When you have children, your idea of "leisure" changes pretty radically. The time when you're not working is spent watching the baby, nervously hoping that he doesn't fall off the bed and hurt his eye again. You used to go to restaurants and movies and have nice, quiet times with your wife; now you're just watching the baby. Sometimes, you take a walk or play little games with him and Mr. Banana. Or maybe you wiggle the blue bunny that he loves in the hopes of generating a few laughs. These may seem like leisurely activities, but you're not really relaxed because you're basically in a coma, just struggling to stay awake and not wander out into traffic or drop one of the harder plastic things (like Mr. Banana) on his head. You cuddle him and tell him that you love him because he's a good baby, but you're not paying too much attention to the words because he can't talk yet; so sometimes you stray from the point and say things that don't make any sense. Or you give him one of your lectures about spanking. Or you stop talking and moving altogether and just stand there in a stupor, staring at him, until he starts crying or you snap out of it. You are, in these moments, little better than a malfunctioning person. Your wife, meanwhile, is somewhere else; trying to sleep, or cook, or work on her screenplay about the girl in Mexico with the negligent father, or just have a few minutes to herself, or something--I don't know. It's hard to tell because I'm so tired. The point is that there's no real leisure time any more. In fact, as far as time goes, there's no real anything any more. The very idea that parts of the day can be differentiated--into work, leisure or whatever--is almost totally alien to me at this point in my life. I mean, I know when I'm at work and when I'm at home--I can tell the difference--but only superficially. I don't feel any different and, if I close my eyes, you can sometimes fool me into thinking I'm at the other place, especially when it's dark and I'm trying to sleep. Of course, as soon as I open my eyes, I know where I am and what I'm supposed to do. And I usually know what time it is, or I can look at my watch or the alarm clock and find out. But who cares what time it is or where I am? I always feel the same or, perhaps more accurately, I feel like I always feel the same.

Shit, I'm lost. I wanted to write about my leisure time, why I don't have any, and why you probably shouldn't turn to pornography just because your sex drive has vanished. But I guess I'm not describing the situation very well and I think I know why: I don't understand it. Everything is becoming indistinct, my experiences are all blurring together, and my senses are dull, extremely dull. This can be pretty disturbing and can make it hard for a person to communicate clearly. It can also, as I've implied, have a very negative impact on a person's sex life. Apparently, this is not uncommon. I've heard that a lot of people give up on sex for a while after they have a child, and that's fine. God knows I have enough other problems in my life not to worry about this one. For instance, I have a case of chronic diarrhea that is limiting my ability to move around because I need to be near a toilet at all times. Plus my wife seems to be going through the same thing in terms of the diminished sex drive, so there's an understanding of sorts between us. So I should be grateful for the one less problem. And maybe I am grateful--I just don't know. It seems like a big part of my life is just missing and that my wife and I are suffering in some way--some unnecessary way. And that seems bad. But I'm not sure. So much is missing, and my thoughts and feelings all seem so unclear to me, so ill-defined, that I can hardly discuss them. And so I just don't know. One thing that is clear is that some mornings when I'm standing naked in the bathroom trying to remember what to do next, I'm actually surprised at the sight of my own penis. Maybe it's just being reminded that I still have a penis, even a senseless, nearly non-working one. Maybe it's something else, I don't know, but I feel very disoriented and confused and slightly embarrassed. And leisure time, or sex, or whatever you want to call it, is just not an option--or even a thought in my mind. I've changed. Something else is going on. Why? I really have no idea and I'm beginning to worry.

I think back to my earliest sexual experiences which, of course, involved gaping at hardcore Swedish pornography in my uncle's closet when I was twelve, and I wonder what happened. I'm not advocating pornography as a sexual aid, or as anything at all. Pornography is, you know, just terrible for families, and terrible and awful in general. And knowing that my eight month old son is going to be into it sooner or later, and that my wife is probably going to try to kill him or me when it happens--even though we both know that there's absolutely nothing you can do to keep a little boy away from pornography--knowing this makes me feel nervous and sick. So I'm not advocating it. I'm just thinking about my younger self rushing to that closet every time we went to my aunt and uncle's house. I remember standing there in the half-dark with those magazines in my hands, kind of rubbing up against my uncle's dresser, then sneaking back downstairs to join the adults, feeling totally ashamed and frightened of being discovered and then hurrying back up there to the closet again the first chance I got. Oh God, I don't know, I'm just thinking about this and about how I used to yearn so desperately for sex--or pictures of sex--and I'm realizing that now I just yearn for sleep, gentle sleep; or at least a little quiet, no yelling, and closed eyes. As for my wife, my sweet wife, I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry.