Divorce Primaries

My marriage has about as much chance of surviving as Hillary Clinton does of getting the Democratic nomination. That is, very very little. All the number-crunchers and pundits agree that she can't mathematically secure enough of the popular vote or pledged delegates to catch up to Obama. The Pennsylvania primary last week was not a chance for her to win the nomination, but simply to keep her head above water. If she won, her campaign would continue, but still with little chance of succeeding. If she lost, it would have been over.

My marriage has its own Pennsylvania primary moment.

Ever since I witnessed my wife joining the church last month, where I was sickened by her hypocrisy of pledging herself to the church the same week that she moved out of our home, I have been in email contact with some leaders of the church about how disappointed I was with the church's role in our marriage. This email "dialog" has been positive, but one of the things that has come out of it is that the wife has apparently been giving them a very different account of our separation than I have.

So a few weeks ago some people got together and decided that the best way to iron out these discrepancies would be to get me and the wife in the same room together along with the pastor. Since I have been critical of the church for "enabling" the wife to leave me, they are now getting serious about holding the wife accountable to her vows. It may be too little, too late, but at least they're making an effort.

The person trying to arrange this told me that the wife was initially open to such a meeting, but then changed her mind (going from "yes" to "depends" to "no" in the course of a week.) The wife is afraid that I will show my anger toward her, and she doesn't want to deal with that. Of course, that sentiment makes me angry. Wanting to avoid the anger of someone you've wronged is not a legitimate (Christian) excuse for getting out of something. It seems that the wife wants all the love and support that comes with joining the church, but none of the responsibility.

They are still trying to convince her to attend the meeting, and asked me for an "agenda" to help convince her. I'm not sure how helpful my "agenda" will be. What I really want is for the wife to acknowledge that her actions over the past three months have not been consistent with the "good Christian" she claims she wants to be. (Giving up on your marriage so easily, putting the moves on other men, and misleading members of the church, for example.) I want her to stop denying that her commitment to her marriage has nothing to do with her commitment to the church.

I don't expect this meeting to get us back together. I'm still too hurt, betrayed, and angry to want her back, and she certainly hasn't given any indication that she wants to come back. Like the Clinton analogy, all this meeting could do is probably stave off the inevitable. But, if our relationship has ANY chance of working out, this meeting must take place. And the wife HAS to sincerely acknowledge her mistakes. (I don't expect her to beg for my forgiveness, only to admit that her behavior, and the way she left me, was not appropriate.) That one act would go a long way toward dissolving my anger. I think a meeting under the authority of the church would provide the best chance of that happening. Otherwise, it's really over.

It's a long shot, but I have to try, especially after I criticized the church about their role in this. For my own closure, I have to put forth the effort.

Dividing Up the Stuff

The wife came over to the apartment last Sunday afternoon to talk about divorce stuff. She gave me back her keys to the apartment and signed a form to take her name off the lease. She had investigated the legal adminstravia involved in the divorce and filled me in. We will have to be separated for six months before we can legally dissolve the marriage. We'll have to go before a judge. We'll also have to get a lawyer, which will require a $1000 retainer at the outset. We agreed to split the cost.

We discussed what we would divide up, and it seemed pretty straightforward. I suggested that we just divide up our savings in half, even though much of it was mine before we got married. This should compensate for the fact that she doesn't want any of the furniture, except for one small bookcase. Also, we each keep the respective car that we're driving-- I get the new car (along with the monthly payments and insurance costs) and she gets the older one, which used to be my grandfather's and is paid off.

When I went over our savings numbers with her, and suggested the amount she gets (half), she asked me, "Do you think that's fair?" I said I did. I asked if she thought it was fair, and she said yes. But here's the problem: Just like in our marriage, I don't really know what she thinks of my proposal. Even if she didn't think it was fair, I don't think she would tell me. Two months from now, I wouldn't be surprised to find out that she didn't like the arrangement after all. (I would be pissed off, like I always am when she does this, but I wouldn't be surprised.)

