The marriage is over; counseling is the eulogy. The relationship autopsy is the wake.
It would be sad and wrong in so many ways to self-combust at this time.
Flannel shirts should be outlawed for ex husbands; I realize this now. Flannel shirts are to women what crotchless panties are to men.
I saw my reflection in their eyes, but not the men themselves, not clearly. This preserved the idea that all intelligent and even vaguely attractive men were essentially good. Delusion detest focus and romance provides the veil.
This is much easier than when N left. Our son is unable to grasp and simultaneously turn doorknobs yet. If only this trick could be unlearned by men over thirty, many more families would celebrate Christmas together.
The abandonment came, and now this shabby bacchanal.
Marriage is a conspiracy from Tiffany, florists, the diamond industry, and Christian fundamentalists. The only thing good about it is the diamond ring, the wedding gifts, and the honeymoon.
This is much worse than losing a cat. You do not wish the cat dead, for example, after the first two days. You still love the cat and presumably the cat still loves you, or some variation of love that may in fact be dependence and even indifference.
My mother is a firm believer in the long pause, useful in interrogations, proclamations of truth, and the occasional cutting dead of someone without their knowing it.
In so many senseless deaths, beauty is to blame.
I review what I know once again, confronting the monolith now alien and almost unconnected to me: my marriage.
It had all seemed as inevitable as sunset. Instead it was the beauty of the sun glinting upon the scythe.
Wonderful; such an active word – – to be full of wonder.
For most people, I edit. Most people are definitely getting along on the Cliffs Notes.
It’s adult swim time and I’m diving in here at the shallow end.
What I find about wedding plans is that everyone wants to talk about when I don’t. As soon as I do feel like talking about my wedding plans, their eyes glaze over and I can see them wishing they were dead.
It’s impressive how God attends to the details.
I notice that, as the wedding date approaches, some doors are opening and others are closing. I have no control.
What can you guarentee, O Nostradamus of Hayward?” I carp.
Someone who can make things happen must be alerted.
He went on to say that if the Wicked Queen were around today, the whole story might have been different, because she would have looked in her Magic Mirror and said, “If I got a little laser work around the jaw and eyelids, I might still be considered the Fairest in the Land.