More Words into the abyss in Book Five: Working Through the Maze 2018

My Christ I am exhausted.

I texted my Wife. I let her know that I couldn’t sleep last night, woke up around 2 a.m. to a night as bright as day, went to the basement, drank the brandy, spilled some, and would clean the mess when I got home. But primarily… I discovered why the damned street was bright as day at 2 a.m. in December. Our neighbor’s 14 year old daughter committed suicide by hanging and the emergency vehicles convened on the residence last night around 2 a.m. Tragic. I didn’t know her, we’d never met, and wouldn’t recognize those neighbors if I saw them on the street… but any time a 14 year old kills themselves, it is tragic.

Wife didn’t text back or respond in any way.

Later, I texted her a picture of my schedule for after work to see what she thought.

Wife didn’t text back or respond in any way.

After I saw that all of the messages had been read, I texted her “Today has been boring and long. How is your day going?”

Wife didn’t text back or respond in any way.

Y’know what… fuck it. I don’t care. She isn’t busy (that’s for damned sure) and if she is being quiet because she’s mad about the spill downstairs or mad that I drank last night.... fuck it. In my current frame of mind, having my text messages ignored doesn’t even surprise me.

I am somewhat conflicted, though.

You see… I have 2 hours left in my day. It has been slow. Boring. Long. And I have been very tired. As I fight my passionate desire to simply close my eyes and fall asleep at my desk; I emotionally want to do one of two things (or both).

(1) I want to write a story. Just start letting the words flow through me to craft some descriptive narrative, something involving the sun and a beach and a boat and the kind of slow, sensual sexual activity that lasts all day because both people are free of responsibility. Of course I can’t write that right now. Not only am I too exhausted, but I’m at work. And even though my imagination is probably clever enough to invent that scene I also think it would be potentially inappropriate to sit here waxing poetic over sexual interactions.

(2) I wish I still had Raven around. Someone that would send me photos of her looking remarkably tempting in her perfectly blended “Goth/Athletic/Office” aesthetic. Just her appearance was enough to connect my libido and heart rate. Then she would describe her day and tell me at what point of that day she would have preferred I entered. We didn’t know each other IRL and technically for all I know she was in reality a 49 year old man from Mbabane, Swaziland. But the beautiful images allowing me the fantasy that a woman like that would want to talk to me, and flirt with me, and tell me that she would want me there in front of her… and describe the things she would do to me if I were. Well… when what feels most missing is being wanted… that kind of thing is a dangerous oasis in the desert of Lonely Souls.

So… as I sit here fighting sleep at my desk, watching the minutes pass… those options are what I wish I had available to me right now. Either to write a story that would ignite the passions. Or engage in a text message conversation that would enthrall my libido.

Neither is available to me.

So instead I’ll fight my heavy eyelids, contemplate the chicken clucking Eruovision song from Netta Barzilai, and read more articles on “Psychological Advice, Help, and Spiritual Guidance when you find yourself in a sexless marriage.”