We went through the apartment and I tried to get her to take things ("What about that dresser? Your desk? The big bookcase?"), but she wasn't interested in any of it. I made a few jokes, like which framed diplomas she wanted to take. Playing along, she said she wanted my B.A. diploma. I told her about a recent Onion headline about Heather Mills, Paul McCartney's ex-wife, getting a writing credit for a song he wrote with the Beatles, before he even knew her. ("Judge Awards Heather Mills Writing Credit On 'Eleanor Rigby'")

She packed up a bunch of books and odds & ends and loaded them into her car. She said in two weeks she can come back with friends and move out the rest of her stuff. I tried to watch TV while she carried boxes down to her car, but it was awkward and distracting. I sure as hell wasn't going to help her, but I couldn't really relax with her in the apartment. I asked her to take the electronic picture frame she'd gotten me for Christmas.
"You don't want it?" she asked.
"No."

We didn't hug or anything when she left the apartment. As she was walking down the stairs, I noticed that I still had the spare keys to her car, and called her back up. I gave her the keys. When she left the second time, she looked unsettled.

I don't know how I looked. I walked into the room formerly known as her office, and was relieved to see that she had taken the electronic picture frame.

I Feel Old

By a strange coincidence, the last three women I dated before my wife were all 26 years old at some point in the relationship. My first serious girlfriend was a year older than me. We met when I was 23 and she was 24. We broke up two years later, when we were 25/26. My next girlfriend was a few months younger than me. I was 26; she was 25. We broke up two years later, at 28/27. After that, I had a two-year dry spell. When I finally started another relationship, I was 30 and she was 26.

My wife was past 26 when we met, but not by much. She was 27. By another cosmic coincidence, my wife-to-be (now my ex-wife-to-be) turned 27 on the very day that I broke up with my previous girlfriend. I remember the date because it was a Friday, and it was the 13th. My wife and I didn't know each other then, but I like to think I broke up with my girlfriend as a prescient birthday present to her.

I was 31 the last time that I dated. Now I'm 36, and I worry that I'm too old to be single again. I've been checking out the prospects on a few online dating sites, and it doesn't look good. There are a whole lot more 26-year-olds looking for dates than 36-year-olds. I'm in a whole new demographic now, and the 26-year-olds are no longer interested in me. The women my age, and even some who are younger, just look old. Most of them have kids and look like they've been beaten down by life. I view their profiles and think, "My God, do I look that old?" I certainly don't feel as old as they look.

Dental Hygienist

One of my favorite Steven Wright jokes goes something like this: "I like my dental hygienist a lot. I think she's really cute, so when I'm in the waiting room I eat an entire box of Oreo cookies. They usually have to cancel all the other appointments for the rest of the day."

I went to my bi-annual dentist appointment yesterday. As my dental hygienist was walking me back to "the chair," I noticed how short she is. (I like short women.) I also noticed that her family portrait was no longer on display, and there was no ring on her finger. I could have sworn that both of these things had been there the last time I got my teeth cleaned.

We started chatting, which is always difficult when someone has their hands in your mouth. She asked me if I had any exciting travel plans for the summer. What a serendipitous question, I thought. Just the night before I had spent an hour on the phone with an old high school buddy, (who also went through a divorce a few years ago) and I plan to go visit him over Memorial Day weekend. I told her about it, and then she told me about plans she has to visit Vegas with her sister. She mentioned that she has a four-year-old, and that the trip would be a nice getaway. But she didn't mention any man. And going to Vegas with your sister? Sounds like something a recently divorced woman would do. (At first I wrote "divorcee" there. It's the first time that word has come to me since I've been blogging. What a horrible word. Will I be one of those?)

Is she flirting with me? I wondered. When she leaned over me with the blue mask covering her mouth, I saw what beautiful blue eyes she had. And at certain points in the scraping of my teeth, she had to lean into me and cradle my head in a way that was very comforting. It was the most physical contact I've had with a woman in months.

Last week I took my first tentative steps of checking out online personals. I looked at three different sites, but it was slim pickings. None of them had any ads that really excited me. Now that I'm five years older than I was the last time I was "on the market," there seems to be a whole lot less choices. I've been asking myself, "Where could I possibly meet women?"

Apparently, I can meet them at the dentist's office while they jab sharp instruments into my gums. But even if she were flirting with me-- which is a big if, because I always misread these signals, which is the thing I absolutely hate about being single and having to date again-- even if she were interested in me, I have no idea how I would go about asking out my dental hygienist. We only see each other once every six months. It's kind of hard to get any momentum going with that kind of frequency.

Maybe next time I'll tell her my Steven Wright joke. If she doesn't laugh, then she's probably not for me, anyway.

