One More Time...

Once again I have had to go through the labrythine process of getting the password for the email account this blog is hosted by (not a Google address) and then the password for this blog, which took a long time because I didn't remember this email account was the host.  Understand that, kiddies?

Back to our regularly scheduled damaged intellect.  My husband doesn't want to have sex with me any more.  We used to manage once a week (we're on the older side), now he can't seem to keep it up inside me, even with Viagra.  Last night he was masturbating and mentioned that he did it often.  I didn't know that.  He's mostly spoken of our sex life in tones of anxiety and downright dread.  Yeah, a real turn-on.  I feel so loved. NOT.

I left and went to sleep on the couch.  The next morning I woke up and he was here, typing emails.  (The couch is right next to this chair.)  We were both too tired to talk about it.  But shit, maybe a LITTLE consolation?  SOMETHING?

It feels more like we're roommates then marrieds.  Note to my husband: cram it, asshole.  Go fuck one of those underage girls you find so hot.

I wish I could break something.