i wonder if all the times don draper came home after a 12 whiskey-on-the-rocks work day and fucked betty like she was a blow up doll, if she just wished he would collapse into bed, push her hair back from her face, and kiss her forehead.  

betty draper is, in my opinion, the epitome of sexual frustration.  she has sex, yes, but it's never the kind of sex that she wants.  you can see the frustration in the way she smokes a cigarette with breakfast, and snaps at her children, and indulges the flirtation of other men.

"in bed, i chew my fingernails, and spit half moon slivers onto the carpet..."  i used to write about sexual frustration.  about a woman taking a man's virginity.  as if i could somehow, through my writing, undo what had been done.  i experimented and played.  i was patient.  i wanted.  and now, i'm being fulfilled, but i'm still restless, and i'm not writing, so i feel bottled up and shaken, ready to explode, bubbles coming from my eyes.

i feel like betty draper and i want to smoke a cigarette in bed, and lament the state of things, and put curlers in my hair.  it's too short for curlers.  i haven't any cigarettes.  

sunday,  i'm leaving for southern california with J.  i will take lots of pictures, and eat new food, and meet family members, and everything will be exciting.  i'm hoping for some kind of awakening in me, some shaking off of this stagnation that i've been feeling.  that feeling will be, in part, abated by this long needed spring break.  i tire of my job and i need the open road, and J's hand in mine, to put my mind at ease.

betty didn't show up in the season premiere last week, so i'm guessing she's a shitty character to feel like. gotta switch things up a bit.