You’re back home now so we’re in proper (well, our version of proper) contact again. It’s just a quick chat before you go to sleep, when we’re both tired and you’re monosyllabic, but it’s become our little routine. You can only message me when you’re in bed by yourself at night and even then you fall asleep sometimes and another 24 hours will go by without hearing from you. I’m not sure why you don’t message me during the day at work. I’m dying to ask you but I know it will sound needy and a bit critical so I don’t. I think you feel guilty enough as it is, that you’re constantly disappointing me. You’re right – you are – but I’m stuck in the same old loop. It’s this or nothing.

When we first started messaging, it was feverish and constant. It could be any time of the day when your wife wasn’t around. I carried my phone around everywhere with me and gave you your own special notification tone. I was on high alert for that tell tale ping. You’d just say hi or show me what you were doing. You sent pictures of the food you were making for dinner. Sometimes we’d end up having hot text sex in the middle of the day. Now, as you’ve got more paranoid, it’s not like that anymore. You’ve got your set messaging window at night. I’ve tried messaging you during the day but you only check your phone once a day in bed so there’s no point really. I’m starting a conversation that won’t go anywhere. I tried doing that but then I just hung around all day waiting for you to answer. Which you didn’t. By the time you came online, that conversation was long dead in the water.

So I wait for you to message me and I feel frustrated. Sometimes I feel like a pathetic little woman who has to wait for a crumb to be given to her. I can’t see you, speak to you or even message you when I want. I hang around waiting for you to go to bed at night. I like to think of myself as a feminist but what kind of feminist would put up with this? A feminist with very low self esteem or a pragmatic one? One who knows that you can’t do any more than you’re doing and that’ll I have to wait a few years for things to change. The under confident feminist and pragmatist do battle in my brain each and every day and, if I’m feeling positive, the pragmatist wins. If she doesn’t, then I find myself crying in my car. A lot.

But I’m ignoring that today. You’re home and I like you being nearby.

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