Confirmation and bias

The night We got back from holiday I thought I’d make an effort and sit next to my Wife on the sofa. On the same sofa. We’d not been getting on great, but with just the right amount of gin in me I can feel motivated. I encouraged Her to rest Her legs on my lap as we binged a TV boxset. It was OK.

Then something was said and the spell was broken. Shattered.

It was probably something relatively innocuous, or maybe it wasn’t. By then I’d had enough to drink that 1) I can’t remember what was said and 2) my frustration was amplified and distorted.

I went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. (Yes, tea, not more gin.) Going back to the living room wasn’t high on my To Do list, so I drank my tea where I was. After a while She came through.

As my tea/gin ratio was decidedly skewed, again I can’t remember what was said, but She did apologise for rejecting my olive branch. And I think there was some suggestion/question/accusation that I want Her to change. The truth is that I do (though if I could delete my own libido, that would be just as effective a way to helping, and probably far simpler), but as that is tantamount to apportioning blame for mutual incompatibility, I brushed it off.

It’s not the first time something like this has happened in the last year. I think it’s the third.

I went to bed in a sulk. No. It was more than a sulk. Internally I was seething, despite the apology, because an apology is worthless without genuine acknowledge of culpability and intent to not repeat the need for that apology. And because I’d drunk too much gin.

As I struggled to find sleep, I found reasons to hate my Wife.
Rehearsed conversations designed to pull the ossified rug from beneath Her feet.
Tell Her She’s frigid.
Tell Her Her attitude towards identity politics has contaminated Her attitude to sex.
To call Her a mysandrist.
To ask if She’s fucking someone at work (though it is genuinely inconceivable that She’s even capable of anything so sexual or covert).
To poke the hornets’ nest and tell Her I want a divorce, even though I absolutely don’t. I absolutely do want Her to change … or to delete absolutely my libido, but I absolutely don’t want a divorce. [Ed: Even if you think divorce is a realistic way forward, Dear Reader, don’t bother suggesting it – you won’t get a positive response from AM.]

The next morning I had a wank.
An angry wank.
A Fuck-You-World wank.
One of the few proper wanks I’ve had in probably a couple of months.
It was hard work and, despite ejaculating copiously, thoroughly unsatisfying.

My mood did not improve that day. Everything irritated me. I changed the status of 4 blog posts I’d written whilst on holiday[1] [2] [3] [4] from Scheduled to Draft.

The next day we drove to stay with family. It would be a taxing few days, but necessary on numerous levels. For one, my Wife and I would have to share a bed again for another two nights. Which We did. Nights in which I woke repeatedly, with increasing irritation at my erections.
Come the early morning, I was tired and irritable. I extracted myself and my boner from the bed and the bedroom. As I made myself a mug of tea, I hit the internet:

I’ve previously established that there are no healthy ways to diminish, let alone delete my libido. So, inspired hopelessly by recently reading My Uncle Oswald, I wondered whether there were indeed any biochemically legitimate aphrodisiacs? Any pills that I could, at least theoretically slip into my Wife’s drink. (For the record, and this is important, I would never consider actually doing that. It’s unethical, selfish, and wouldn’t solve anything long term. It was just a thought experiment.)

The internet quickly gave me the answer:

There may be some psychological aphrodisiacs: most are at best placebos, though realistically dependent on having some desire to desire. But realistically there are no pills to pop. Even if the benefits and risks of Addyi weren’t hotly debated, it is intended for pre-menopausal women. And now that my sex-negative Wife is more than a year past that point-of-no-return, that’s not applicable. There could be the possibility of Testosterone patches, but She’d need to be complicit, and that would require the desire to desire.
I tried another search result.
Just the same. Nothing chemical, just oysters, spices and phallic foods. No joy there then.
A third search.
And a fourth.
But no. As much as I searched for confirmation, there is no magic pill. Literal or conceptual.

2 Responses to “Confirmation and bias”

  1. Perhaps you’ve discussed this elsewhere, but why not divorce? Not that I’m encouraging you to that, just curious

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