Saturday, December 03, 2005

after three weeks of truce, the problems dh and I have been having have blown up again. on Thursday night I asked if he could come home early Friday: he hasn't been home early since we got back from paris. I later mentioned that Friday would also be a good time to try for a snog. we haven't had sex for five weeks, and before that, who knows how long. now, you'd expect he'd be on the doorstep at 5.30 pm, clutching a bunch of flowers and sporting a fine erection after a hint like that. but no. he rocks in at 6.45 pm, after I've done all A's dinner/bath/our dinner preparation, a mere 15 minutes earlier than his nominal "home time", though it's been more like 7.30 lately. and when I tried - I swear, gently - to talk about how we could get a more harmonious home life, how he could manage one early night a fortnight perhaps - he got all defensive, as he does, said he'd come home to "a war zone", etc etc. it's the trick he pulled in Hong Kong, and many times since; put all the onus of defining a good relationship, a good home time, on me, then push it to the limit (in Hong Kong it was turning up 20 minutes late on my swim nights), then imply that I'm a difficult, demanding bitch for questioning that. the fact I faxed in my redundancy application yesterday didn't help: I was feeling condemned to permanent, powerless, housewifery. so of course no sex. at 5 am a suitcase he'd left propped up in the bedroom fell over. that was the end of my sleep; I lay awake thinking of the war zone comment and the general pattern of attacking when I ask for help, and eventually started crying; cue pointless discussion with husband.

at lunchtime, after I went out to get my new glasses, I told him what I'd concluded: that his complete lack of effort at romance despite our big talk about this after the internet porn incident, his lateness on a hot date night and his complete lack of interest in my recent proposal that A could stay with my folks while we had a night in a nice B and B (meaning "dirty weekend") indicated to me that he was just not interested in having sex with me, or at least not enough to make half an effort. he's the one person who's in a position to make me feel better about my body and my sexuality right now, and what's he doing? nothing. I seriously feel almost entitled to go off and have an affair for my own mental health. I'm a woman who used to have a string of boys, and those boys were always interested, to say the least. now sex happens maybe every two months. yes, I could jump on him. but I'm feeling hurt and rejected and I don't really want to, you know?

so last night's hot date was ruined, today I'm a zombie and wasting valuable A. sleep time when I could be writing or working because I have no mind (I just made a coffee in the percolator with no coffee). and I don't see what's different about this round of conversations about what I need that will make him actually respond.

I just wanted to let you know that sometimes DH stands for DICKHEAD.

Big hug.
I agree with Amy...
DICKHEAD fits him perfectly!
I love your blog and have been
lurking for many months.
We are with you no matter what you
ah, the poor dear. when I first referred to him as my dh he took offence; and at the time I was being nice.

things are so up and down. sometimes I'm just too busy to fight him...
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