Sex in the Morning

I’ll go have sex later. Every Sunday I think this as I make my way to the keyboard to tap out my random morning thoughts and hope they come together to form a story, essay or something else fit for publication. I manage to push guilt and concern aside most Sundays, at least long enough to see if anybody else has brought any random thoughts together in a readable and compelling format.


I check FaceBook… nothing there. Google+, occasionally satisfying, Yahoo news, maddening, Google Reader… oops that’s gone, peruse all the usual haunts I have bookmarked and finally, the niggling concept hatching somewhere in my head reveals itself and I open Word. Poor spouse. No sex this morning. Well, depends on how long I’ve put it off the sex. And, how powerful the niggle in my brain is.


Spouse won’t be up for at least another hour, I reason. He’s tired from the long week and I need to let him rest, I think. I need a shower anyway. I’ll write a minute, grab a shower, and then take him some coffee. Then sex. In just a bit.


The older I get, the less often the scenario works out exactly like that. Something or somebody almost always interrupts the process before I actually grab his favorite coffee cup and tiptoe back to bed for the Sunday romp. Usually it’s just me, sucked into my own words on the screen. Spouse doesn’t seem to mind.


The vague guilt is not so much that I am not a good wife. It’s more that I am worried I will wake up some day and have lost everything to tragedy. Then I’ll be sorry I wasn’t more appreciative of what I had and taken better advantage of the empty nest…all the sex and loud music and exotic food and nakedivity in that promise.


Maybe the floor will collapse under the weight of our massive waterbed (I’m not embarrassed so don’t even go there), leaving spouse in a coma on the basement floor, floating in the musty stank of the long expired water treatment formula and mold.

Maybe it’s less dramatic and he’ll just leave my words, words, words, and me. Lonely. Disillusioned. Bored. With me. No breakfast, no sex, just words. Spouse hates our old farmhouse so… maybe he’ll just get tired and leave. Then the "Oh I told you this would happen if you didn’t stop being so self indulged…blah blah blah…"


He’s up now, vacuuming around me. The sweet morning moment is lost. Guess I’ll go take a shower. Coffee’s cold anyway.