Can you read my mind?

I think maybe the boy is psychic.

In work, when I briefly popped in to tell them how sick I am and how it is humanly impossible for me to actually perform my job role, I told my team of how the boy had bought an XBOX and we have gone to bed separately every night.

This hasn't happened since I said it. We also had sex last Thursday which was so needed.

Can he read my mind? Sometimes I really believe he has this gift that he keeps hidden away from me and at any moment, he knows what I am thinking and how I am feeling.

Maybe he has found my blog, although to be fair, doesn't contain too much information for him to use as my lack of energy is affecting my typing ability too.

Heaven Knows I'm Miserable now

I'm not abandoning my blog and I badly want to sit for TIME and type away, but I feel so poorly.

Last night was dreadful for us both trying to rest. The boy was in pain. I hate it, lying in bed when he gets up, not being able to do anything to help. I, in turn was in agony too. Every time I moved in bed I felt my pelvis was about to shatter accompanied by a night of mares.

Today I feel unbearably vile.

People are strange...

Today has been an odd one to say the least. I went into the office to sort out some paperwork and could tell that something was going on. A definite atmosphere but I couldn't pinpoint everyone's emotion. Maybe worry?

It transpires that without going into too much detail, one of my bosses' lost his family today. One member, killed two other members then committed suicide. It's on every news website, making national headlines until the football captain slag got his comeuppance and stole the spotlight.

His pain, I can't begin to imagine. Having to explain the loss of his close relatives to his two young children. Having to live with not quite ever knowing exactly what drove his step-dad to kill his mum and kid sister in the early hours of the morning.

Something inside so strong...

I feel utter rage and can't vent it and it is making me feel physically ill.

I have never really hated. Hate, I have always thought is a waste of precious energy. I wouldn't give someone the satisfaction of thinking or knowing that they were hated by me. The wouldn't warrant that much attention.

When I split with Ex-husband-that-hasn't-died-in-a-car-crash, I didn't hate him. I was sometimes repulsed at the thought of him and sometimes I felt despair. In fact, I felt many negative things about it. But it was never lasting. Every feeling was overruled by guilt and pity.

I was sure that I was responsible for his vile side. Particularly in the years after the breakdown of the marriage. I had told him that I hadn't loved him and asked him to leave. Surely I should understand how he felt and that his rage being vented in my direction was justified. His erratic behaviour I blamed on stress and illness rather than his bad character, which of cause was stress brought on by me. I made allowances and forgave him too quickly for his actions, until it got to a point when I realised that I couldn't go on feeling to blame forever. That he should take responsibility for his own actions and that myself and the kids shouldn't be forced into feeling the way we did.

I still have him stuck in my life. He is an underlying disease that I can never rid myself of. He stays on the sidelines, festering away and I find it increasingly difficult to stop him having an affect on me.

He gets the bare minimum of me. No small talk, no consideration. He gets what I am forced to allow him and not a drop more. I dislike having to make eye contact with him and my skin crawls every single Saturday when for those few minutes, I have to be in his presence.

I'm annoyed at myself for letting him upset me today. A phone call was needed for some trivial arrangements followed by two more controversial topics that needed to be discussed. The vileness commenced...

Afterwards, sitting on my bed crying, I realised that I hated him. A nasty, evil burning inside of me wishing he would feel pain or hurt. Wishing nothing but badness for him, a life of misery. I think I became more upset by my thoughts rather than how he had made me feel.

I don't think he brings anything extra to the lives of our children. I don't feel they are better off for the contact they have with him. I hope in time they will realise that it was a forced contact and I tried my best to make others understand what he had put us through.

After reaching out to R in floods of tears, she vented with me on the phone, called him every name on the sun, tried to see things from his perspective, then realised that she couldn't and managed to find a few more names to insult him with, I felt better.

We have talked about revenge before now. Myself not being as vicious or vindictive as she. My revenge ideas were plausible such as tipping off the police when I suspect he driving with my children in the car whilst being over the legal limit of alcohol. Or investigating his extra earnings that he doesn't declare and highlight this to the Child Support Agency or Tax Office when he is claiming his lack of wealth and incapability to financially support his children. R's revenge is more, shall we say, "bunny-boiler," things that you would find on a late night talk show hosted by the Springer fellow.

But talking about the act of revenge always makes me feel better, realising that in-order for me to carry out these actions I would have to sink down to his nasty level, which is a place I am not willing to travel. I remind myself of how I believe in karma. It's just a phrase I latch on to in the hope that some mystical force will eventually find time in it's schedule to right all the wrongs he has caused to us.

Today was slightly different though. He made me reach a point where, truthfully, I wished him dead. I wished him pain first, then a violent death. Luckily it took R about 3 minutes to change my train of thought and I realised the worst kind of pain I could cause him. Pain he didn't even realised would hurt so badly. Pain that I hadn't even caused but was his own doing.

Pain will come when he looks into our lives as an outsider, a stranger, as my children, on their own terms slip away from him and towards my OH.

When he is older or lonely and he will think about how his son would rather spend time with another man than his biological father

When he realises that his daughter is on the arm of her Step-father as she walks down the aisle, he will feel it.

He will no longer be able to blame me even though he will most likely try. I can't manipulate the children into loving another person as they already do with my OH.
As they grow older, they will grow away from him. Not because of lies from their mother, but because they see for themselves. They look at him and they remember.

Anger, hatred, pity or guilt are feelings that will vanish and I will be left feeling nothing about him, as empty, as his life will be. That's when I know that the balance is right again, that he is finally paying the consequences for his actions.

Now The Rain Has Gone

Last Friday, I got a clearer idea on the cause of my suffering for the last few months. I lay in the dark, the Unit beside me as I watched her refusing to reveal her face to us all. I felt really emotional as I prodded my belly trying to make her move into a better position.

It was the first time I felt "bonded" and it was difficult not to cry in front of everyone. I spent the evening peeking at her picture but wanting to leave it on screen and just stare at it.

All the doubts I have had, vanished.
She was sleeping.
She looks like the Boy as he sleeps...
...She was beautiful

This Bed Is On Fire With Passionate Love

Well, we haven't had sex since we married!?!

That was a whole 8 days ago. We don't normally go that long between fucking. I'm not sure that it has been that big a gap before now.
I understand that due to circumstances it can be perfectly normal to not fuck constantly and that occasionally, sex isn't the top spot on everyone's agenda, HOWEVER...we haven't had sex since we married !?!

There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this, in fact, it's two fold.

a) He is in pain, maybe more than he lets on. Not enough pain for him to go to the doctors again and not that sex is the cause of the pain, but sometimes after, his hips hurt. Maybe if the pain is getting worse and he is becoming frightened of it, then he would abstain.
b) Last Saturday, an XBOX was purchased. This has resulted in him playing games online with his pal until the early hours and I have been retreating to bed alone.

Above are rational explanations, that are perfectly fine and understandable BUT, it could be a case of

c) I am THAT pregnant that he can't possibly bring himself to have sex with me or
d) He doesn't enjoy having sex with me!!

Of course I am finding in favour of the two latter explanations, simply because I am an insecure, hormonal Orca.

The problem is, how do I fix this???

He struggles talking about my sexual needs finding me too erm, demanding maybe? Pressurising could be more accurate. I admit, my sex drive is high and could be elevated further due to pregnancy. I actually manage to hide it from him. If he knew the true level of horniness I have, then he would run a mile. Luckily it is under control at the moment. I can increase it or ease it as required usually. I seem to be coping with masturbation currently but am becoming steadily bored.

If I can't discuss sex with him, then I could try and initiate more often? He once complained that it was always him making the first move during a row about sex. He is right, I ALWAYS leave it to him. Mostly through fear of being rejected or fear of pressurising him into having sex when he doesn't want to.

I'm not the type to become too frustrated that I would look elsewhere and my imagination is capable of keeping my masturbation fairly stimulating. It's not necessarily sex that I am requiring from him, just to be touched.

Last night we went to bed together, my hopes building that we would indeed, do the deed.

All was not lost though. I turned on my side hoping he would cuddle up to me and he did, with gusto. I love an enthusiastic cuddle. He did that more than normal in the cottage, every night in fact. It was a strong cuddle, a really close cuddle. His hand was so close to my breasts that I considered shuffling around a bit in order to cause him to brush against them, hoping he would get the hint, but decided against it. His groin pressed into me, again making me consider wriggling back against him to arouse his interest.

I didn't want to push things because the problem was...I was so grateful of the cuddle with gusto. I didn't want him to turn away from me.

I put my hand between my legs and his hand grabbed my wrist, just clutching it tightly. Not stopping me, not assisting me, just like he was letting me know that he knew what I was doing.

Again, I was grateful. I wasn't being dismissed or ignored or rejected.

He was there next to me, knowing what I was doing. He was holding me, pushing against me, breathing really close to me and for last night, it was enough.

Arnold

So many directions to go today and so much that I have to say but I don't want to be erratic so may have to add lots of mini posts instead.

During the weekend, my urges to be a dog owner went into overdrive and I built up the courage to ask the boy if I could obtain a pooch. I expected an argument or at the very least a "No," but got a fairly positive response, so I set about searching the web for my perfect canine.

When I eventually found what I wanted, I couldn't contact the people to see if the dog was available, so went into sulk mode. Saturday, I had the clear vision that I would be spending the evening cradling my new sleeping pup in my arms and was devastatingly disappointed when Sunday, after still no joy of finding a dog (after spending 7 hours searching) the Boy decided that we maybe shouldn't get one.

Monday I woke up feeling more positive. I mean, the Boy hadn't definitely put his foot down, so I started to search again. I found an alternative pooch and told him all of the information I had acquired whilst talking to the owner. He didn't really respond and left for work.

At this point I conceded. There was no way I would engage in potential rowing over my new dog owning desire and even though sad, decided that maybe I could settle for a goldfish. But something made me try one last time to contact the original perfect puppy ad...they answered.

It took me at least 90 minutes to get ready and leave the house, followed by a trip to the bank and a 25 minute journey to the ad address. I had text the Boy in work and told him that the dog was available and he didn't respond.

It was all fate, He had plenty of time to call, text back, intervene! However I managed to go and see the puppy, pay the owner and have the fluffball in my car and back to our town without being "cockblocked."

Arnie is a wolf sable Pomeranian. He is tiny, fluffy, very camp and very cute. I just hope he behaves and that the Boy falls in love with him mucho.