Last night lying in bed next to my husband— during our usual ritual of him being asleep at the crack of 8:30 pm ( being a sugar Daddy and all- the guy needs his full eight hours of rest) and me, and answering emails on my blackberry – yes we’ve got that pillow talk down to an absolute science I get this pretty horrible message. The kind of email that shakes you to your very core and threatens all I really have as a writer, my reputation and my integrity.
While I’d love to hash out the nitty gritty of this e-mail, which threw me into a full-on panic attack; I won’t go there right now. As I struggled to defend myself via four consecutive e-mails at 10:30 pm- just as I was finally dozing off to the land of zz’s and so they were likely not as coherent as I would’ve liked them to be– what I needed from this man lying just two inches from me was comfort. And while I’m not sure what he could’ve said, it just seems my husband always finds a way to sleep through the moments in my life that I feel most panicked and need him most.
Of course when I confronted him this morning, he gives me his usual, “well I didn’t know what to say,” routine (his usual fallback statement) to which I responded, “Anything, rather than silence would have been nice.”