Larrapin

8:06

I’m not feeling particularly inspired, so let’s see what I can do with the title. My paternal grandmother had a wonderful way of speaking. She’s the only person I’ve heard say the word larrapin. (It’s in wordpress autocorrect). I thought it meant excellent generally, but apparently it’s specifically used for especially good food, Southern food, or country food. Definitely a regionalism. I miss her. Illness and age reduced her years before she died, so it’s been a long time since I experienced her grace and charm and wit.

I thought of larrapin because Ls, and I wanted to use it while I could. I’m feeling oddly relaxed. My business trip was intense and disappointing. It’s hard to get people to give me money, at least the six-figure sums I need quickly. And then the weekend was abysmal (I should use that word more often, as I have often felt at the edge of an abyss). But I had a strong rebound. Milo has been sick enough to stay home, but not sick enough to worry about, so that slowed everything down. I had the luxury of catching up on most of my email and tying up a lot of vexing loose ends.

I just made myself laugh by realizing that I’m relaxed because I feel like it’s someone else’s turn to make the next move. Someone else has to reply to my emails, or advance my work goal, or make things happen for me. I’m on the sidelines today, just helping out, pitching in where I can. I have declined an active role. Tomorrow I’ll probably shift, but it’s nice to know that this is possible, and that it feels like a tremendous luxury — which it is.

At home, well, whatever. Daniel apologized last night by phone (he was away on family business) for saying “Who could ever want to be married to you.” So that was very nice. He was in circumstances yesterday that always work to my advantage. I know what I mean by that. But it’s the same weird distance now that he’s home. I’m not bothered by it. I’m tired, buzzing a little on endorphins, and just too worn out by everything that’s happened to have the energy for change. So someone else will have to do it. But I still always have to unload the dishwasher.

8:16. meh

Later

(Ls are easy)

8:22

It got better. It always does, just not on demand. This time, it was yoga class that saved me, that took my mind enough away to escape the destructive loop it was in. Then I threw myself into cooking for Milo, who has a cold that he’s taking a little too seriously. He needs a break.

And I found a friend, who is herself divorcing, and talked to her. And I had an honest, excruciating conversation with Daniel, and he didn’t yell. He got snippy at the end, and he wasn’t kind, but he was honest and didn’t yell. I told him that this was a conversation between two people who were very hurt but had some kind of relationship going and wanted to go forward. He thought we already were those people.

I told my friend that Daniel and I are on different planets, and on our own planet, we are perfectly justified, and there is no bridge between our worlds. I’m reading Left Hand of Darkness now, hence the science fiction metaphor. She, bless her, suggested that it was a mistake to give Daniel his own planet. Ceding to Daniel’s narrative is always disastrous for me. The terrible feeling of all day yesterday, the crying, the worthlessness, that is a familiar feeling, although I’d escaped it for a while. That’s the feeling of trying to live in Daniel’s narrative. We might never agree. My narrative is the least-harm narrative.

As I suspected, Daniel believes that since our last big fight, the one where he told me I was inadequate and asked who could be married to me (but of course those statements don’t count because “obviously” he said them in anger, and that doesn’t count), since our last big fight I have been much better. After that fight, the careful reader will recall, I gave up on expecting anything at all from Daniel, and set myself to serving him. So that is “better.” In fairness (to him, not me) I did realize only then how soul-sick he is. I realize just now, writing this (which is why I write) that the flare up on Friday came when I told him that I did, in fact, expect things from him. That’s when it all went to hell and I thought of self harm.

This is all information. Daniel will be furious if he ever learns I am keeping a record. But it’s for myself, for the next time. A hedge against self harm. I think Daniel is trying, but he insists that the scrim of hatred was created by both of us because “It’s a marriage, and marriage is two people.” I can’t hear that, and he can’t hear otherwise. It’s a problem. He agreed in principle to go to counseling later. We’ll see. I need to remember that, to record that, too. He agreed in principle to go to counseling later. He doesn’t want divorce, that is clear. He might not want the same marriage I want.

8:33

Kleenex

9:56

As I said, K is hard.  That title is part ironic, part not. A Syrian refugee who survived being gassed and tortured was just in our home to visit (he is a friend of Daniel’s — you didn’t suspect that about Daniel, did you? He’s magnificent in many ways. That is what is so hard about him.) I understand that suffering is relative. I understand that my pains, amidst money in the bank, good health, and a safe place to sleep for me, my child, and the people I love, are not world-ranking pains. But they are my pains, nonetheless, and while they are not everything, they are not nothing.

Today has been one of the worst days of my life.

It is hard to live with and face — literally look in the face — someone you have hurt. Shame is that powerful.

Why is it that the offenses that I cause, the annoyances, the bitchiness, even, have to be rebuked with such vigor — the death penalty for jaywalking — while Daniel’s appalling behavior must be forgiven and forgotten instantly, and no trace of a wound is allowed? We come back to that every time. My resentment is making me insane.

I apologized to him for genuinely being bitchy and tried to explain, tried to ask for understanding, tried to say, “It’s just important to me, and I want you to see it,” and got more rebuke, piled on. More explanations of why I can’t feel what I feel and want what I want (a clean kitchen to come home to when I’ve been away. A washed pot. A cared-for dog. It’s not so much is it? Either to do without or to do.) And then he rebuked me for not asking him how he was doing. It’s like a maze, and I can’t live in it anymore. I literally didn’t want to look at him, I felt so bad, and I can’t tell whether it’s about him or me.

The stakes are impossibly high. Neither of us can forgive or stand down. Daniel is being sweet today. I’m thinking of self-harm, and trying not to cry all day.

And then I think I deserve it, because in the past I have told him that he can’t have what he wants, because there is dinner to be made, and laundry to be done. I haven’t taken his needs more seriously than my own. That’s what he said last night that killed me: “I put your feelings ahead of my own.” Which is true in this instance. Not true when he’s telling other women he loves them, but in those cases my feelings can’t matter. And he goes on and on about fairness.

I’m about to lose my job because the money isn’t coming in fast enough and there are significant hurdles to big grants.

Milo is cracking under our strain. He wants to know that we are not getting divorced. It is hard to reassure your child that you are not getting divorced when every cell in your body is screaming for an escape from a marriage that is untenable.

I need help. I need someone to send help, and there is no help forthcoming. My friends are busy. God is hard to interpret. I need help right now.

If Daniel saw me crying right now, he would lose it. A Syrian refugee was just in our home, and I am crying over…what? I don’t deserve to cry over an unloaded dishwasher and a badly behaved dog and an unwashed pot. And a broken broken broken heart.

I think I’m too damaged for anyone to love again. I have to remind myself that divorce is not merit-based. I do not have to prove that he is worse and I am blameless or perfect. Nor do I have to be blameless or perfect to be loved, except sometimes in my house by my husband. I just have to say that I am sad and I have been sad for years and I don’t want to be sad anymore. “just” “just”

I will feel better, sooner than I think. I feel so bad now it’s hard to get my mind around it. I need help, and there is no help forthcoming.

Keep

9:51

K words are hard, I’ll have you know.

Keep, the noun, not the verb. Well, it turns out there’s more than one definition of keep as a noun. I was thinking of the part of a castle behind the walls, not sustenance as in “earn one’s keep.” I am trying to stay in the safe and guarded part of my mind and heart.

I have to keep (!) myself distant from Daniel so I can keep hold of my untested ability to define what’s real, what I want, and what looks possible. Keeping my distance. Keeping myself to myself. Keeping quiet — oh, I love quiet. But I also love talking a bit with Daniel in the kitchen this evening, while I made Milo’s breakfast cookies. Well, not love. But liked. I liked the normalcy of it. I don’t know what’s normal, but this seemed like something healthily married people would do, should do.

I left Peaky Blinders last night in mid-episode. Daniel carried on through that one and the next without me. He’ll probably finish the season and another while I’m away. I don’t mind — I mean, it’s not The Crown or anything. It’s one less strand in the very fine thread keeping us together. And I don’t mind.

I wish I could have a healthy and honest conversation with Daniel. But that’s not possible now — as much because of me as him. I am not solid enough (unkempt?) to stand in health and honesty. I literally can’t explain. His facts obliterate and invalidate my feelings (never the reverse. I never get the reverse). I need to get the explanations right in my head.

It’s wearing on me. This morning my emotional condition manifested itself as an all-over ache. I work out, perhaps, so I can cover the emotional ache with a physical one, so I can exert some control. But I am watching it, watching for the ways that the ignored emotions and overriden feelings lodge in the body and don’t let go. I have to defer and respect, back off a bit. I came close to throwing my back out on Sunday. I”m pleased that I’m stronger than I used to be, that I could manage around it and then through it by today. But I’m watching, I’m careful, I’m respectful. While I might like to spend days in bed, motion is essential now, at least till I get to the rooms of my own.

