I haven’t spoken to you today.  Except to ask if we had any lightbulbs.  There’s  a strange comfort receiving a reply to a normal question like that.  As though, momentarily, the world is not an inverse of itself.

I keep hoping for a message.  “can’t sleep”, “thinking of you”, “I’m sorry”.  Something like that.


I am so sad.  I think of quietly falling asleep and not waking up.  It has supplanted all my comforting fantasies about the future.  The comfort of sleep.  And ironically, sleep won’t come at all.

I try to keep busy.  Endless phone calls, nights out, coffees with friends.  It keeps me afloat.  But it does nothing to dull the constant despondency.  I take pills to quell the butterflies and the fast beating heart.  I have always eschewed those kinds of measures.  Even in the depths of panic and anxiety.  But this, what is it?  Shock?  I don’t know.  Not wanting to eat, and not being able to sleep.  Sobbing from the depths of my soul.

Today I have spoken to Hari, Ryan, Miki, Jen, Rux.  Yesterday I spoke to Dad, Hari, Cath, Cathy, Stu, Rhian, Liam, you… I am speaking to more people in a day than I usually would in a week.  And still I feel like there is no meaning to anything.

I’ve been reading a lot about the impact of divorce.  Your response “yes, it is interesting that people have these accounts…”.  You are delusional.  Setting our course to collide with catastrophe and refusing to see the problems ahead.  How can you be so stupid?  Have you always been this way?  You think that unlike these people and their “accounts” you are somehow above it all.  You have found love.  In three short weeks… love.  Fancy!

Now I am sounding embittered.  And I am.  But not because of the affair. Not because of the betrayal… although that’s part of it.  But because of all the problems you are storing for the future. Without a single thought you bumble ahead ruining lives.  You say that there is no kind way to do this.  And I say, no, you are right.  But there are many kind ways not to do it.  But you don’t want to resist.  To think. And I can go fuck myself… that seems to be the conclusion of it all.  And our divorce will be a different kind, the kind where everyone is happy.  Except that’s just the fairytale you are telling yourself.


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