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i'd been itching to write. 

reading the new strout - not 'new' i suppose anymore - 'lucy by the sea' - has me inspired to start writing again. it had me nostalgic for the lockdown times too to be honest. those secluded times, where i walked a lot, drove to work, and roads were empty, we eyed each other from afar strangely, no meetings in person, we were just newly married and i could enjoy that to the fullest in our little cocoon. i miss those times. 

 

but when the warmth fades, when you've just had an argument, at such an inopportune time -  i am in my fertile 7 day period for goodness sake, i could be ovulating as we speak! - is our night gone? is it salvageable? we are both far too old and unlibidinous that we can hardly gather enough enthusiasm on a normal day, yet alone when we are not happy with each other.

the warmth is there sometimes very warm, near boiling, and yet other times, for me, it is completly off and in fact it's become a refrigerator. a freezer. negative temps. i feel nothing for you. 

 

i pray sometimes. i read the bible. 

i like to - in my own way - practise visualisation.

usually it is of holding a baby, the chubby arms and their hand in my hand. skin to skin. 

it's like most things in my life, i am generally pessimistic, fatalistic, managing my expectations (they are usually lowly set), but still, holding out a little hope.