Saturday, July 22, 2006

Lyrical Laments

Took the kids out for a walk after dinner, hauling them around in the wagon. We did about a mile, with a short U-turn and backtrack to recover a toy that my younger daughter dropped. We finished off the day with a bath and a short "baby" video from our cable provider's on demand service. They've been down for bed since shortly after 9 p.m.

I am a lover of music and a hopeless sucker for moving lyrics. The breadth and depth of satellite radio is akin to heroin for me. On some days, it is my only link to sanity during the long drive to and from work.

Right now, I've got the streaming online version of my radio service's disco channel on. Back when I was telecommuting, I'd do the same thing if I was working on Friday night. My rationale was if I couldn't be at a party, I might as well listen to someone else's. Most of the time, I'd work with a smile on my face.

Over the past few months, as my marital frustration simmered its way to the current stew, my mind locked heavily onto songs with female vocals and lyrics expressing a desire for a man. The thought of being that desirable to a woman seemed so alien to me. The songs conjured up a mixture of wonder and annoyance.

The discussions on PF that led to this blog still play heavily through my mind, including the posts that speculated that my wife may not find me unattractive or even repulsive. I find myself watching her words and actions for cues that this may be the case. It weighs heavily on my mind, and now those songs of feminine longing stir more pain than they do anger.

I came to this realization on the way to work Thursday morning. I heard Norah Jones singing the song "Turn Me On" (track 8 on Come Away With Me, stream available on her website). It hurt so much that I almost cried.

Like a flower
Waiting to bloom
Like a lightbulb
In a dark room
Im just sittin here waiting for you
To come on home and turn me on

I now realize that there have been several songs playing in my mind over the past couple of months, haunting the peripherals of my consciuosness. A couple of weeks ago, it was "S.O.S." by Abba.

Where are those happy days, they seem so hard to find
I tried to reach for you, but you have closed your mind
Whatever happened to our love?
I wish I understood
It used to be so nice, it used to be so good


So when you're near me, darling can't you hear me
S. O. S.
And the love you gave me, nothing else can save me
S. O. S.

Going back a little farther, I had a similar bout with the song "Coalmine" by Sarah Evans.

Coalmine, covered with dust
T-shirt tired, all muscled up
All mine, head to toe
Come on, come on, whistle, blow
I can't wait to get him home
Ain't gonna have nothing but the supper on
Gonna keep him busy 'til its time
He goes back to that coalmine

The question that keeps popping into my mind is: "What is it about these nameless objects of affection that stir up so much endearment?" Granted, these are fictitious situations, but there are surely countless real life situations that are very close to these ideals. What is it that I lack that does not stir up similar passions in my wife? Should I be bound in wedlock to a woman who feels little or nothing for me?

I try to think on the positive things. She did say she would seek therapy. She has gone so far as to initiate sex twice this week. She agreed to go out on a date with me. I should be grateful for these.

Yet, there are cues here and there that make me wonder if she's just trying to postpone the inevitable revelation that she's not into me. She seems to treat the cuddling as another obligation. The sex she offers is still very devoid of emotional involvement, and it's definitely driven by her brittle tastes. The "I'll fall asleep" moment on late Thursday night struck me as callous.

My life is too short to live in this limbo.
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