To another city, one I really like, for a business trip early early early tomorrow morning. I will miss Milo, and Daniel will fuss a lot about having to do three mornings of the school run, but I am happy and relieved to be away. I will ask three people for a lot of money on this trip, and two of them have to say yes. I am eager to be on the other side.

10:09. Sloppy.

 

Kaleidoscope

5:14

The final paragraph of my previous post scared me. It caused me to make the blog private again. I imagined how hurt and angry Daniel would be if he read it. I don’t want him to have an affair (but even as I type that, it looks like a blame-free exit for me, and that is what I want most of all. A blame-free exit.) I certainly don’t want to have an affair because I don’t want to face Milo afterwards.

I was about to type, “I still like the idea of doing whatever I want,” but I don’t, really. I like the idea of doing whatever I want and not causing anyone else pain by doing it.

Daniel continues to be nice, dammit. I passed him on the street outside our house and he gave me a hug and kiss. I asked why. He said, “I don’t know… feelings?” So I remind myself, if I am surprised and curious about why my own husband treats me with affection — the affection I should have had all along — that is important information.

This is another one of those posts that was so complete and urgent in my head, and so flat when it gets to my keyboard.

It is important to look right at this anxiety and confusion. It is important to consider whether good enough for Daniel is good enough for me. This is a little bit of what I want, but not the whole. The proportions are completely reversed. The hug and kiss on the street– that’s an ice cube. (Stick with me, the metaphor depends on it). I want the iceberg. The iceberg of love! I amuse myself.

At yoga this morning, I recognized how tense I am, how armored and guarded. I have a big week at work coming up, but I’m also living guardedly in the house, as I’ve written over and over and over. Not wanting to open up, not wanting to be too kind or too vulnerable because it might make something difficult later. But, as always, that kind of prevention doesn’t work. This is where I need to decide, strongly, that I can do whatever I want. And remind myself that a million times. Yes, many things have to happen, which I will have to initiate, but there will be many things that happen that I don’t control. A year ago… well, a year ago, divorce was imaginable. I was imagining it. I was unhappy. But our current circumstances were not imaginable. And now, staying together in a way that makes me really happy, that feels like the best version of ourselves, that has tremendous integrity, is not imaginable.

Here it comes again, the surge of longing for rescue, release, relief. I breathe through it, wait it out. Daniel in his own way teaches me to grab relief and not wait for it. Get relief from chores by stopping the chores, whether or not they are finished. Find release from the armor by taking it off and not worrying that 6 months from now, Daniel will say, “But you were nice to me.” He’ll hurt me again, whether I’m armored or not. All the armor does is wear me down.

I have to go through all of this. I can’t sneak out, or speed walk past it. I have to go through all of this, these rotations and combinations of emotion. This re-sorting of the same materials. Shake it up and look again, and the years of marriage behind us look happy. Another turn, and it’s a disaster. Both are true. Both are always true. Daniel is glorious and Daniel is unbearable. Daniel is everything I want… well, no. Not right now. Not anymore. Not in the present. Daniel has the capacity to be everything I want… that’s a question now. I am not interested in forcing the answer. I’m observing, not deciding. I’m dipping into and out of decisions. I’m divorcing and reconciling in my mind, turning the wheel, seeing the patterns, and I’ll decide when I need to, when I’ve done more rounds of feeling. I have to do all this to minimize the regret later of whatever choice. And whatever choice will bring enormous regret anyway. I am sad that I won’t be able to be compassionate with Daniel once I leave him — I will feel great compassion but he certainly won’t want it from me. Poor thing. He has no idea. Or maybe he does. Shake, turn, shake, turn.

5:38 (it was so much better in my head).

Just

7:18

I was a hurdler in high school. I started out with an advantage — I could go over a hurdle equally well with my right or left leg leading, so I could take four steps between hurdles rather than five. Taking five steps meant stuttering a bit. But then the other girls got faster, and dropped from five steps to three, and I never quite got the hang of just three steps. I was too slow to cover the ground in just three steps, so I would kind of bound between the hurdles, and spent too much time in the air. So I never got faster. My coach would get a little exasperated with me and say “Just run. Don’t think, just run.” (I’m pretty sure I’ve blogged about this before, but if I don’t exactly remember, no one else will either.) It became a joke between us, because I could never just run. I was always thinking, always anxious. “Just run” was meaningless to me.

