Sink Or Swim Part II - My Dog Is Still Dying

Sink Or Swim -- Part II

Dec.11th

           Ahh --let me paint the scene. I am sitting here in "Woojie-world." A garden area alongside the Win-gate clubhouse which is is almost directly across the street from my house. It is teeming with lizards. (Until we arrive, at which point they scatter and hide.) Willow is moving from tree to tree hoping to get lucky (Won't happen. I shall, however, assist her momentarily by banging a sturdy palm-piece against the trees.)  I am typing on my ASUS transformer connected to the internet through some mystery Netgear router, fortuitously unsecured. I have music (sounding real good) from my Creative, X-Fi, FLAC player paired to a Cy-fi (no relation) bluetooth speaker which is shaped like a large teardrop and fits perfectly in my t-shirt pocket. It's 74 and sunny. (On Dec. 14th!) At this moment "Edward Sharpe" (Alexander Ebert) is whining that he has to leave L.A..  Pachelbel's "Canon in D" played prior. (From an album entitled: Pachelbel's Greatest Hit" which contains various interpretations of the "Canon in D" -- Willow is calling -- let me get my stick --brb.
       Whoa! We saw (and briefly pursued) a gecko. Only the third I've seen in the eight months I've been in exile here.) They are a highly preferable lizard species to hunt as they are approx. half as fast and are bright green ta boot. Not that either attribute (detraments for the gecko) helped us to make today its' gruesome last.
        Lizard hunting is an art. These creatures are cunning and impossibly quick. At times faster than the human eye can track. (These human eyes anyway.) They have dexterous hands with creepy human jointed fingers with which, after astounding leaps they may use to instantly change directions by grabbing an edge and swinging underneath with proto-simian precision. They are scary smart. They seem to know the perfect angles needed to to elude me. I swear they have vanished right in front of me. They adapt quickly. New evasion strategies are quickly adopted by all. As if they somehow broadcast the most effective maneuvers. My suspicions of their communicative propensities was corroborated after I accidentally exposed a partially burned section of leaf that was wedged in the hollow junction formed by the"shaggy-palm's" lattice-work trunk.

Shaggy Palm

       Special thanks are due to the photomicrography and herpelingusitics departments at UCF. The former who enlarged and /reimaged the document so that the latter could translate it. Upon enlargement appearing to be a hodgepodge of squiggles and dots. Nonsense to me --  easily decipherable by the herpelinguists. What was to me an astounding object proved nothing of the sort to these experts who have amassed drawers and drawers of similarly scrawled upon leaf fragments. (Huh, turns out lizards are quite prolific scribes; who'da guessed.) They had long been aware of the lizard society's monarchical governmental structure. "Every backyard a kingdom." They claim. Anyway, it certainly explains how such varied survival tactics are so quickly and efficiently propagated.
       Here it is in its' entirety:

                                       From the Royal (Shaggy) Palm of Lizard-King Jim
                                                          Here-ye loyal subjects!
             Following is an official decree from the most revered and extolled Lizard King Phil.

