don't just stand there.  Mash fucking buttons until you figure it out." before I stopped myself.

At the risk of using the embed function, the potential disaster reminded me of this scene: