After several unfruitful early nights and a collection of night shifts meaning only one person in our bed at any given time of day; my hopes were fixed on last night as an opportunity for me ad D to catch up with each other. How could I have been more wrong. D arrived home knackered and exhausted as usual, having been totally overworked. There was no conversation, no affection, no reduction of physical proximity - at all. He walked in, checked the sport results, read the paper a bit, ate the meal I prepared, and come time to turn in - promptly fell asleep. The entire evening I felt like a limpet as I tried to the extreme to even remotely entice him, or simply to get a reassuring touch. Enraged and in fear I may say something I would regret, I got out of bed, headed downstairs, and took solace in Daniel Craig being interviewed by Johnathon Ross. And that was as close to 'hot' as I got.
Tonight D had really gone all out to make sure I didn't have anything to do, but in terms of body contact I have counted one embrace that was reciprocated. Nothing initiated. And here I am watching TV on my own at 2030pm on a Saturday evening. What the hell happened to my life? The worst of it is the feeling of inadequacy and failure. Crappy housewife and unable to excite or even interest my man. Not being wanted - a million times worse than him being unfaithful. Pretty shit feeling. I'm rock bottom - and not for the first time.
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