“I think that God’s got a sick sense of humor” Depeche Mode

Here’s how my conversations with myself are playing out on my commute. It‘s probably a rehash of everything I’ve written over the course of the last year-and-a-half with CK but that’s what we do isn’t it? Second-guess ourselves ad nauseam? Like with any break up, my way to get over it is to get pissed off. With CK it’s a bit difficult to do because so much of this “fault” is my own. He’s still the best, healthiest relationship I’ve ever had. We didn’t really fight and he wasn’t particularly mean (passive aggressive snarky at worst). So instead I focus on all the reasons we weren’t going to work out. But if I’m being honest, all those reasons were not reasons to break up. Really, the sex was the only deal-breaker. Everything else just became a compounding annoyance that I would have likely overlooked had things been good in the bedroom. For instance, his dull job that he loved to talk about as if it was as stressful and paramount as a political ambassadorship. His wholehearted disinterest in ever learning to dance. His lack of initiative or opinion on everything from what we were going for date night to what we would have for dinner. His hollow reminders that he was ready to help to give me more breathing room to free up quality time for us. He didn’t present concrete solutions to problems which made his offers to help sound more and more like lip service. Folks, if your partner looks like they are drowning, don’t sit on the side of boat and say “I’m here if you need me”, jump the fuck in and help!

Everyone has habits and hobbies that annoy their partner but it’s usually not a reason to break up. Still, these reasons that I nitpick at until they bleed, I only do so because I’m sexually frustrated. Fifteen months without good sex is an eternity. When we first started out, I was consoling, encouraging, told him “it’s okay, we will work through this”. But things didn’t improve much as time went on. Some treatment helps, like the injections to correct the worst of his Peyronie’s curve. But then other treatments such as the bevy of erectile dysfunction pills only upset his sensitive stomach (another irritant) and that “GainWave” therapy which he paid entirely out of pocket for was as useful as snake oil.

 Fifteen months later, he still lacks the length or the firmness to get in there! We purchased a silicone extender which worked well to give him an added inch but then his dick still flopped around under the weight, even after the Trimix injections directly into his penis! So sex was still awkward, careful and unsatisfying. Also, after 15 months, I am convinced that he didn’t know how to fuck. Quite simply, quite sadly. At least he didn’t know how to fuck me. The last time we attempted sex, I spelled it out for him: before he came over, I said I was going to lie down for a nap and I wanted him to come in quietly, do what he had to do to prepare, and then fuck me awake. I was hopefully excited in anticipation. But when he came in to my room completely naked, he started kissing my face and then he asks me how did I sleep? My eyes snapped open wide and irritated I asked “You really want to have this conversation right now?” Even when I told him exactly how I wanted it, he shied away! I was sick of his excuses “I need more practice” . Do I really need to teach a 50 year old man how to fuck? He told me later he literally wept over his inability to please me. I know he did. I know he does. I never wanted to hurt this man. I do love him evern though I type this and feel like I don’t deserve a good man. CK was the whole package for me minus the sex. I did enjoy his company. I miss him when he’s not around but I don’t miss the pressure of the expectation of sex, or his increasing insecurity both in and out of the bedroom which was making him less attractive to me. And I was tired of my own mounting sense of guilt for the constant night dreams and daydreams about sex with other men. I think probably the only reason I didn’t cheat was because no one made a pass at me.He messaged me last night for the first time in 48 hours which is the longest we’ve gone without talking. He said he felt okay Friday and most of Saturday but then by Sunday he was ugly crying again. That breaks the heart of the woman in me. And it hardens the heart of the man in me.

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“And if you don’t love me, let me go” The Decemberists

Good news is, the police dept offered me the job. Sad news is, I had to decline. Four months of waiting while they invested time and money to vet me, I had convinced myself that I would accept the offer, if they made an offer, no matter what that offer was. But that was before I saw how bad the offer was. When it arrived, I doubled back over the email looking for active links or attachments, thinking they had simply forgotten to include them. So I asked. No medical? No life insurance? And a salary so low, I can’t afford it out of pocket. An inflexible leave policy and a convoluted promotion scheme. I did expect a low salary but not AS low as what they offered…which was also not negotiable. Was this why they refused to have the conversation about what was even on the table before an offer was made? I could have saved them time and money (which obviously, they don’t have) by admitting months ago that the terms were not acceptable. The more questions I asked, that “No” cake baked up higher and higher and frosted itself.

I asked G-d for guidance and he answered with the voices of my friends and family: Stay where you are. You like the job. Benefits and pay are generous. It’s a good company. Take the financial breathing room and something else will come along over the next few years. Then when my mother didnt have enough money to buy her medicine this month, that gave me the final answer. I would not be in a position to help my family financially if I accepted that job. And my mother isnt getting healthier/younger.

It was still a hard email to send. The “thank you, but no thank you”.

