Rambling Writer's Block

B'Man recently remarked that I hadn't posted in quite a while. I could only shrug and reply, I have nothing to post about."

He generously offered to help me out. "You go bring me my belt, and I'll be glad to give you some inspiration," he smiled.

I thanked him for his very kind offer, but declined.

Having nothing to post about is a mixed blessing. On the one hand it puts an indefinite hold on this strange hobby of blogging that I've become so attached to, leaving me to search for other outlets for my creativity... and on the other hand, my lack of subject matter proves that I am reaching that pinnacle in my relationship that I have been looking forward to since we started dd a year ago.

So, triumphantly I sit in front of a blank computer screen with a severe case of writer's block 15 days after my last post, reflecting over the events of the last 3 weeks. There's a certain amount of pride in knowing that I've managed to avoid punishment for that long. I've kept our home in a certain degree of order, the remotes remain in their rightful place, the closet doors and cabinets are no longer an obstical course,  and I'm completing important tasks in a timely manner.

And here I sit, the very picture of perfection with a grin on my face and nothing to write about. Okay... not quite perfect. A couple of times the wooden spoon has found it's way out of the crock on the counter for the purpose of what B'Man likes to call "a pet peeve stinger." And every once in a while the warnings come hurling at me sometimes so fast that I can hear them whistle like bullets as they blow by my ear. "You do that again you'll find yourself across my knee". What were those warnings about? Who knows? They come and go so quickly that they've become background noise, a part of the sound track of my life along with music from the seventies and the sound of the L train in the distance. I subconsciously take note of the infraction, resolve to not repeat it, and move on with my life.

Yesterday, B'Man picked me up right after work so that we could go to an optometrist and pick out a pair of frames for my new glasses. I wasn't in the best of moods, as I had been struggling with headaches from poor eyesight and chronic dry eye. We parked and went in and I tried on frames and we spoke to the salesman about our insurance and discounts for about 30 minutes. When we came out, we found a parking ticket sitting on the windshield. This only made me feel worse. Not only did I feel like a burden because we would have to drop a few hundred dollars on my new glasses, but the excursion to find them was going to cost another $50.00. I wanted to burst into tears. B'Man adamantly shook his head when he understood my misplaced guilt. "Baby, this is in no way your fault. This is all mine. I'm the one who decided not to put the quarter in the meter. I easily could have. A quarter! I lose that much in the cushions of the couch, and I was too cheap to pay for the parking space thinking I could get away with it." Then he frowned and cocked his head to the side as though a thought just occurred to him. "Hey, maybe I should spank you so I learn to never do that again!"

Sometimes I worry about that man.

Along with my seemingly perfect conduct, the truth also is that B'Man has been letting me off the hook more readily lately. There's a compassionate understanding that he's developed over these past few months when I tend to drag him down with me into hormone hell. A few times recently I've snapped and snarled and bared my teeth in response to what I perceived as an insensitive remark or question, only to be met with a gentle touch on my back and a comforting rub between my shoulder blades.

Sitting in front of a blank screen with writer's block has also given me time to reflect on our most important accomplishment in the last year. As a new blogger, Rebekah, has just revealed her husband's intentions to help her stop smoking, I can't help but let out a sigh of relief that this is, for the most part, all over for me. There is no doubt in my mind that my loving husband saved my life by forcing me to choose between the pain of withdrawal and the pain of severe spankings. My only contribution to the process was that I eventually chose wisely. In discussing the plight of my fellow bloggers going through the same struggle, B'Man revealed to me that he was prepared to "go the distance" had I broken down and had that one last cigarette that I was constantly on the verge of seeking. When I asked him what he meant by that he replied, "spanking isn't enough for something this serious. I'd have to whip you."

I think my jaw unhinged as I had to pick it up off the floor. I didn't have to ask if he was serious. There was no humor behind those eyes. I knew something like that wouldn't be easy for him. My spankings have ranged from slightly stingy to horrendously painful, but they were always just spankings. A whipping is something I simply can't wrap my mind around, but I realized that he saw this issue as a matter of life or death. Mine. I've always considered this an open issue in that I was still unsure about my ability to forego the opportunity to smoke in a weak moment. After that conversation, there is now no more doubt in my mind. The issue is now forever closed. I am a non smoker, and there's no way I could have done it without him.

My marriage floats inside a comfort zone where this thing we do is systematically dissolving the arguments, frustration, anger, nagging, yelling, and all the other crap that created resentment. I find myself relaxed and content. I'm thinking maybe I can become one of those wise women in the community that rarely get punished, and always has a thought provoking essay to impart (like Sara maybe?).

Or maybe I'll do something stupid and thoughtless and get my butt whooped tomorrow.

Only time will tell.