Desire

The Buddhists say that the root of all human suffering is desire. I think they might be on to something.

It was desire that caused me to confront mortality for the first time. I was sleeping on the couch of a woman I really, really, really wanted to sleep with. For the previous eight years, she had been #1 on my list of Women I Would Most Like to Sleep With. In fact, getting intimate with her had become a life-long goal of mine. (I know it's a shallow goal, but there it is.) We had been flirting over email and made plans for me to visit her for a few days. Things didn't go so well, and as I tossed and turned on her couch, with her lying in her bed about 50 feet away, I thought, "I'm am never going to realize this dream. I am going to die without ever having sex with her." It was the first time I thought about my mortality in such a concrete way. I can't say that I died from blue balls, but it sure put death on my mind.

I had a similar experience last week, when I got shot down by a girl I play tennis with. It was almost torture to watch her running around the court in her little tennis skirt and to know that I would die without ever getting to touch her in an intimate way.

We all have different things that we desire. For some people it's money and owning stuff, for others it's professional success and recognition, for others it might be kids & family. Whenever I'm suffering from desire, it's because of my yearning for a sexual relationship. That's my own personal weakness.

But desire by itself isn't really what makes me suffer. I fantasize all the time about things I know I'll never have. I'll win the lottery, or write a bestseller, or play at Wimbledon, or, yes, have sex with the hot girl at work. These fantasies don't cause me pain-- I actually enjoy them. That's because I know there's a clear line between fantasy and reality. It's only when my real life and my fantasy life come get too close that I get burned. For instance, when visiting the woman I most want to sleep with and she's given me indications that she might be receptive to it. I get my hopes up that a fantasy might actually come true, and I'm devastated when it doesn't.

So the solution is to never get your hopes up. I try to live by that philosophy, but often fail.

EAP! EAP!

Our college belongs to an Employee Assistance Program (EAP), where you can go and get therapy to help you when you hit "a rocky place in the road" (according to the brochure.) Maybe the more economical phrase "rocky road" sounds too much like an ice cream flavor to them.

Our college only offers ten EAP sessions a year for free, and after that maybe they refer you or you start paying or something. It's not ideal, because the EAP is only offered in the small town where the college is, and not in the larger university town where I live. But many people have been urging me to take advantage of it, and if a divorce isn't a good enough reason, then what is?

So I called them last week and made an appointment for next week. I thought all was well until I got a call at work yesterday.

Woman: "Hi, I'm looking for Mr. Snarkbutt."

Me: "Yes, this is Mr. Snarkbutt."

Long pause. Then a laugh. "Oh, you're Mr. Snarkbutt?" Another pause. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were Mr. Snarkbutt." [She thinks I'm a woman. I sound like a woman on the phone and get called ma'am half the time. Sometimes I can be patient and understanding about this, but yesterday I was in no mood.]

Me: "Well, I am."

Her: "Okay, I'm Nancy from the wah-wah-wah-"

I thought she was a vendor trying to sell me something , so I interrupted her, "I'm sorry, who are you with?"

Her: "The EAP, Employee Assistance Program." Oh, okay. "The counselors asked me to get some more information before you come in, Hon. Who am I talking to now?"

Me: "Mr. Snarkbutt." I thought we'd already established that. And don't call me "Hon." You're not a diner waitress topping off my coffee and offering me a slice of pie. You're working at a mental health facility where people expect professionalism and discretion.

Her: "And who is the appointment for?"

Me: "It's for me, Mr. Snarkbutt." I suspect they need to know this for gender reasons. She probably assumed, when I first made the appointment, that I was a woman, and thought I said "Snarkette" instead of "Snarkbutt." But now they needed to verify my gender.

Her: "Okay, and could we get your zip code?" I give it to her.

Her: "And could you let me know what the reason for your visit is?"

Me: "Um, could I talk about that when I show up there? I'm at work right now."

Her: "Okay, how about I put down 'personal problem'?"

Me: "Okay, that's fine. Thanks."

I don't know why she needed to know my "reason for visit" over the phone. And "personal problem"? Doesn't that describe every single client they have? Who comes to EAP with a "public problem"?

So far, I'm underwhelmed by EAP's operations.

My Purpose

I came home from tennis last night in a depressed stupor. I don't think it was because of the tennis. Even though I lost, it was a fun match where I played well and got lots of exercise. My opponent was just better than me.