It’s never “just…” There are always complications, such as Daniel’s cheerful and affectionate mood today, the spontaneous holding of hands, his happiness. He wonders, a bit, why I seem distant. It’s a lot of emotional ground to cover in a short time, dear Daniel. Just be happy. As if nothing happened before.

When I was a graduate student in political theory, I remember hearing about the feminist critique of John Rawl’s A Theory of Justice (Theory of Justice was on the reading list. The feminist critiques were not). Male theorists said that of course justice didn’t apply to the family, as I recall, and feminists said, Why the hell not? and That’s part of the whole damn problem don’t you see? Now, after so many fights, so much hurt, when Daniel is nice, I wonder, what about justice? I’d be content with mercy, actually, if it was shown me on a regular basis. If there were mutuality, we might not need justice. I also wonder, is it just not to tell Daniel that things are not okay, even as we hold hands and watch Peaky Blinders, which he absolutely loves? (Netflix is buying us a lot of time.) Maybe it’s not just, maybe it’s merciful, to him and to me.

Daniel’s kindness makes me anxious. I start justifying (!) my decisions to imagined audiences, then I laugh and remember, I don’t owe anyone an explanation. When I did yoga this afternoon, I decided (yet again) that this was not a time for decisions. I’m steering towards love, and I have only to take steps in that direction, without knowing what it means in the long term or where I will go with it.

I had thought that love, and to live in love was my intention for 2018, but my intentions were derailed. It’s my intention henceforth, and I will get there whatever it looks like. What we had before wasn’t adequate love for me — Daniel would say it wasn’t adequate from me. I would look him in the eye, like the Peaky Blinders women and say, “Well, fine then. We both deserve better, let’s part friends.” I can do whatever I want, if that means holding hands now to keep the peace (I need the peace) and because I like to hold his hand, and then disrupting the peace later because I need more than holding hands and watching television. (Although, I have this fantasy in which we continue to watch television at least, and I’d even hold his hand while doing it. He could come over, I’d give him a drink and some chips, and we’d watch TV and then he’d go home.)

I can do whatever I want: that makes my heart give a little jump. I’ve never felt that in my life. Maybe this is what true love is. I can do whatever I want, with love, for love, into love. I also recognize that this is the morally dangerous part, when I’m looking for a precipitating event to end the marriage. This is when I have an affair, so I can get out. Except, that is laughably unlike me. (So was divorce, even a few months ago.) I don’t want to have an affair, I want to live in integrity and love, and an affair to get out wouldn’t be either of those things. If Daniel would like to, and use that as his exit strategy, I’d be so relieved. But he won’t either. I know I’ll have to bring down the house, literally.

7:45

Juicer

8:43

When Daniel loved me, before I was his wife (which ruined everything for him), he gave me practical — bizarrely practical– valentine’s day gifts. The first was a juicer — and this was in the mid-90s, before juicing was such a thing. I was completely flabbergasted, and he laughed. We were so romantic all the time, that valentine’s day was almost meaningless, so he gave it meaning by subverting it. I loved that about him.

After he bought the house we live in, he gave me half of it, in the form of a deed saying we were joint tenants in common, for valentine’s day. Without that deed, leaving him would be financially impossible. Under the law, I wouldn’t be entitled to half the house, because he owned it before we married. (I think this is true. I haven’t investigated the counter-factual.)

But then he stopped loving me, and I got red roses, trite as hell, when I got anything at all. And I pretended to be very happy about them, even as I wished for a sly can opener, or pot holder, or anything at all that indicated he was thinking about me, and us, and our history and our love. To be fair, I didn’t get him anything at all, usually. Just because I’m more sinned against than sinning doesn’t mean I haven’t sinned.

Yesterday morning, I saw a stunning flower arrangement on my dressing table when I woke up — truly the most beautiful arrangement Daniel had ever given me. I was touched, but confused. I didn’t want this display from Daniel. Kindness and love are not part of the story right now. I also wondered how he managed to procure flowers between 9:30 pm on Tuesday, when he went to a friend’s house for a late dinner, and 6am on Wednesday, when I found the flowers. So I asked. He told me that the flowers had been sent to our friend and his wife as a thank you gift. The friend was leaving town Wednesday morning, so Daniel took the arrangement home for me on Tuesday night. “But if I hadn’t gotten the flowers from [friend], I would have gotten you red roses.”  A double loss. I am both reassured and disappointed.  Recycled flowers? Really?

My mood is all over the place. Yesterday evening at yoga I thought, “I have never been happier.” I don’t know what I meant by that, but it came into my head. There is an enormous relief in knowing the truth, in having a life that makes sense, in not trying to do the impossible, in releasing responsibility for what I could never be responsible for. I went to a bookstore today and bought three novels — not mysteries, which I read when I’m stressed, and which have been the overwhelming majority of my reading for at least three years. Daniel should worry about this opening of mental capacity. It means I’m no longer thinking about him and how to please him. I want him to be happy, and not angry or lonely or sad, so I do things that might have that effect. But that’s different from wanting to please him. I’ve released myself from that obligation, which I never could fulfill. It was structural, not personal.

Then, on the way home, after a cocktail reception at work where I had on my brightest professional armature, I was low again, and I was low when I ate my solo dinner while Daniel was upstairs paying bills. I left Daniel alone to eat dinner a lot. I wish I hadn’t. It’s not very nice. And this post is making me cry. Remembering when he gave me that juicer, in my first solo apartment, where I probably slept 6 nights in three years, because I was always with him. Remembering what it was like to be loved by him, when I was loved by him — it was exquisite. It was gorgeous, it was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and the memory of it obscured the reality of these last (17? 10? 5? 2?) years.

Given that I desperately need someone to fund me and someone to fuck me, and the lack of both is making me absolutely mad, I’m doing extremely well. I am unbelievably steady in the face of all that I have to lose and the more brutal face of all that I lost without knowing it, because I have so much fullness in myself. You might say I am full of myself. But sometimes–now– I want to fall down on the floor and cry and mourn.

9:03

Joy

4:38

I’m breaking one of my cardinal rules, and blogging during the workday.  I will leave my desk in 22 minutes anyway to go to yoga, and there’s nothing work related that I can accomplish in 22 minutes. Well there almost certainly is, but nothing is coming to mind and I’m not looking hard.

So some things that are bringing me joy right now, regardless of all other things, and in no particular order

1. Frugality. When I am thoughtful about spending money, buying new things only to replace old things,and using up all the old things and clearing out and letting go, I magically have money for the things that matter (therapy!). I’m loosening my grip a little, but so far, it’s not been too hard and the psychic rewards are much greater than the rewards of careless spending.

2. My new CSA subscription. To be fair, I won’t see the produce for a couple more weeks, but I am very happy about the idea of the fresh produce and adventures in cooking. This subscription touts itself as being extremely easy to manage. A few weeks ago, I would have said I couldn’t afford it (groceries come from Daniel’s portion of the budget), but I think it will make me happy to spend this money in this way.

3. Bringing my lunch to work. Before our financial pinch, I never brought my lunch, and thought it would be impossible to do so. Who wanted to cook on Sundays for the week? Me, it turns out. Some three months in, it’s not oppressive. I have a very high tolerance for eating the same foods over and over (I’m on week 2 of lentils every day). I go into the common areas of our offices, and have my nice lunch away from my desk. I think eating away from my desk is essential to this enterprise, and the food is incidental.

4. My new offices. I thought I would hate this location, but the space is delightful. It feels fresh and new. I also like working in a slightly different neighborhood. I enjoy being an urban explorer.

5. Bicycling. The new offices are most easily reached by bike, and I delight in unlocking a bike every day and flying along the streets. My bike commute is very short, downhill (I usually take the bus or walk home) and energizing. I feel like a college student, or little kid, and I enjoy that.

6. Writing. At work, I write for 10 minutes a day on whatever project is at hand — mostly playing around, brainstorming, sometimes revising. It is magic. I have ideas I wouldn’t have come up with otherwise. I move projects along that would have seemed too daunting to take on. Even when I don’t feel like it, it’s just 10 minutes. I didn’t read about this practice on a blog or in a productivity book.  I just made it up, and I love the results.

7. Milo. He’s spectacular. He shows me what mutual love looks like, and there is so much freedom and happiness in it. (Shadow to this: my relationship with Milo, and the goodness in it, revealed to me so many of the limitations of my relationship with Daniel, and the wrongness of what Daniel said about me and how he treated me. It’s an awkward truth: Milo’s love showed me that I have to leave his dad. Hmm. Milo will need a good therapist of his own.)

8. My friends. I thought for years I was a bad friend, needy, self-centered, only showing up when I needed something. My friends show me something different. If these amazing women want to spend time with me, then there is something really right with me, and it gets more right the more time I spend with them. I didn’t have models of female friendship growing up. These women are saving me, every day.

