Sex and Sammiches (the sequel)

August 29, 2017

I was quasi-married to a dude for 5 years and every single domestic duty fell to me. The sex and relationship ended up being a dissatisfying rote routine that sucked the life out of me.

That pattern has repeated.

This is where the Siamese twin posts that threatened to stay together are successfully separated.

To be continued…

I started writing way back when I was in that relationship. Stumbled on some of that old stuff when I was cleaning and purging like the Queen of England was on her way for dinner.

I haven’t read much of it, just a light skim.

I was trying to write stripper stories before I had accepted that’s what I really was and it made me happy.

The aforementioned quasi husband took zero interest in anything I had any interest in. At all, ever.

Didn’t cook or clean or even drive me to the grocery store neither. At one apartment we had that meant that I had to cross a football field sized vacant lot with train tracks running through it with one of those carts old ladies use to get food for us and our 2 giant dogs. Not fun loaded up with 100 pounds on the way back nor in the winter. But I did it because it needed doing.

He proposed to me after I spent 2 weeks at Disney with kidlet and my family because he didn’t want me leaving him alone again.

When I left him, I swung far and wide to the opposite side of things and fell stupid head over stupid heels with a man who did show interest in the things I liked and was supportive and was totally fine cooking and being left alone. He didn’t mind me being gone because it gave him more time to bang his mistress.

Left him for the equivalent of a human potato. Bland, overcooked and useless other than taking up space on my plate. But at least he did the dishes and never cheated because no one wanted him, not even me at the end.

I’m a pendulum girl.

I thought once I recognized it I could stop the swing.

But I didn’t.

I left the potato and went in the opposite direction. Beautiful young boys with fiery loins and honey tongues.

I’m not complaining at all. Okay maybe a little. I hated the ghosting. These magic men who all disappeared at the end.

Hopping from unstable lily pad fuckboy to the next unstable lily pad fuckboy for years.

Until I found one that stayed.

Pendulum swing.

So do wrecking balls.

As do I apparently.

I can’t seem to tell them apart nor find the fulcrum or resting space in the lower arc area.

Smashy smash.

The one that stayed? He wasn’t good for me either, he was just different and a 180 from what I had been doing.

In fact I somehow swung around back to dating quasi husband’s carbon copy. Alcoholic, this time with added bits of interest in the things that made me happy, but not enough to calm him down or have him follow through. The domestic chores all fell on me or they never got done and he only locked me down out of fear of being alone. That was the only reason he stayed, that and the regular access to sex.

Neither one of them ever cooked me a meal or did a load of my laundry or even cleaned up after their damned selves.

Didn’t look after me emotionally either.

I am still color blind when it comes to red flags it seems. I knew something felt familiar but the reference was so far in the past I was doomed to repeat it.

Maybe I am not a pendulum going back and forth, nor a merry-go-round. But a Ferris wheel, same ride different perspectives depending on how high I am but it’s all the same views after a while.

Regardless, I’m tired of going in circles and arcs and smashing into things.

On that note…

Somebody make me a sammich goddammit.


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  • Matt August 29, 2017 at 10:27 am


  • Mandi September 6, 2017 at 8:42 am

    Love this and the truths you tell:)

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