But the ride home was an exercise of a different sort-- thinking up new insights about my sucky life. I knew that I would be coming home to an empty apartment, and would have to shower and hurry into bed so that I could get enough sleep to get up early for a job that I don't necessarily enjoy and where I don't feel particularly useful. On top of that, my commuter colleague had to cancel again this Wednesday, so I wouldn't have the social time in the car I usually get. I could possibly go the next two days without any social interaction. I felt like I had nothing to look forward to but drudgery and loneliness.

I have never put much stock in my career. Even though I'm a professional, my identity is not entirely wrapped up in what I do. I don't even think of it as a career, but a job. I go there, I put in my time, and then I go home. I have always put more energy and passion into my personal life; relationships and hobbies. I'm mostly competent, if not very motivated, in my job, but my real purpose is to be part of a local family-- a household (even if it's just the two of us and our cats.)

The insight I had on the way home, actually as I was getting in my car to go home, was this: it's ironic that the part of my life that matters most, my family life, is where I've failed. Since the wife left me, my "family" is no more. I still have my extended family, but to put it in professional terms, I'm just an adjunct family member in their lives. I've lost tenure, which was supposed to be something they couldn't take away.

So I wasn't in a very good mood when I came home. My sadness gave way to anger toward the wife for doing this to me. I had a rage-filled post-tennis shower. Then, after three nights of getting good sleep, I slept horribly. Like almost every night last week, I woke up throughout the night with sweat-soaked sheets. I woke up around 2 am and couldn't get back to sleep for 1-1.5 hours.

Nothing can keep you awake like a good obsessive depression-fueled rage. (Or is it rage-fueled depression?) It's better than coffee.

Maybe my new purpose is to blog. That seems to be what I spend all my time doing these days.

Divorce Blogs

So I was curious if there were other people out there blogging through their divorce. There must be tons of them, I thought. Lots of people get divorced, and lots of people blog. There must be other people who are writing about their thoughts and feelings as they process this difficult time.

I googled "divorce blogs" and got lots of hits. But none of them were what I expected. They were all legal blogs. Blogs dedicated to the legal implications of divorce. Strategies for "winning" your divorce when you divide up your property and children. Written by lawyers.

I got things like "Judith's Divorce Blog," which you would think would be Judith writing about her own divorce. Nope. Judith is a lawyer; more specifically a "family law specialist" in the UK. Then I get things like the "Maine Divorce Law Blog" or the "Florida Divorce & Family Law Blog."

According to a lawyer friend of mine, legal blogs are all the rage these days in the lawyerin' world.

I've been trying not to think about all the legal hassles involved in my divorce. Since we have few assets and no kids, I assume it will be pretty straightforward. Maybe I'm being naive. But it saddens me that, at least in the blogging world, "divorce" only points to the cold, calculating, legal aspect of marriage dissolution, and not to all the other fun stuff involved in cleaving your life in twain.

Stages of Grief

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' classic Five Stages of Grief are as follows:

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

These are supposed to be the five stages people go through when they are told they have a terminal illness, but they can also be applied to other instances of "personal loss," such as drug addiction, infertility, and divorce (according to Wikipedia.)

I haven't exactly followed this model through my own divorce. My Stages of Grief have gone more like this:

1. Shock
2. Acceptance
3. Anger
4. Anger
   
5. Anger

I never went through Denial, because as soon as my wife told me she was thinking of leaving, I knew that it was over. (Unless I'm in denial about being in denial.) I knew then that even if we stayed together, a serious breach of trust had taken place and things would never be the same between us again. So after the initial shock, I jumped right to Acceptance, and took measures to protect myself. I put up walls to prevent her from hurting me again. Bargaining never came into the picture, because I don't negotiate with terrorists and women who betray my trust. There have been sprinkles of Depression throughout, mostly during my Anger stages. In fact, I could probably further divide my three Stages of Anger:

1. Depressed Anger
2. Bitter Anger
3. Spiteful Anger

I'm not sure which I'm in right now. Perhaps this is more of an Anger Loop than linear stages.

The worst thing about the Anger Loop is the Bitterness Chain Reaction it causes. I'm usually bitter about my break-ups until I meet someone new. The new relationship will insulate me from the resentment I feel toward my exes. I can let that all go and even wish them well.