9. The gym in the office building. Finally, finally, I’m running. Just the treadmill, just for 15 minute HIIT workouts, but I’m running and it’s hard and I like it. I’m also doing some weights and resistance work. I looked forward to it all day yesterday. It feels better (and is so much cheaper) than spinning.

4:59. Not my best prose, repetitive and pedestrian. I care enough to note it, but not enough to change it.

Interstitial

9:48

Interstitial is so much nicer than inertia, which is really what I feel. I forgot to write yesterday, which rarely happens. Maybe being away from writing explains this sense of lassitude (what a great word) that has come over me. There is so much to be done, but none of it can be done at the moment. So I wait, and plan, and dread.

Inconsequential: Daniel’s actions towards me have, thus far, carried little consequence for him and enormous, devastating consequences for me. And yet, I hesitate to impose the Big Consequence, which I am defining as the loss of the house– not the loss of me. That right there tells you something, that I think Daniel will mourn real estate more than a real person.  Actually, losing the house will be the insult added to the injury, or the injury piled upon the injury. I don’t think of myself as losing the house, although I will likely be very sad to leave it. I’m choosing the loss, which mitigates.  The loss is the downside of my upside.  When I mentioned that I was scared to impose consequences on Daniel, and on my bad college boyfriend, and on my bad ex-boss, my therapist said, in a rare-for-her fed up and sarcastic tone, “Well, if you’re wondering why you keep ending up in these bad relationships…” I warned her, through tears, to tread gently.

Maybe there were consequences for Daniel, actually, but they were the downside of his upside — and I don’t know what his upside was but it had something to do with control or  self-hatred or resistance to change even as he might have wanted the change.

Instability: He was nice to me last night, maybe because Milo wasn’t home and the dog isn’t interested in the new Netflix series. I gave him some good advice. On another night, I might have been yelled at for the same advice. He was nice. Nice is hard to take now. It weakens my resolve. Tonight he was nice enough, but nice is not enough. I’m writing that to remember it.

Inebriated: No, nothing to say there, just playing with words. My drinking is way down these days. I never got blind drunk, as it were, but I don’t need the distraction or the blunting of the edge anymore. (See: invisible)

Integrity: When I have the energy for this line of inquiry (inquiry?) I wonder if living as I am living now, with the grenade in my bathrobe pocket, masquerading as a pair of socks or an orange, is a low integrity way to live. Then I turn on Netflix.

Invisible: I made so much invisible by sheer force of will. I think Daniel might find me much nicer later, if he cares to find me at all, and Milo certainly will. That not-seeing took a lot of work, and caused anxiety and controlling behavior to leak out elsewhere. I saw a lot of household chores, rather than the chasm in my household. (That line would work better if the ch in chasm wasn’t sounded like a K.) I also, even just a few weeks ago, was telling my therapist that I needed her to see what I was going through, and that I wanted other people to see what I was going through, to see the truth about our marriage. I refused to see it myself, so someone else needed to. I needed someone else to tell me what they saw, because I wasn’t going to describe it properly. Now that I am seeing it, I don’t need other witnesses. In fact, I’d kind of rather they not know. If I could sneak out of my marriage, I would. (I notice I’m not writing the word divorce in this post. Invisible? Impossible? Incredible?)

Indelible: What will be indelible when it’s all over? What of Daniel and our time together, good and bad, will always remain? Will Daniel and I have a relationship at all? I hope so.

Invincible: Me, I suppose. I will have to be, but I don’t really want to be. I want to sneak away to 2021, and wake up in my apartment, maybe with a lover in my bed, maybe by myself, with all the big decisions made (and indelible). I skip to the end of mystery novels. I would rather live through this knowing how it ends — the discoveries between now and then hold no pleasure that I can see.

10:09

Inconsistent

4:22

My last post should have been titled “Injury.” I realized that this morning.

Today I called our favorite florist and ordered flowers for Daniel for Valentine’s Day. It felt good to know that I was doing something that would touch him (although I myself am not actually touching him, nor he me). I would like always to want to send him flowers. I want him in my life, at a safe distance. I imagine once we are not spouses, we can be friends. He was, for a while, friends with his first wife, and it looked pretty good. There is so much here to there, and I am so tired. It’s starting to affect my work, these sadnesses like cold spots in bodies of water.

That’s all.

4:25