            A (quasi) danger has befallen our realm in the form of a loud, hairy and obnoxiously persistent grey monstrosity and its awkward bipedal (and balding) companion that carries a large, golden, banging-stick. Please assemble your neighbors, read, commit to memory and immediately destroy this notice. (As we can not leave these leaves around as evidence of our advanced cognitive abilities.)
            Should you  indeed suffer the misfortune of being approached by these creatures you are strongly advised to shelter in place. Do not let your curiosity get the better of you. Keep your heads (and tails) about you by keeping them down. Be assured, that aside from their ludicrously unwieldy size they are in all respects unremarkable and not worth further investigations. The tooled bipedal companion, however, does seem to possess a rudimentary intelligence. Do not be lulled by it's vacant glare. The inclination to not consider these buffoonish beings a "clear and present" threat, though understandable, may prove an egregious error.
            The good news: evasion is not only achievable but, pretty much, guaranteed. To assist in achieving the most beneficial outcome, I have assembled and convened the "Grey-Monstrosity Royal Evasion Task-Force" the findings of which are presented herein and designate several proven and approved strategies which you will do well to follow; minimizing the already negligible chances of meeting an inauspicious and violent end. (Note: These evasion tactics shall be appended as new (or refined) strategies are developed, tested and approved.)
            1) "Frick the Stick!" If the biped's stupid stick is not in imminent danger of wounding you -- don't move. Do not be panicked by the incessant banging. It is utilized to promulgate fear and cause you to abandon your shelter and flee. If  you are visible, you are vulnerable! Remember, shelter in place.
            2)When Hope You Lack, Feign Attack! For whatever reason, the biped will not hit us directly with the stick -- he uses it merely  to corral and shepherd us towards the grey-monstrosity.  Utilize this weakness against them by counter intuitively, leaping at, or upon, the biped. (No, seriously!) This will, most likely, cause it to drop the stick and flail wildly as you drop to the ground and hightail it beneath the nearest plant. During the final phase of this maneuver be cautious of the biped's stomping feet.
            3) Utilize the "270 Up" -- Your tree is your friend. Neither the bulbous biped nor the grey monstrosity can circumnavigate at the speed all but the most elderly of our kind is capable of. If you have been exposed and the stick is near you, continue laterally (at 2/3 speed) while maintaining an approximately 30 degree incline around your tree. When at the 270 degree mark (or  3/4 of the way from the point at which you start;  make a full speed vertical dash (90 degree) toward your tree top. Your position upon shooting vertical will usually, (but not always,) coincide with a point almost directly above the grey-monstrosities head) Do not slow, do not look back.
            4) "Panic, No! Instead, Go Low!" In the unlikely event the biped has succeeded in driving you within striking distance of the Grey-monstrosity.  Don't panic, go low. Believe it or not,  the best place to escape the beast is to place your self directly beneath it. Scary, yes; but an effective escape strategy.  The beast is easily confused. It pounces and almost always overshoots, permitting us to exit from beneath it's foul, mid-section-bulge while it is busily snorting through the empty dirt beneath it's front limbs. Note: occasionally it does not overshoot. Last week we sadly lost a royal subject from Duke Eli's palm; his torso violently twisted at an impossible angle to his lower extremities, and  to whose family I extend my deepest royal condolences and the King's blessings.
            5)  Lizards Don't Cry! If you have made the fatal error of fleeing to an open area and you are cornered, exposed and exhausted -- don't cry. We are lizards. Lizard's don't cry. (The fact that we don't have tear-ducts is beside the point!) Please show some restraint and do not throw your tails! Nothing says impotent ruler more than subjects running around with little stumps where their lovely tails should be. Not to mention the steep physical toll incurred by regeneration. Instead, go limp. The Grey monstrosity will take you in it's mouth and may indeed puncture your body. The smell and heat are as excruciating as is the possible pain. However, many of my subjects have survived this encounter. Here's how:  it will most likely carry you over to the grass. The beast will at this point put you down in the grass with the intent of reliving it's initial strike and thrill of capture. (Beast!)  At the moment of release you must remain perfectly still -- but only for a moment. When you feel the heat of it's fetid breath diminish, immediately burrow yourself down into the roots of the grass with arrow like focus, form and precision. Do not use your limbs but keep these pressed firmly against your sides as they may snag against a root and prevent your deepest penetration. Utilize a side to side writhing form like our cousins the legless serpents. Continue moving at the deepest possible level. Then, move laterally towards cover in brief  two to four inch bursts between twenty second periods of complete immobility.
            It is the opinion of your King and his Royal council  that these assaults can not continue indefinitely and we may some day, perhaps soon, be free of these unprovoked assaults; able to once again resume our peaceful existence. However, in the meantime, know that  your Sire and Lord and has been regularly meeting with his most wise and trusted advisers and consults with the goal of devising some effective countermeasures for use against these foul creatures.          
            My blessings and prayers I now extend upon all my subjects in these trying times!
       
            Your Kind and Caring King -- Phil

A Grain Of Rice

Lest you disbelieve a document of such length could be inscribed upon a small section of  (partially burned) leaf -- I direct your attention to the following: http://listverse.com/2010/02/06/top-10-unbelievable-miniatures/

Sink Or Swim; Part I: My Dog Is Dying.