But since my wife has left me, making me feel like a loser in relationships, it has started off a chain reaction of bitterness toward all of my failed relationships (at least the ones who rejected me.) I no longer wish them well, but resent the stable relationships that I imagine they are in. They haven't done anything new to deserve this fresh rancor, but are victims of my Bitterness Chain Reaction. (Not that they are aware of this, or would even care if they did.)

As for my wife, who started all of this in the first place, I thought of a great potential first line of a country song yesterday:

I still wish her ill will.

Adored

A week before my wife first told me she was thinking of leaving me, she told one of my informants that I "adored" her. "He thinks the sun shines out of my ass," she was reported as saying. (She also said the sun/ass thing to me, in jest, and I replied in a most vulgar way that I won't repeat here-- some things are even too personal for an anonymous blog. But I didn't think she really meant it.) She said this in the context of how hard it would be to leave an adoring husband behind.

When I found out last week that my wife felt adored two months earlier, it surprised and delighted me. (I doubt she feels that way today, though.) I don't know why I had that reaction. Maybe it's because I felt like maybe I didn't always show her how much I loved her when we were together. But she did know. I held up my end, after all.

Then she left me.

Post-Breakup Dating Scramble

I've always felt that in any breakup, the person who starts dating someone new "wins" in the post-breakup relationship.

And by that criterion, I always lose.

Considering that the wife was already making plans to date other men before she left me, I see no reason why that won't be the case again this time. (I think it's telling that the only two times the wife has been visibly angry at me over the past two months was when I told her I didn't want her to date another man.)

In my stupid, unwarranted optimism, I thought that maybe this time I could "win" the post-breakup dating scramble. So this week I made overtures to a young lady that I play tennis with. She's absolutely adorable and so enthusiastically friendly that I had convinced myself over the past year that she would be all over me, if only I were single. These are the fantasies you can enjoy, and not act on, when you're married. But when I acted on it, I found out I was wrong. And although I'm capable of amazing feats of mental gymnastics when I'm trying to convince myself I haven't been rejected outright, I know in my heart of hearts that she is just not into me. I need to accept this.

I know there are many people who would say this is too early. After all, it was less than a week ago that the wife told me she wasn't coming back. I understand how this looks. But it has been five weeks since she decided to move out of our house and start dating other people. And I've never been a very patient person when it comes to moving on to the next phase of my life.

It's not like I need to learn how to live with myself. I've done that. As an adult, I've spent more time out of relationships than in them. I know how to be alone.

In my previous three break-ups, it has taken me one year, two years, and four months, respectively, to find a new partner. In each new effort to find companionship, I've suffered 10-15 rejections and false starts before anything works out. It's kind of like launching a space shuttle-- there are so many things that can go wrong at every phase of the operation that I'm amazed it ever happens at all.

Some people are able to find mates immediately. They can skip from relationship to relationship without ever having to confront the gaping chasm of loneliness. I am not one of those people. I have to put in my time. I need to suffer a string of disappointments and awkward, embarrassing social situations to earn the right to be happily coupled again. I don't expect to find someone immediately, although in my wildest dreams I hope to.

So the sooner I start down the long tortured path of dating, the sooner I can reach my destination, which I assume to be far away. And by "destination," I no longer see marriage as the end point. For the first time in my life, I don't consider marriage my life goal. I just want to be in a nice, stable relationship with someone I trust and who excites me.

It probably was a mistake to go after someone so soon. But I only say that because I failed.

The first time I suffered a broken heart, I likened it to coming out of a nice, warm shower on a cold morning. The shower had felt so good, and now I was standing alone, naked, in the cold air shivering.

This entry feels like it's all over the place, which probably means I'm trying to performing some sort of mental gymnastics. Okay, I admit it: I'm probably not ready to date yet. But I really want to be ready. I'm cold and shivering.

Support System Rotation

Tuesday evening I finally got the solitary evening alone that I'd been whining about for the past week. It didn't go well.

The evening started off with a (perhaps irrational) perceived rejection. I put out tentative feelers for a girl I play tennis with and who I'd like to get to know better. I think she let it be known that she's not interested, and gave me a few other cryptic pieces of information that I spent too much time obsessing about over their true meaning. (This is what I absolutely hate about dating.) I realize this may not have been the wisest move so soon after suffering such a profound abandonment from my wife, but that's a whole other story that I'll write about soon.

