Jumping in

"We are all a paradoxical bundle of rich potential that consists of both neurosis and wisdom."

- Pema Chodron

Today was Chris' first day back at work after a long holiday.  For the first time since our honeymoon more than three years ago, we spent almost a full two weeks together.  I played Super Mario Galaxy, he played Stratego, we had a chili cook-off.

We even had sex once.  

As we were sitting in the living room tonight, watching something neither of us really cared about, I looked over and he looked so good.  So attractive and sweet.  Tired.  Kind of cranky.  I thought, this would be the perfect time to have sex.  It would make him feel better.  It would be great.

But that's as far as the thought got.

I didn't say anything to Chris.  If I had, one of two things would have happened.  Most likely he would have been upset, because he wouldn't believe that I was interested in being intimate.  Or he would have believed me and I would have backed out.  Sex is sort of like diving into a cold pool (something else I am not good at) - you either do it right away or you don't do it at all.

So it's better that I didn't say anything.  Better that the thought died that little death.  I think that is my definition of a bundle of neurosis and wisdom - wrapping around each other in a strangle hold.  It is neurotic that I would have backed out, and wise that I didn't say anything to Chris.  I'm hoping there's some "rich potential" wound up in there.

It's an improvement that I even thought it at all, because a year ago I wouldn't have.  My progress has been slow, but it isn't totally nonexistent.  

I'm reading For Yourself, which is actually really good.  It has an eight week program, based on work that the author did with groups of non-orgasmic women.  I've been "reading" the book for about six months now, so obviously haven't stuck with the eight week plan.  I got as far as the exercises and then the book sort of just sat on my night stand.  

It called for mirrors!  I chickened out.

I'm supposed to set aside an hour every day for eight weeks to explore my sexuality.  There are helpful exercises, stories of women "just like me", and a very non-threatening format.  Still, an hour a day.  An hour!  Every day!  That just seems masochistic.

I imagine myself laying there, as I have lain there so many times, trying so hard to think sexy thoughts and always coming back to something mundane, or beating myself up for not being able to stay on task, or just giving up and going to pet the dog.  Oh, if only that were a sexy euphemism.  Sadly, it is not.

Sometimes I imagine videotaping myself.  That's a common theme in my rather sparsely populated fantasy world.  I can picture it.  The camcorder set up beside the bed.  Me, doing whatever you do that's sexy.  And that's as far as I get because... damn.  What am I supposed to do?  Sometimes I imagine how ridiculous I must look.  Sometimes I imagine people watching and laughing.  Playboy's Funniest Home Videos.

That's just not appealing on any level.

The point of this blog is not to document my lack of progress though.  That cold pool isn't getting any warmer, but I'm not going to sit here forever.  The whole point is to do it.  Jump in.  Worst case scenario?  It doesn't work out.  If nothing else, I should have some amusing stories to tell.

Okay, deep breath.  Cold pool.  One hour a day.