It dawned on me this morning that in bashing romantic comedies during my previous post, I wasn’t specific enough. Because, like, I wrote a romantic comedy and I don’t want to denigrate my own work, even if I’m not exactly drawn to the genre so much these days.

Star Craving Mad was published way before I became the obsessed, admittedly rigid and oft humorless Primal mother you’ve come to know and maybe resent.

But it’s mine, and Jennifer Aniston would have made a great Maddy Braverman back in the day.

I’m not completely anti-rom com. Chick flick… I thoroughly enjoyed the movie Date Night. I’m a sucker for Pride and Prejudice. And I think Ryan Gosling is smoking hot. I liked how um, humorless and fearless and vengeful he was in Drive. But Drive was more of a bro thing though, right?

Is it creepy that I found his character Inspiring? Kind of like Lou Ferrigno in the Incredible Hulk when I was in fourth grade. God I loved him.

Which brings me to…

Swamp Chicken and I are experiencing marital discord. My obsession with ancestral health is like an extramarital affair, and he is not into it. He feels shut out and neglected. I feel the same about his guitar. It’s like we both escape into the arms of our lovers and away from the flesh and blood embrace of each other.

Maybe that’s another reason I gorge on podcasts, websites and books—I’m in avoidance mode.

This obviously needs to be remedied. Because Swamp Chicken and I loathe so many people in our burgeoning middle age, and genuinely like each other. We are still each other’s favorites even after two decades together.

Isn’t it romantic?

So we talked about it. And our hearts softened some. And the walls yielded.

I knew as we were discussing, confessing and admitting our gripes and accountabilities that I would be blogging about it, with Swamp Chicken’s approval of course. This weirdness between us has been swirling in my head for over a month now, how my Primal lather leeches the juice from my marriage. It’s a relevant by-product that I feel compelled to share in the interest of truthfulness about this journey—you know, the good, the bad and the awkward.

The good news is that both Swamp Chicken and I are adults. In the sense that we each take responsibility during confrontational conversations. And we are invested in respecting the other’s feelings. We are not big on getting defensive and laying blame. Maybe a tiny bit at first.

In the end it just felt good to come clean about the state of our union.

And who knows?

Maybe I’m not so rigid after all.