I am happy and tired. Moving is done, for the most part. I know live far away from my husband and I can come and go as I please. I sleep in the guest bedroom when I’m at his house (finally!) It took me a long time to move out of the bedroom, where nothing was happening anyway. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings more than I already am.
We’re getting along fine. It was his birthday Wednesday, and I took him out to dinner the day after. I was able to come into town Wednesday, when I wanted. I went out to see my book club girlfriends. I’d already used them as an excuse to be with my lover a few weeks ago, but I actually want to see them, too. Then I went climbing Thursday during the day with Mr. Wonderful. Nothing is happening there, really, but we’re hanging out, and there’s no rush. We can get to know each other. And if things work out, I’ll let the ex-cop go, since he doesn’t want me to be in love with him anyway.
I feel guilty as hell still. My husband is a perfectly nice man, who loves me in the manner that he is capable of, which does not include making love to me, ever. Or taking care of me when I need him. But there’s nothing mean about him, or unpleasant. He just wants me to be more and more of a nursemaid and less and less of a friend and partner.
I feel better, though. I spent the last night in the guest bedroom for the first time, and it was the only good night’s sleep I’ve had in this house since February. But I woke feeling awful, the same guilty feeling that has been rotting me from the interior for months. I need a break from him, for a while. I need a break from lies, and feeling guilty.