I always write because I have to, no ifs, ands, or buts to it. The words flow all day long in my head, and manifest onto a page. The numbers go up and down when I publish the bit I do here in the redroom. I hope for two things as outcomes of my public musings. One, that someone out there feels better because I am experiencing something they felt no one else was (or would admit to), and that two, I can retro-actively turn all my musings into a selling book like Cheryl Strayed of Wild has, and no doubt many other bloggers have done. It is not that I don’t want to get paid for my musings, who doesnt’? I just don’t know how to yet.
Yesterday was super-painful. In the beginning of my marriage, my hubby and I discovered he was infertile. I have always wanted kids. So when my inappropriate friend, I now call him Oats for alias sake, flirted, that was my initial thought two years into the ridiculous sometimes texts I always said no to. How could I spare the time to hang out? Not that it justifies myself when years later I agreed to, but biology is strong as is that urge to procreate.
I’ve rationalized to pieces how my life is just fine without a child, Will and I have resources and time to do enjoyable things with out the headache of another human’s needs. But let’s face it, I am thirty-eight. Any chance has to be tried for asap. I wrote a memoir that sits in print and in mega bytes on what it is to be here and now as a woman, to be allowed to have had all the sex I wanted to have before I was married, and what that all may mean: I am just a person who enjoys it? I was a rebellious youth with not enough going for her and used it in negative ways to overcompensate for deficits in other areas? It was just an activity, a way to connect with a boy when I was lonely? I am a contemporary woman, so why not enjoy what life has offered me when I feel like it?
My book explores why I did the things I did as it is certainly relevant to the dialogue on feminism and on being allowed to do as we ladies choose here in ye ol’ US of A. There is the question of, “Is it good for our souls to be able to do anything we want in the arena of sex, as men really have I feel felt freer to do as they have pleased through the ages?”
Yesterday was painful because while I convinced myself for years that sex was just another activity as I looked for Mr. Right and met a lot of Mr. Okay for right now’s, I am still a lover at heart, an artist that spills all emotions out of her heart and down onto a page because it is the only way I know how to exorcise experience. Oats has his own special degree in stupidity that I allowed myself to take part in. I cannot help that there is emotion attached for me to him. He is a special person and always will be. But a great, six-year marriage is something that needs work, even if in areas I have lacked at times the conviction to do the right thing. So one more time I had to exorcise Oats from my system as being flawed, as flawed as I am for looking to him as any sort of solution. An act of past regressions revisited.
My girlfriend agrees that it is alright to look at the men we know, as Will is alright with a donor, and start asking that important question, “Would you like to donate, or be a part of a nontraditional family?” As someone who is highly educated in children and has worked with students of every age, I know just how much energy, love, patience, time, and adults it takes to raise a healthy, productive person into this every changing world.
I stand up in my life, on a precipice of change. Starting a masters in writing so soon, wanting a baby, needing to work much harder on focusing the love back into my marriage that I let bleed out. No one ever promised this life to be easy. But it is infinitely interesting. And pain or no, would we have it any other way? The nuances are what make us stand up and recognize that we are human beings and we are alive. And while that may not feel enough at times, it is one hell of a lot.