Right now, as we all know, the economy sucks. We’re passing on the cruises and the trips in favor of saving our pennies for a rainy day. Instead of dining out, America is staying home and making use of the sky high utilities for cooking things like pigs in a blanket and shepherds pie. For those if us who are against Kraft mac n cheese and Cup o Noodles, what choices do we have?

I finally found an answer for this wanna-be foodie-

BrokeAss Gourmet

That’s right. BrokeAss Gourmet has the answers foodies living on a budget have been looking for. So cruise on over and have a look. Be astounded. Then be sure to pass it along to all your wanna-be foodie friends. Then get rid of the ramen.

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When I first posted about the state of our union, I intentionally skipped over the whole sex and physical intimacy aspect. I couldn’t write about it because it hurt too much. Even now it’s not easy to write. It’s not easy to admit it to myself or to the world at large.

Some of you may remember that this started out as a D/s relationship. He called himself a dominant man and he said he was looking for a submissive woman. I wanted to be with a man who was a man, someone who could appreciate me as a woman. I wanted to do all the things that a woman does to make her man feel like the sexy, virile, in charge individual that he is.

Less than three months into it and I was topping from the bottom (at least from my perspective). He didn’t tell me what he wanted. He had absolutely no expectations of me outside of the oral and anal sex when he demanded it. I cleaned the house. I made the bed. I prepared his meals. I shaved the fertile delta and wore sexy lingerie. I made sure that I kept my submissive self in top condition should his dominant self decide to make an appearance.

We have rope in our closet that has never been used. My collar has been packed away for almost two years and has never been spoken of. He talks to his best friend who is active in the lifestyle and he pretends that we have a D/s relationship but we most certainly do not.

I don’t think he ever wanted a D/s relationship. He just wanted a partner that would do her fair share; someone who would be an adult and help him out once in a while. I think the fact that he never had to say anything to me about cleaning the house or doing the laundry was a relief. He didn’t have to pretend to be dominant and we didn’t have to argue about anything because I didn’t mind being his partner.

Our sex life is what it is. He loves foreplay so long as he is on the receiving end. If I am licking and touching and paying attention to his cock then it’s all fine and good. We all know that he won’t go down on me because “it’s not his thing” and that’s okay but what about some hands on stimulation? How about some hot dirty talk?

Nada.

Unless he is talking about me being with another woman. Then he has all sorts of things to say. On and on he goes and he doesn’t even notice that I’m not wet. He does what he is going to do and that is that.

In an argument the other night he remarked that he fucks me just to shut me up so he can get on to something enjoyable. I couldn’t believe that the same man who tells me I’m beautiful and sexy and seductive was the same man who told me that he only fucks me to shut me up. I just sobbed because how can argue against that kind of honesty?

I know I”m no Miss America. I know that I have lumps and bumps and wobbly bits galore. I know that I’m not every mans fantasy. But I don’t understand why he says he enjoys me or desires me if he doesn’t. And for crying out loud, if he doesn’t want to have sex once in a blue moon why doesn’t he just say so??

:::sigh:::

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I took my vows seriously; I meant what I said when I said “I do” but none of this is what I agreed to.

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I suppose I have been lazy enough this week, so I’ll take the time to do a post and let you know how things have been going. If there are lots of typos and errors with my grammar, just blame the meds and don’t give me too much of a hard time, please.

Monday was the first day of the second phase of the clinical trial. I didn’t expect it to go smoothly because nothing ever does, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be. This time around they won’t be giving me anti-seizure medication. It’s part of their control plan and they want to be sure that the chemo is actually doing the trick. If you ever want to feel like a guinea pig, take part in a clinical trial. At the end of the day you will know your place in the world, I promise!

So Monday they gave me two bags of intravenous chemo. It was to be my loading dose of meds but I will also go back in six weeks for two more bags. In the interim I am on three other chemo drugs by mouth. I take one drug for one week then two others for six more weeks. I have a schedule set up on my Nintendo DS to keep me on track, because there is no way that I would be able to keep it all straight on my own simply because my brain isn;t what it used to be.

The oncologist is the same bitch that I had before that insisted on treating me differently because I was (as she put it) “so grotesquely overweight.” I filed a complaint and she was brought in front of the hospital board and fined for her behavior. Needless to say, she is not happy with me and she let me know it. I have lost eleven pounds since my last appointment and her response to it was (and I quote) “Given how overweight you are, eleven pounds is really nothing but I will make a note of it on your chart.” So, I filed yet another complaint. I *know* that I’m fat. The whole world knows that I’m fat. If she has an issue with it, then she needs to deal with it and *not* hold it against me while I am participating in the trial. It’s unprofessional behavior, period.

Since it is a controlled clinical trial they do not give any other meds to patients outside of the ones that they have already requested/disclosed. So it is up to each patient to discuss pain medication and anti-nausea meds with their primary care physician. Since I am not covered for anything cancer related under our insurance I had to see someone other than my primarcy care physician who only covers insurance related things. It was an all day trip by car to see my old primary care physician but in the end it was worth it. He gladly did an exam, looked at the information in my records, then sent me on my way with pain *and* nausea relief. Yay for my doctor!!!

