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#329 - frustrating weekend
06.23.03 @ 6:21 pm

What a frustrating weekend. It seems that I need to take more interest in remembering to take my celexa. I don't like myself after even just a few days off of it. But for some reason, whenever I pack it away to go somewhere, it stays packed away for about a week before I remember it again. *sigh*

I seem to suffer from some insurmountable boredom when my meds aren't coursing through my veins regularly. It's hard to explain without sounding really dumb, but everything I normally like to do just seems so trivial and less-than-important and not-so-interesting anymore. I was going to write an entry this weekend centered around the word "ennui", but couldn't find enough interest in it to bother. How not amusing.

Friday I was actually quite happy that the weekend had come. I had visions of doing lots of things with my Sweetie that I like to do. It seems that lately, all I really do is live for the weekends. I take immense pleasure in just driving somewhere with him, holding hands as we walk in the mall, or just standing in line with him at the hardware store.

I can't even remember it now, but Friday didn't go as I'd planned. He was too tired, I think was what happened. Seriously, I can't remember what we did Friday. I can only assume we had a meal and then used our computers for the rest of the night.

Which may have been why Saturday was so bad. Because I didn't get my Sweetie time, and then he left very early in the morning to spend most of the day playing Paintball with friends. So I had the house to myself. But for once, I didn't want to be by myself. I wanted to be with him. I watched some TV, had some breakfast, read some of my book, took a nap, watched the rain, suffered through a migraine.

By the time Sweetie got home, my migraine was gone (wow, the new migraine meds seem to actually *work*), and he wanted to head out to eat. Intense ennui, if that isn't an oxymoron, set in. He was there, but it didn't seem to matter. We were doing something together, something we usually enjoy immensely (eating out), and it didn't seem to matter. I didn't care where we went. Looking at the menu, I didn't care for anything on it. After we ordered, I didn't feel like talking or bantering or anything. I spent most of the time fidgeting with my straw wrapper.

After dinner, I demanded we go see a movie. It seemed the only thing I *did* care about was somehow ending this boredom. I was desperate for it to end. The only thing I could thing to do to ease it would be to watch a movie that would occupy my mind, but it had to be in a darkened theater where I couldn't get distractred by outside things and then lose interest in the film.

So we went to see "The Hulk". It was alright. I wasn't bad, it wasn't thrilling. Nick Nolte was fucking CREEPY. Ewwww. I would not have been able to sit there on that couch like Jennifer Connelly did, without my "fear that all men are potential rapists" alert going off. I felt sick to my stomach just watching them sit that close together, his face so close to hers, invading her personal space, and she doing her best to put up with it instead of just getting up and leaving. Ick, ick, ick.

We went to bed pretty early that night, for us on the weekend anyway. Then came Sunday. A pretty calm day. I was actually enjoying my book. I was set on finishing it that day. I was happy to be enjoying something.

We went to the mall to grab sustenance around 4pm, and I seemed kind of interested in things. I still wasn't that interested in food, but oh well. We went home and basically went our separate ways again. Which was frustrating, because I actually wanted to spend time with him. I just didn't. I was put off that he walked off to do his own thing, and too interested in my own book to protest.

Actually, I think I'm somehow combining Saturday and Sunday into my head. My inability to get things straight seems to be a sign of how stressed out I was over it. I tend to block stuff like that from myself, in an attempt to ignore and thus get over it.

It seems now in my mind that it was Saturday night that I wanted to be with him and it didn't work out. And then he came upstairs and quickly started his molestation-from-behind maneuver. I had a very bad reaction to it. Everything went so quickly. Suddenly he was behind me, touching me, and for some reason I had no desire to respond, and was kind of... well, to be horribly blunt, repulsed by sex at the moment.

He immediately left, looking like he was going to sulk. All I had said during this quick encounter was a few little instinctual "no's", while batting at his hands. It didn't seem to matter, I realized as he left that I had done alot of damage.

I thought and thought about what to do. I remember now that Friday night we argued, and I had meant to write an entry about it, how after all these years, I still haven't learned my lesson. I haven't learned how to properly discuss things I'm upset about with him, without getting him all defensive and us into a fight.

On the heels of Friday's argument, and the fact that every time I reject him I seem to just make it worse no matter what I try to do afterwards, I decided to give him some time alone. Let him "cool off". Unfortunately, while I thought we still had alot of time to our evening and for me to go talk to him and air things out, he did not. Within an hour he was coming back upstairs to go to bed.

I felt callous for not going to him. I climbed into bed and tried to talk to him about how it wasn't his fault, I just wasn't interested in sex. I didn't know what to say, and he didn't say much, so nothing more came of it.

I wanted to say the things on my mind, which were a) my meds were making me wonky, b) I was still upset he didn't seem to care to do anything or ask me about my depression/boredom the day before, c) I was feeling very unattractive physically at the time he approached me, and d) I felt somewhat distanced from him lately, and it's difficult for me to be sexual with him when I feel distance between us.

I didn't say any of these things. I planned to use Sunday to do things to bring us closer, and do some things to make me feel more attractive, and then we could have lots of sex. Not like I hadn't been thinking about having sex for most of the week anyway.

Except, Sunday did not happen that way. We were separate for most of it doing our own thing. Going out to eat when we did was a horrible decision, because it upset my stomach, making me long for a nap instead of beauty treatments. Needless to say, we never had sex last night.

So I'm feeling very frustrated, and I imagine he's feeling more frustrated than I.

I love him very much, but I can't stand it when there's distance between us. This last week was frustrating, because the girls were there so we couldn't do the things we normally do, and he was busy and I was tired, and he left as soon as I came home 2 of the night the girls were there. It was not a good week for feeling close, and a worse weekend.

I don't feel like taking complete responsibility for this weekend's fiasco. True, my emotions were all fucked up. But by now *he* has obviously failed some lessons as well. He should know that I don't like distance between us followed up by sexual overtures. I need to feel close to him to let him in that much closer. Then sex can seal the pact and bring us together that final bit. It's sad that it didn't happen, because I think it could have really helped things.

But I wish he wouldn't try and distance himself farther from me because of one bad moment. I need him to come to me just as much as he needs me to accept him when he draws closer. And I'm not just talking about sex.

Hopefully, this upcoming vacation will do some happy mending for us. I don't know how much, since it's a big family get together. But if anything, there will be less work-related-stress, which is always a plus.

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