disappear

I slept with my fitness trainer last night, but I have every right to do so.

Ten years ago, I married my husband. At the time, he was a student and now he works in a high school. He's kind of crazy and doesn't want any kids. My colleagues and family keep asking me when I want to have a baby. At first I responded to them and I wasn't ready. Then I thought it wasn't their business and told them I didn't want to answer your question.

Not having children was his idea, and he even refused to have sex. He said he needed to commit to writing. His writing brought no benefit. He can't even tell a good story. Often, his writing falls apart as the plot develops.

The stories he writes are ridiculous. A woman turns out to be a fox, then turns out she's not a fox; there's a black panther who's a man, but it turns out it's just a black panther; some very boring folk tales seem to be all about him. He submitted his work to all the publishing companies, and certainly no sane person emailed him back.

I went to the pool the other day. I asked my husband if he wanted to work out with me. He fell asleep on the sofa, his belly sticking out. I asked him once if he wanted to come with me, he said it was fine, I asked him twice, he said it was fine. Then I stopped asking, my neighbors were always able to hide in the window and watch me do everything alone, we must be a weird couple to them.

Those kids on pink bikes in my neighborhood must think I'm an old lady, an old, miserable, resentful old woman whose husband would pass out on the couch after dinner before dark fall asleep. When he's awake, he's just writing a bunch of junk. How painful.

I overheard a kid say to his mom, "Mom, that old lady is bleeding in the pool." Who is that old lady? This is disgusting. Who menstruates in the pool? Then I saw my body was bleeding. My lower body is vomiting.

I apologize to the staff at that gym. It was a young man who looked like a college student, and it was later learned that he was running a swimming pool for his father. He blushed and said they'd clean up the pool so I don't worry. They emptied the pool and stuff, which was a huge hassle for them. I gave the young man my number and he gave me his business card.

From the business card, he works as a manager at that location, as well as a personal trainer and therapist. The next day, I called him and said I was willing to cover all the costs. He said it was okay, they had insurance to cover those losses. His voice was low and hoarse, like an old man.

Perhaps to express my apologies, I hired him as my personal trainer after that accident. I bought his most expensive massage class and let him massage me. We stayed in a bright but small room and he massaged my body and the room was getting darker.

I asked my husband to go to that gym with me and to swim in that pool with me. He fell asleep on the couch again and asked me, "What did you say?" Oh my god, he didn't even listen. He lost his last chance to get things done and I don't feel guilty anymore. At the dinner table, I swear the truth between me and the coach is on my lips, but I still haven't made up my mind to tell my husband. I no longer feel guilty because my husband continues to do his old shit job as usual, exam papers, lectures, writing.

My coach is so handsome, so strong, so thoughtful and so understanding of me. I didn't even have to speak, he would understand what I was going to say. He really is a man of men.

Today, I fell asleep in church while the preacher was mumbling his stuff. My man was working hard on me and then I suddenly noticed that my body was turning to water, a little reddish water and I was disappearing. In a panic, I asked my boyfriend what happened. He said it's normal, don't worry, everyone does this. Then he kept hammering me lightly. Who is hammering me? Who is touching me? Who is attacking me?

Baby Baby. We're going to stand up and sing!

I was woken up by my husband. He looked at me with his stupid fish eyes and pulled me up without feeling. "We need to sing now," he looked at me with his goofy eyes.