Not even a handjob

I hate doing it, but every now and then I express some frustration in this blog. Not often, but sometimes. This is supposed to be a blog about fucking. Not a blog about not fucking. Last night we moved the clocks back. The night lasts an extra hour. There's a power failure just before bedtime. Perfect timing. I can only think of one thing to do during a power failure in the dark. We've had a nice day. Working in the garden together. Shaving River's legs in the bath. Going out for pizza. I rub her feet with organic foot cream. Rub her tummy, which is not feeling so good, with chamomile oil. She reads the last two entries of this blog on her cell phone and likes them. Maybe her data contract is finally worth it. The stars are aligning. But she doesn't look at "seize the moment" opportunities like this the way I do. Maybe she's already spent her carpe diem budget for this lifetime. She says it's like me, the non-foodie, who doesn't eat food just because it's there. I guess so. "It's not the period. It's the pain." Ok. I can't seize a moment when she's in pain. But I still can't believe this is happening. We miss out on a power failure on "fall back" night. "Maybe a handjob?" "I'm going to sleep."