But so little remains of us at the end of a day with kids that we cling to what's left as if it's our last frozen pouch of breast milk. Giving ourselves to affection and losing ourselves in lust would be a tonic. It would make us feel like women again. But a cataract of fear blurs sense. Instead of welcoming sex, we duck behind our books and change for bed in the bathroom.
Mental frigidity sets in, too.
During my senior year in college, I found politics. I wrote a story on these radicals of the '80s, slept with one of them, then brought the referendum to Syracuse University. My mother was barely 30 during the hottest political years of the '60s. I had no time for that. Disgusting, I thought, all those years ago.