Last night I slept over with The Yankee after a very long week of working a lot and seeing him not at all.
I just sort of called to tell him I was on my way over.
And when I got there and he tried to hug and kiss me I suddenly started feeling so horribly claustrophobic and very not in-the-mood-y, which of course led to guilty and self-loathe-y, followed by indignant and righteously indignant because, hey, I’m a badass feminist blogger, I should be able to go see the guy I’m seeing and then not have sex with him and then not feel bad about it. But I can’t. Not that I said any of this out loud. I just started watching Buffy.
So I announced we should go to bed and when we got there I grabbed his wandering hands and wrapped his arms around me and apologized for inviting myself over and then not even sexing him.
He laughed, “I get to hold you in my arms. What are you apologizing for? This is amazing.”
My point isn’t any of that stuff. In fact all that stuff is completely beside the point. Forget it all.
My point is that in the morning I felt differently. I had needed 8 hours of cuddling just for my body to remember that touch can be pleasant and antagony free. After a long week at a very frustrating job where I felt all the bad feelings and every word out of anyone’s mouth felt like an attack, every touch a remonstration, my body forgot that every human interaction isn’t bad or demanding or cause for worry.
We like to think we’re smarter than out bodies, but we’re really not. You deserve a thing. Treat yo self to it.