Swimming

Today, I went swimming. I do that about three times a week. The pool was less crowded than usual, but since they clean the pool once a week - on Sundays, it was filthy. Basically, there are all these white fluffy things floating in the pool. It didn't take me long to realize that they're mucus. What was harder was suppressing my gag reflex... EWWW. I'm the type of person who finds wiping a baby's nose harder than wiping their rear.

Speaking of babies, I'm pretty much sure I'm not pregnant this cycle, though Aunt Flo is still MIA. I don't know why I was so sure that I was pregnant, but whatever. If Aunt Flo ever shows up, then there's another cycle to work with. If not, I think I'll get my doctor to put me on metformin. It worked last time, so I'm hoping it'll work this time.

Baby is so sweet. We had lunch with my mom, and she was just giggling and smiling the whole time... except when she tried to eat my cell-phone. Then she was just very intent on the task at hand.

Back to swimming, while I was swimming, I was in this whole bizarre fantasy about my high school English teacher. He was this British guy, not particularly attractive. Once I accidentally ripped a poster that was on the wall, so he asked me to stay after class and tape it back together for him. I held the sides while he taped it together. Somehow, for me, that moment was intimate. It's bizarre, but I guess it was the closeness, or the look on his face, or maybe the fact that at some points during the year, he talked to me after class, and somehow I felt like he understood me more than other people. At any rate, I still fantasize about him. I don't get it. Back then, I would have said he was the one I was least likely to fantasize about.

Back in high school, there were two male teachers I thought about a lot. One, I thought was the sweetest man alive. He could play guitar, and he had this sweet singing voice, and he used to sing at assemblies sometimes. Oh gosh, what I wouldn't have given for a hug from Dr. Johnny. Just thinking about him makes me all soft on the inside, even though I know that he never really thought much about me.

I guess it started on our freshie weekend (I went to a semi-posh private school for high school). There was this senior chick who came to wake us up and none of the girls got up and she got upset so she went to Dr. Johnny and Dr. Lamm and told them that we didn't want to wake up. So the two of them came to our floor of the hotel and started singing and shouting and stuff. It was so funny. I got up, no doubt with bed-hair and all that, and I said "we may be awake now, but we're going back to sleep." and Dr. Johnny said to me "Good morning, Miss Catherine, you look exceptionally beautiful today." Having the self-esteem of roadkill, it was basically love for me. And then the guitar. Nothing and I mean NOTHING is as hot as a guy who can play guitar.

And I don't mean guitar hero. I mean classic guitar, or better yet, twelve string. I mean soft sweet songs like "Cat's in the Cradle" and "Country Roads" and sitting around a campfire. I wish my husband would play guitar. We have a friend who plays pretty well, and I'm about ready to jump his bones every time I see him take out the guitar. Not a good thing.

Okay, here's the real problem. Why the hell am I fantasizing about every man on Earth EXCEPT my husband?! I love him. I mean it. He's made all my dreams come true. He's made my family accept me. He's given me a beautiful home and a gorgeous baby. He even accepts Doggie, although he isn't overly fond of dogs. So why can't I want him as much as I want every damned man that's out of reach?!

He's kind. He's gentle. He has a nice singing voice. He plays piano. He's attractive. He's strong. He has a variety of different talents, most of which impress me. He brings home a good salary. He's even muscular and not too hairy. I wish my body would just respond to him the way it did when we were first together. I want to have passion with him, and I just don't. I don't want to think about other men. I don't want to be this girl.