Um, okay.

I was given the litany of reasons she should leave me again. All valid points — I’ve done awful things to her. I will absolutely admit that. She has every reason to divorce me.

There wasn’t really a conclusion to the conversation. An end when she went to bed, but not a conclusion. This was all via text (or Google Hangouts).

She thinks I’m just not that into her.

Truth is: She may be right. But I’ve always been interested in her — what she has to say, what she does, et cetera. She may not be the most attractive person with whom I’ve been in a long-term relationship — she is attractive, though — but that’s not highest on my list of criteria for a relationship.

She’s also right when she says I bury mWe’ —


I hate Medium.

I’ve only used it twice, and both times it has eaten a substantial number of my words. You can’t “Undo” shit.

Worse than a fucking typewriter.

She’s also right when she says I bury my head in head in books when I’m not working instead of paying attention to her. Or the quantity — and, I assume, quality — of the attention I pay to her.

We’ll together almost all the time. Those few days a week I decide to go into the office are the only times we’re apart.

And, sorry, books are just more interesting to me right now than TV.

But let’s get some fundamentals straight:

We don’t even have a couch on which to cuddle.

Did I mention we live upstairs from my parents? I think I did. I don’t think I mentioned that our furniture from our nearly foreclosed upon house is in storage. (I was able to get rid of the house — we paid to do it — before foreclosure, though. Not that it really matters. My credit is so bad it couldn’t do much worse to it.) Two thousand square feet of furniture.

This does make physical interaction, aside from in bed, a bit of a problem. And she’s the one who hasn’t been into it. Not me.

It’s been her body image issue (since she’s recently gained weight but is losing) that’s prevented sex. It’s also been my lack of attention to her, she says.

And our sex life isn’t satisfying anyway, she says.

Considering we rarely have it, I suppose she’s one hundred percent correct.

So the conversation ended her telling me I need to decide whether or not I want to be with her and move wherever she ends up getting a job or if I want to stay here with my parents because I can’t leave them. She thinks I’ll bail on her move back to Austin after we get there.

I didn’t realize I hadn’t made my choice clear.

I’ve been reading The Detroit Free Press for weeks in the expectation she’d get a job there. I’m reading my second history of the city now. It doesn’t sound like the best place on earth, but I’ll give it a shot.

As I’ve told her so many times before, I think she needs to make that decision.

N. told me to change her from “N” to “R,” for Rebound.

Not true.

Her guardedness — I was right, it’s there — is firmly rooted in her day-to-day reality and history. I rather respect her. But that doesn’t mean I’m seeking anything from her.

We both have a lot on our plates. And that wasn’t the point in contacting her. Seeing how much we still share, what we’ve experienced and learned in the intervening years and where we are, where we’re headed or, at least, aiming and showing that, hell, of course, I still care.

I’ll never be able to do that with I, I fear (I don’t really “fear” it, that’s just a turn-of-phrase).

I’m not 100 percent why I think that.

The wife acts like nothing has happened today. She’s been texting me talking about her interviews and how she’s not interviewing with these two firms again because she’s interviewed so many times with them already. (I agree with her on this, actually.)

She also received a Leaf from me yesterday. That may have something to do with it.

We totally couldn’t afford it, but I did it anyway. For her, for our anniversary.

I’m really good at showing my love through gifts. I, apparently, otherwise suck at it.

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