Who likes leftovers? Tastes bland and blogs the belly down with a gut bloat. That’s what I get every evening, whether he goes Frisbee golfing or stays in the garage reclining, I get next to no substance, just irritation or quietly ignoring me. No one happy.

I don’t say anything.

I won’t rock my boat if it floats, but inside I wonder every single night if other marriages have it made:

communication unimpeded by screens,

doing things together to inspire passion,

having sex despite their old body aches?

Seems like a stupid question. I loathe that I think I know the answer:

Every marriage but mine…RIGHT???

Late night stand up last night said something like “majority men would rather get a good night’s sleep than have sex” and my husband has literally said that and much more often “I’d take a massage over sex any day”.

Of course, as a woman, I first think, Is it ME? Am I just old and ugly? Do my books hang too low? Is my breath always nasty, I can’t remember the last time we kissed…

Shit, it’s been so long since I’ve felt desired, I can’t even write how it’d feel to have someone touch and kiss me for real. Honestly, I close my eyes when people even kiss while watching TV alone or with somebody.

I guess that’s why a music artist touching my hand and paying attention to me made such a difference. For me, he embodies the pick me up power of passing passion through human connection.

I don’t reside in fiction but in reality, and I have to find a way to engage as I slip down the hill of age.

Part Two

I tried. Many times. Same result.

I gave him a massage yesterday, and he said, “Oh, your done.” Ok, and he turned over. Today, while I was attempting to massage his feet, and after telling him to elevate them, he said, “Can you just stop talking?”

I wonder sometimes on bad brain days like today, Will I ever even tremble with passion again before I die?

I guess the best way I can say how my life feels right now is…

I’m dying to bloom.