‘Happy Thursday!’ … not.

I knew I’d get a text from The Husband today because he always asks me to send him a picture on Thursdays. He’s even coined the phrase “Happy Thursday!” as code for “I want to see you.”

I’ve been providing him with pics via e-mail or cell phone sporadically for about three years now. At first, I assumed all he wanted were shots of my chest (since that’s the only thing he likes about me his favorite part of my body), but about two pics into our routine, he started requesting to see my face, as well. (Now, for some reason, he even asks to see me clothed.) In the past three years, I’ve acquired so much practice at taking racy pics that I probably could land a photography job at Playboy — or at the very least Cosmo.

Anywho, today when he contacted me, I sent him what he wanted. But then I got dressed and told him I’d be incommunicado for the next hour or so because I had a shrink appointment to go to. (Yes, I know it must be shocking that someone who clearly has Daddy issues sees a psychologist.) The Husband, being the egocentric person that he is, asked if I discussed him with my therapist.

“I usually avoid talking about you,” I replied via text.
“What do you mean AVOID talking about me?”
“… yes, I avoid. You’re not exactly a point of pride for me,” I said.
“Oh … ouch! But I can understand.”

And my final response: “It’s not a slight on you at all. You’re not the one getting used by a married man. I am. So I just don’t like to talk about it.”

Then he went silent for the rest of the day.

I really didn’t mean that comment in a harsh or criticizing way. I was just speaking the truth. But the Husband has a habit of objecting when I call myself his sidechick or say “I’m just a tiny part of your life,” so I should’ve known he’d take offense at the “used” remark.

Honestly, I say things like that to him every now and then as my way of demonstrating that I’m not as stupid as he probably thinks. I feel so powerless in this situation, a hostage to my self-destructive desires, and my know-it-all “real talk” is the only thing that helps curb how disappointed I am with myself.

It’s pretty pathetic, when you think about it. I see a shrink twice a month, and have done so for years, yet I’m still not smart or strong enough to de-mistressize myself. It shouldn’t be hard to cut ties with someone who lives 1,000 miles away and only visits where I live once a year.

Argh. I want this all to end.

Just another day without him

The Husband hasn’t texted me in four days. He’s going out of town on business this weekend or doing something else he didn’t want to tell me about, so I imagine he’s fairly busy tying up loose ends before his trip.

Going days without a text from him isn’t out of the ordinary or cause for alarm, but knowing that doesn’t make me miss him any less. I told him awhile ago that I wouldn’t bother him unless he texted me first, and thankfully I have the self-control to stick to my word. In the meantime, to occupy my thoughts, I keep thorough mental records of our text-less streaks — for instance, 2.5  straight days sans messages is our average, and five days is the longest we’ve gone without communicating since February.

It’s sad how I can go extended periods of time without talking to my family and friends, the people who only bring happiness to my life. But a few days without a text from The Husband and I feel like a drug addict itching for her next fix.

Our conversations are primarily sexting — rehashing our past encounters, making plans for new ones, sharing fantasies, discussing how awesome my blowjobs boobs are, etc., etc. But I must say our remarks aren’t just sexually charged; they’re laced with plenty of humor, too. And since our convos usually take place over several hours, and it’s hard to ALWAYS talk about sex, he’ll randomly ask me “weird” questions like: “So how’s your day going?” or “So anything new going on with you?” — you know, stuff that makes me think he might care about me in a non-doggy-style way.

Most women my age seem to have ample opportunities to meet and flirt with attractive guys, but my ineptitude with online dating work schedule prevents from experiencing anything close to that. So my text exchanges with The Husband are my only way to fill that void.

Like most mistresses, I never expect to hear from him on Sundays, because that’s the one off-day he and his wife share. But the other days are fair game, so I’ll usually fall asleep each night, hopeful as a kid on Christmas Eve that I’ll wake up to find a new text from him waiting on my phone.

Years ago, in the earlier stages of our affair, I’d worry that his silence meant he’d lost interest in me. And on the flip side, during the times when I was trying to escape this situation, I’d embrace each Husband-less day as a small victory for my willpower. I’d actually say things like “10 days sober!” or play Jon Secada’s “Just Another Day (Without You)” — both the English and Spanish versions — or Daniel Bedingfield’s “Gotta Get Through This” or Kelly Clarkson’s “Sober” over and frickin over again on my iPod.

But now I realize that The Husband isnt going to lose interest in me. And I realize I’m a long ways off from having the self-love and faith willpower to ignore his advances. So it looks like my long-term sobriety will have to wait … just another day. (Corny ending groan)