So real or not, I was feeling the sting of rejection, and felt like I needed to talk to someone about it. But who? Although I have a large support system, I frequently struggle with the decision of who to turn to at any given moment. I like to spread my neediness around, so that no one person starts to feel overworked. I don't want to call someone who I just bugged the day before. But there are many other factors to consider. Who already has some background information on the current crisis? Who will be sympathetic to that particular situation, and who won't be? Am I simply looking for a diversion or do I need to talk it out? Who's available right now?

While I was trying to decide who to call Tuesday evening, I got a call from the guy I commute to work with twice a week. We spend four hours a week together in the car, and I really enjoy his conversation. He's been a great listener during my marital crisis. But I was starting to get the feeling that I might have been overtaxing his listening skills lately. He called to tell me that, because of a scheduling conflict, he would not be able to commute with me on Wednesday. This felt like another blow, since I would have to go without an automatic source of support I'd become accustomed to.

I called a friend, but he was not available to talk. At that point I didn't know what to do with myself. I should have had dinner, but I wasn't hungry. I was going crazy and I wasn't sure why. I decided that I just needed to calm down and maybe it's best if I don't talk to anyone about this, because the more I talk about it, the more I'll obsess about it.

So I sat down with TiVo and let it distract me until I eventually regained my appetite. I had dinner and spent the evening in front of the TV, trying to ignore the empty space in the white chair where the wife used to sit and do cross-stitch.

I tend to approach emotional support the same way I handle money. I'm frugal and want to have plenty saved up for any crisis. I'm proud of myself when I'm able to get through something without requiring too much of it. And I was pleased I was able to get through my first evening alone without spending hardly any of my neediness capital.

Last night was the second such night in a row. I stayed home and didn't communicate with anyone all evening. It went by easier, helped by the fact that I was so tired I went to bed at 8:30. I imagine, as a divorced man, this is what my life will start to resemble more and more.

Sleep Report

I have a lot of things I've been wanting to write about, but I've been too tired.

I'm not sleeping well. Over the weekend, when I didn't have to be up at any certain time, I was afraid to go to bed. So I would stay up late watching TV, even though I was exhausted, because I didn't want to go into the lonely bedroom and turn off the lights. I don't know why it feels different now that I know she's not coming back, but it does.

The first few nights, I fell asleep pretty easily, but then I would wake up after 5 or 6 hours and spend the next few hours trying, but failing, to regain unconsciousness. My mind would race and I couldn't get comfortable. One night I couldn't get to sleep to begin with.

I can't get temperature control right in the bed. Maybe this is because it's spring, but I'll wake up two hours after going to bed and the sheets will be so wet from my sweat that I'm shivering. It's the most horrible way to wake up. My t-shirt and boxers will be wetter than if I'd just played a tennis match. So I'll get up, change all my clothes, and move to the other half of the bed where it's dry. I'll pull all the blankets off the wet side of the bed, hoping that it will air out, in case I do the same thing to the new side of the bed. Some nights I'll drench that side, too, and I have to play musical dry-side-of-the-bed. If I take off all my clothes, and/or sleep without the blanket, then I wake up in the middle of the night because I'm too cold.

The cats have been all over me lately. Now that they only have one body to snuggle up to at night, they lie on top of me or hunker down between my legs-- sometimes both of them at the same time. I could just shoo them away, but I like the sensation of having another body in bed. But it prevents me to moving to a more comfortable position when I can't get back to sleep. Eventually, when I get too frustrated, I will shoo them away. Like sandpeople, though, they'll be back, and in greater numbers.

Last night I had to go to bed at 8:30 I was so tired. I hoped that the extra time in bed would make up for the time I spend there not sleeping. It was a pretty good night. I woke up several times but was able to get back to sleep pretty easily, except for a half-hour period between 3:30 and 4:00. This morning I feel slightly more refreshed than I did yesterday morning.

I'm sure I'll start sleeping more regularly at some point. I just need to get all these obsessive thoughts out of my head. Time is the best thing for that.

It's Over

The wife and I met on Friday to discuss counseling options.

When I asked her if she was interested in a friend of hers, a guy who I can't stand but that she's been talking to a lot on the phone lately, she said she was. My skin crawled, and I told her that if she hooks up with him, that would be a deal-breaker for me.

She got really angry, told me she didn't love me and that she's not coming back.