{Let me take a minute to tell you how awesome Mama has been. She did all the driving on Tuesday so that The Knight could work. She helped me fill out the papers I needed to fill out and made sure I was okay during the car ride. She took the day off to help me so that this time around I could have something to help me deal with chemo a little better than before. She is so unbelievably awesome!}

As for The Knight and I…

That’s a post for another time; a time when the wounds haven’t been rubbed raw and time has numbed me just a little more. God knows we’re trying, struggling with ourselves and with one another, to get through this with our love in tact. I don’t know that it will work, but at least we can say we tried, right?

:::sigh:::

But for the grace of God go I

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Right now I sit here wrapped in a tattered old towel, still dripping from a lukewarm shower. My fingers tremble and my tummy is rolling. I know that this is really nothing new, this visiting the oncologist. It’s old hat. Still, it isn’t and I am so very nervous…and excited…and terrified.

Today begins Phase II of the clinical trial and nothing else matters. Not my marriage. Not our finances. Not the fact that my 32nd birthday is right around the corner. I am focused simply on the here and now, on the possibilities and promises this next phase hold for me and my life.

My bag is packed for the day ahead. My pink laptop. My pink Zune. My pink Nintendo DS. A blank notebook to jot down thoughts and questions. Everything I need to keep the boredom at bay until my turn comes.

I need to be present. I need to let all the rest slip away and stay focused on remission. One step, then another and another until I get to where I want to be. Oh yes, being alive now, when they swore I wouldn’t be is a huge thing, but it is not enough. Only remission is enough.

So this moment, this day is for me. For my health; for my well-being; for the rest of my life.

May today be as full of hope and promise for each and every one of you.

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If you’ve read here for any length of time there is no doubt that you are aware of the fact that I’m married. You also know that it was a long time coming, the ring and the proposal, then the actual marriage. I spent years hoping and praying that one day The Knight would finally marry me.

Knowing that I have probably written about our relationship with little more than passing honesty, I have decided to set the record straight. Please know that it has taken me a long time to get to this point. I never in my life could have imagined that something that was seemingly perfect would end up being the hardest thing ever to be a part of on a day to day basis.

There are moments when his tenderness takes my breath away. His smile and his gentle words envelope me and warm me like the sweet summer sun. His arms encircle me and I can’t help but feel safe, as if our relationship will never be anything other than a marriage made in Heaven. In those moments it is so easy to see why I feel as if I’m about to take flight.

Then it happens like it always does and we fight like the worst enemies. Small skirmishes develop into full world wars and the gloves are off. Accusations fly about perceived unfairness in the way we treat the children, about how I have come between him and his sons. I can’t help but cry as I look at him with new eyes. How can this be the same man who swears I am the very definition of perfection? How can he scream about how he can’t stand me, how he would love to slash his wrists just to escape me when only moments before he was swearing I was the best thing that had ever happened to him?

When the dust settles and the smoke clears my heart is battered and bruised. Thought of suicide tumble around inside my brain and self-hatred settles in like a long lost friend. It used to be that it would go away after a day, maybe two. Now, it’s a constant companion- the only one I have it seems. I cry and I write, desperate to figure out which one of us is right and which one of us is wrong. I question every action, every word that has passed between us and I call into question my own feelings and emotions.

I always thought that love, true love, was supposed to lift you up. I believed that the love of the right man could set you free and help you to see yourself in a new and positive light. I used to think that five dollar words and compliments from the man of your dreams would work their magic and you would go on to live happily ever after.

Then I fell in love, head over heels, foolishly and wholly in love.

Now I know that the love of a man isn’t all its cracked up to be. It’s pain and heart break. It’s self-doubt and self-hatred all wrapped up in a gorgeous blue-eyed package. It’s a mindfuck of the very worst sort that leaves you in a sobbing pile on the blood drenched bathroom tile because cutting is the only way to know that you’re still alive.

I know marriage is hard. I know that there are ups and downs; highs and lows. I know that life and stress and world events can upset the delicate balance. But why does he have to be so angry all the time? If he’s not happy and he wants out, why doesn’t he just go? Surely being left is better and would hurt less than living a lie day after day while it slowly tears me apart from the inside out. I can’t be the only one who realizes and accepts this as the truth, can I?

I have no ides where to go or what to do. He has stayed with me despite the whole cancer thing. He’s taken care of me the best way he knows how, provided food and shelter and help with the most basic of things. I can’t help but feel as if I owe him to some extent. Just not at the expense of myself and my well-being. I don’t believe that I am in the wrong by drawing a line at mental and emotional abuse when I can see the effect it’s having on me and the people I love (the children).

So there you have it.

I’m sorry that I have painted a less than accurate picture of the way things are. I guess I was hoping for things to improve. Maybe I believed that whisful thinking would be more than enough. Either way, now you all know the true state of our union. {I intentionally left the whole sex and D/s things to put into a post of their own because they need a place with plenty of space.}

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