Mo' Money, Mo' 3somes.

Three fucking weeks I've been sick. Today and yesterday have been the worst though. Before I was just stubbed up and achey, now I seem to be a mucus factory. I've broken into my mother's stash of hot lemonaidee drinks, but they unfortunately, are doing absolutely nothing. The only improvement to my state was that I managed to hork up a block of pleghm in Dianne's car this afternoon. It was quickly replaced by more of my nose's discharge.

I went twenty-two years without having to drive. I enjoyed my rebellion against the car. I don't like contributing to a problem that could be a cause of my premature death. I don't like knowing that I could accidentally damage someone or something by doing my day-to-day activities. I don't like having unexpected breakdowns that take a considerable chunk of my vacation money. Fucking Tercel. Why did you have to break NOW?
I considered leaving her in Mum's driveway. It would save my wallet from unexpected financial escapades and piss D right off. Unfortunately this growing up-responsibility issue jump started and now the Tercel is taunting me with it's newly replaced, slightly-used alternator. Again, fucking Tercel.
Dianne offered to 'help' by paying a hundred dollars of the bill. I told her no. It would be nice to have a parent swoop down and fix the problem for me, but knowing Mom, she has no intention of doing this random act of kindness without some sort of emotionally-draining and mentally-exhausting fee. "Why don't you want to come to the craft show with me Anna? Remember that time I paid for your car..." It's already ringing in my ears.
Andrew offered to loan me some money for our trip. That idea was quickly obliterated by my pride. I don't like having him pay for everything. I like that the cost of our holiday has been split equally down the middle; I like being dependant on my self.

Thank God for my education fund. If I hadn't had the sense to start saving in the middle of last year, I never would have had the chance to squander it all on a trip to New York.

FUCKING TERCEL.

Josh and I haven't spoken in quite awhile.
Because of our oddly placed shifts at work, I only see him one day a week. The days that we do see eachother, I barely talk to him. It seems to me, that there isn't really much left to say to him anymore.
Last Sunday he told me that his wife had been influenced by another woman at work to engage in a 3some. My jaw almost hit the floor when he said that she was proposing it for their upcoming anniversary.
I admit that the idea of 3somes are very attractive and sure, I've dabbled in the hypothetical ideas of them for the amusement of the moment. I've even suggested them in the heat of a seriously exotic sexcapade, but never in my right mind would I think that Ann, with all of her insecurities would be comfortable enough to persue this avenue with her very inexperienced husband.
I do not have the emotional capacity to be in a 3some with Andrew. I could not put our relationship in the unsure clutches of such a brave new experience with so many uncertainties. I can't imagine the outcome, I can't imagine the depth of the feelings that I would experience. I can't imagine how I'd be able to function properly afterwards, knowing fully well that I can barely stomach the thought of Andrew going to a strip club, let alone watching him fuck another woman in my presence. It's then I realised that If I couldn't be emotionally equipped to deal with such a circumstance, there was no way in God's right mind that Ann could.

"You're crazy Josh. I think this is a bad idea."
"Why are you hating on this so bad?"
"I don't think your wife can handle it. We both agree that I'm more sexually liberated than both of you and if I can't handle it, there's no way she can. It's a bad idea."
"Well, there's rules."
"Rules?"
"Well yeah, like I can't actually have sex with the girl, but I can accept oral sex from her."
"Can you give her oral sex?"
"I don't know."
"That doesn't seem like a 3some to me. 3somes are supposed to be liberating, not confined. It seems selfish."
"It's not. It's not for me anyways, it's for her."
"Pfft. I think it would mean a lot more to her if you told her that the only woman you wanted was her and left it at that."

He seemed so excited at the proposition - What man wouldn't be? It also seemed like he somehow stumbled into a moment of freedom from his wife's tyranny and he was approaching me with a chance to persue a sexual encounter between the two of us that would be legal. He seemed disapointed when I told him how I felt.
I don't know if he was trying to approach me to be the third in his new experience. If he was, I give him credit for having more balls than I thought he had. If he wasn't, than I'm afraid I'm starting to stumble into an ego. Either way, by the end of our conversation I knew he was either embarrassed or mildly upset.
By the end of the night he was angry enough to slug me in the arm and I just flat out, fucked off. Josh doesn't know how to flirt verbally or in a non-violent physical way. Our flirting in the past has been through pinching and sucker punches, but now it's just painful and not in any way fun. Actually, having a friendship with Josh these days, is not in any way fun. It's tediously demanding and one-sided and that's nothing that I can change. He married into a circumstance that he chooses to live up to, even though it seems to bring him nothing but unhappiness and repressed anger against everyone in his life. It has finally become too much work to keep up with and I've decided uneasily, to just let it rest and see what comes out of it's hybernation.
I didn't talk to him for two days after he punched me until he randomly showed up on msn, something he never does. I shot out some bitter phrases pertaining to his inability to say sorry. He sent me an email saying that he thinks he should stop talking to me because it's the only way he can stop himself from hurting me. Or so it seems.

I will never understand Josh because I'll never understand why he makes things so hard for himself. Beneath the rubble of an overbearing marriage, his own insecurities and learned bitterness could be a very independant and happy man if he just brought himself to realise his setbacks and do something constructive with them. Of course, my idea of doing something constructive would be for him to leave his wife, as she seems to be the root of all his problems. But then, I suppose that's the easy way out of a shitty situation. Unfortunately, I can't ever see the shitty situation being anything but, a shitty situation.

I'm absolutely terrified by how unbalanced I've been feeling as of late. My moods have been swinging and like a seven thousand pound wrecking ball. It's been knocking all sorts of issues into my otherwise calm relationship with the wife.
The stripper thing, I admit, I do not like. But there are days when I really don't give a crap if he goes and then there are days where I feel like my soul will fly out of me if he does and the worst part is that I have no control over it. I don't feel depressed. I don't feel like some overbearing weight is sitting on me. I don't feel stressed or worried, I just feel unbalanced. The birth control is fucking me right up. I think.
Two days ago I was minutes away from dumping Andrew because I felt like I was pushing him. I thought that we were not compatible due to our not seeing eye-to-eye on issues such as marriage and our future living arrangements, and sure, those are major issues, but our opinions of them are not so varied. After we spoke, after I released my frustrations and took a long nap, I almost broke down at the thought of loosing him. I'm completely insane! And it worries me because if I had to deal with my shit in the situation he was in, I would have left a long time ago.

There's an overwhelming amount of guilt involved when you realise what you take for granted.

Fickle, fickle girl.

So I won tickets to see David Letterman for New York. I was completely awestruck by my ability to answer a trivia question about the show, as I never watch the show. I may not have any real luck, but I sure am full of the dumb sort.