CK has finally accepted my resignation notice on our relationship as well. THat step back that I took before the holiday which didnt result in any change to status quo…now we arent even speaking. He’s hurt. Angry. Some of what he says is true like I probably didnt try “hard enough”. But other accusations like I took advantage of him nearly caused me to snap because I was careful NOT to ever take advantage of him. Fact: What I sacrificed for him was not good enough. He needed more time and attention and there just werent enough hours in the day to make him feel loved. Yes, the attempts at sex were for me, always disatisfying and often disastrous. In the end, I realized how bitter he was. He raged like a martyr (I know a little something about that) and finally I told him “I think you don’t love me as much as you love feeling self-righteous. The neglected, lonely, victim”. The tragic poetry of it. He did his best writing while “suffering” under me.

That part makes me angry. Like I spent 15 months with him for nothing. Yesterday was the first full 24 hours we’ve gone without speaking. When you talk to someone (even if you only see them on weekends) every day for that long, the silence is a little unsettling. Of course I miss him. He was my best friend. I wish I could chat with him like “normal” but that would be misleading. He said I never loved him and THAT bothers me but I can’t, right now, try to convince him otherwise without falling back into the rut we were in. He’d rather be miserable with me than happy with anyone else. That’s horrifying to me. Here, let me do YOU a favor and clip that cord once and for all>


lAST weekend, I went to an annual swing dance event out of town (that’s what started his passive aggressive snide comments that led to me saying “Enough. I really don’t want to do this anymore.”) I was trying not to let the fight ruin my mood but I must have been scowling as I stood there stewing angrily over his words, over how I didnt like the band, and how I didnt like the crowd…then a man proposed to his girlfriend on the dancefloor and the band started playing “Come on, get happy”. I put my street shoes back on and left, dry-eyed and suddenly tired.

I am sad. I loved him more than I loved anyone else. But maybe it wasnt enough. And it certainly wasnt a good sexual fit. But I appreciated feeling like, even if it was lip service, I wasn’t alone or lonely for more than a year. But he was lonely, he told me. So I ended it as much for him as for myself.

“Shout when you wanna get off the ride” ~ The Kills

I slogged (slow jogged) a 10K today across the Skyway today. This time last year, I was in ‘okay’ shape and made it across without too much damage but this year, I probably shouldn’t have done it. Sitting here with ice on my knee and unsure what is going on with the pain in my left heel that started less than 2 miles in. My time sucked too. I hope I can walk tomorrow because it’s a quarter mile from my car to my office.

Speaking of, I did a year at the VA, took stock of where I was heading, and put in my two-week notice. Then I promptly accepted my “old job” back, more or less. I tell myself it’s temporary but at least I wont be living paycheck to paycheck while I have it and that will be nice. Meanwhile, I still jump through vetting hoops for the local police dept and hope, if/when they offer me a position, that the salary is negotiable or it will be right back to paycheck-to-paycheck I go.

But it’s also exciting to be back in the saddle so to speak. I didn’t miss the traffic on the commute or waking up at 4:30 AM but I did miss the smell of the flight line. Back to wearing flip flops to the office and changing into heels. It’s too early to say how I’ll “like” being back but already, I’m grateful for the professional relevance (as well as the breathing room financially). It will be difficult to walk away again if the PD job pans out. Finally, I know this will sound arrogant as fck but it’s nice to come back to a job where I’m not the smartest person in the room and the toilets flush automatically (yes, two completely unrelated ‘pros’). Where I worked within the VA felt like a repository of people who couldn’t function or hold down a “real job”. Now I’m surrounded by high speed, moderate drag (because it IS still the government after all). But no one that I work with acts like they eat paint chips for breakfast.

Separately, I was bitching trying to set up my accounts at work because the questions to reset passwords were all “Where did you meet your spouse?” and “What is the middle name of your first born child?”. One of my coworkers said another comedian complained of the same thing: Where are the Single person’s security questions? You know what we (single people) get? “What was your phone number when you were 10”. If I could remember that, I could probably remember all my passwords and wouldnt need security questions.

Getting back to the old job means getting back to my old schedule too which was more conducive to catching a 4:30pm ballet class or a 6pm aerial silks class (because Gym Sock Burrito class doesn’t sound as sexy). Most folks are triggered by the New Year, New You but I needed a new job and a compatible schedule to recommit to my health. So as soon as I started the new/old job, I re-upped my membership for ballet and purchased a few other packages on Groupon. Plus, I started a 6 week poi spinning foundations course just to learn new tricks that might come in handy for Cabaret performances. Or not because I can’t stop socking myself in the head with the poi.

I also took inventory of my closet. Going back to work in a professional environment, I needed to face the facts of what fits and what does not. I have a bin of clothes in the garage labeled “Do not open for 20lbs”. Over the years, I’ve packed and unpacked and repacked that bin as my weight yo-yo’s with my endocrine problems. This time I changed the label to “30 lbs” and added more clothes.

But I’m not going to beat myself up because I’m back on track for the time being. I think. It’s too easy to blame my wonky lab results for the way I look and feel but I also wasn’t trying. Now excuse me while I hobble away for a fresh ice pack.