So that's that.

There's more to it, but I haven't been sleeping well lately and I'm too exhausted to write more.

Postscript: After I clicked the button to publish this post, Blogger told me, "Your blog post published successfully!" It says this every time, but it's funny to me what an inappropriate response that is to my announcement, essentially, that I'm getting divorced. Or maybe Blogger is just a really upbeat friend. You may be getting divorced, but at least your blog about it was successful!

Introvert

The classic definition of an introvert is not someone who prefers being alone, but rather, someone who recharges by being alone. An introvert can enjoy being around people, and be quite social, but it drains their energy, and eventually they need to go off alone to their secret lair and recharge the battery packs (surgically attached to their genetically-modified rock-hard abs) that give them their Special Intovert Powers.

I'm starting to think that describes me. I've felt exhausted lately, and I think it's because I've been too busy with other people. Tonight will be the first time in a week that I'll have the whole evening alone to myself. And although I know I need this evening alone to recharge, part of me is still nagged by the deep-seated cultural idea that you're a loser if you're alone on a Friday night.

So there is a struggle between my inner introvert and my inner loser.

A Crack in the Facade

On Tuesday, the wife and I had our second counseling session since she moved out.

I suppose it went better than the first one, but I really have no idea where we stand. The first thing I told the therapist was that I fluctuate between anger and numbness. I told the wife some of the thoughts that had been building up over the past week. I didn't cut people off as much as the last session. But at one point the wife just put her head down and said, "It seems I can't do anything right."

The second half of the session she was quiet and kept her head down. She didn't look good. We're supposed to decide, between us, how we want to proceed with the therapy and get back to the therapist at the end of the week. After the session, the wife came over to the apartment to get her mail. When she was about to leave, she said that she missed me. She asked, "Do you...?" And I replied that I'm trying to get used to living alone again. She said she was sorry, so sorry, and I hugged her. She started crying. I wanted to ask her what she was sorry about, if she regretted moving out, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

She left, and I felt bad. I know she needed to hear that I missed her, but frankly, I can't say that I do. I'm still too angry and hurt. I need to protect myself, and missing her is something I can't allow myself right now. But seeing a crack in her stoic facade did have an effect on me. For the first time since she left, I considered that maybe we have a chance at reconciliation. It's hard for me to hold a grudge toward people who are genuinely sorry. If she really felt like she made a mistake in leaving me, and was trying to express it, did I misplay my response?

So I went to tennis feeling bad, and worried about her. She had been crying when she left. Luckily, my league match this week was quick-- I won relatively easy and got home well before bedtime. I called her when I got home and told her I had been worried about her, and asked for clarification about what she meant when she said she missed me and was sorry. But by then, her stoicism had returned. She understood that I couldn't allow myself to miss her. She wasn't sorry for leaving me, only sorry for hurting me. I asked her if she was happy living alone, and she said yes-- when she didn't think about us, she was.

It felt like the window for reconciliation that had opened when she cried in our apartment was gone. Maybe it had never been there to begin with.

Exhaustion

I'm taking the morning off work today because I feel exhausted. I had been sleeping well all week, but for some reason, last night I woke up around midnight and couldn't get back to sleep for about two hours. I don't know what kind of forces in the dank crevices of my psyche determined that Wednesday night, of all nights, is the one where I lose sleep.

I feel so behind on my life lately. Although I blog, email, and comment on blogs constantly at work, I still have all these things I intend to write about that I'm not getting to. I'm hardly doing any actual work at work these days. (I get done the stuff I have to do, and I make myself available, but that doesn't take up much time.) And I've had extracurricular activities after work almost every night the past two weeks. This is a good thing-- I know I need to keep busy to avoid depression-- but it's starting to wear me down. I'm not getting much "me" time.

When I came home from my niece's birthday dinner last night (one advantage to the separation is that I feel like I'm re-connecting with my family again), I turned on my TiVo for the first time in two days. There were so many programs on it that it completely overwhelmed me. Over the next hour and 15 minutes, I watched one 25-minute sitcom and spent the rest of the time deleting things and changing settings. Meanwhile, my cats were crying for lap time because I've been neglecting them so much.

So after tossing in bed for two hours last night, I decided that I would take half a sick day this morning to catch up on things. After sleeping in this morning, now I'm watching some TiVo and blogging with a cat on my lap.