Dec. 2nd

       Well...  I'm back... eight months later. Really?  Eight months?  Almost to the day. April 1st - Dec. 2nd. Longer since I completed "Marriage Autopsy" (I just reread it. Though an emotionally contrived bit of caustic-matter-splattered, pulp -- I find it quite humorous and brutally honest. With some interesting technical acrobatics and erudite word choices. (As usual.) Considering the quite dire emotional circumstances they were composed under, I am, mostly, pleased.)
       Eight months -- huh.  Tempus fugit n' shit.
       In my casually lateral traversal through daily routine, I confront no challenge more existentially confounding  than my inability to grasp the passage of time. Hours are to me undifferentiated from decades; minutes from months, seconds from centuries. It's as if all time will be/is/was -- one. I don't know if this is a form of brain damage or higher awareness (I suspect the former.) Life is zipping by all around me and I have yet to attempt plant my feet within it's fecund promise. Surely, if I jump at this point... tumbling wildly I'd be violently sent.  A violent and shocking condition perhaps preferable to my current roadside state of fetid decay. Eschewing participation to instead impotently masquerade as a "conscientious-objector." In reality (it's subjective!)  a psychologically and emotionally mangled victim of my own, insecurities, fear and cynicism. What could be worse than to be forever/momentarily left wondering what I am capable/incapable of accomplishing. Developing neither the courage nor will to act; instead, spitefully railing against injustices (real or perceived) that permeate every facet of our technology-mainlining society that puts profits before people and monetizes our every itch.
      How convenient are these paralyzing inadequacies/grievances, simultaneously affirming and diminishing strapped  together by an encircling of vitriol and resentment; affixed upon which and scrawled in a childlike hand, a label: "DEPRESSION"
     "Of course you're depressed. If I were you, I'd be depressed too." A somberly pronounced professional diagnosis from several years past.
      Well fuck her.
      Here I am on the cusp of 50 -- alone, broke, jobless, scared, sick -- with a dying dog... but I'll be damned if I'm just  going to throw in the towel and succumb to my own morose stupidity. (Like I have a choice.)  No, I do --  damn it! I choose to live. I choose to make this world a better place. I choose to reach out and hopefully...a hand will be there to grasp upon and pull me out of this soul-sucking mire in which I am sinking. If not --  perhaps in kicking wildly (while unavoidably speeding my decent) I will find a foothold, a soul-purchase -- by the fortuitous presence of which, I'll be able to climb out of my own accord.
          Shit -- somethings gotta change... and quickly. I'm sinking fast.

Dec. 4th --

Willow late Nov. 

The x-rays showed something quite irregular with the imaged size of her her heart. The theory is that a tumor is either attached to the heart itself or on the lungs pressing the heart upward (outward) causing it to assume an awkward, angled positioned and appearing ginormous (non clinical terminology) within the chest cavity. Blood tests show only minor irregularities with liver function. Her (nearly) life-long heart-murmur has risen from a "1" to a "5" (a "6" being the highest)
I would like to believe the stubborn beast just moved a little as the image was taken.  I mean she would rather break a leg (or bite off my hand) then allow me to cut her nails so I can't imagine they were able to keep her still enough for an x-ray. That's Willow --  indomitable. Without my presence and a leash she would be run down every time she crossed the street. She refuses to acknowledge cars as anything more than abrupt air oscillations with no more capacity to damage than the wind. She wants to go "over there," she goes ... end of story.
     Quite a simple creature she.  Eats, drinks water,  (resultantly poops and pees) sleeps (more and more), hunts lizards with admirable dedication and determination bordering on obsession. (Even my dog has an occupation!) She chases squirrels, and loves her daddy. Simple. I'm pretty sure she "knows" she is quite adored. (Actually, I sometimes believe she takes my doting affections for granted; like the air she breathes or the ice cubes in her water bowl. Though to be fair she does occasionally attack me with spontaneous and profoundly heart-felt kisses. I raised her to be self-willed. To know that her wishes and desires are important and always carry weight. (With me anyway.) When we are out on walks she picks our routes, often surprising me. (They're her walks after-all -- why shouldn't she decide where they lead.)  One of my favorite exhibited character traits is her stubbornness. I see a dog approaching or sprinklers on up-ahead and try to get her to cross the street -- she sets herself and will not budge! I plead and she looks me dead in the eye (or sometimes completely ignores me) just set in her previously chosen direction. Awesome. (I mentally register "parental success" in these instances - however frustrating they may simultaneously be.) She'll register her error as she hears the forceful patter of the water against the concrete. She'll look over to me like "do something about this!" At which point I usually pick her up and carry her safely around it. If it's the lady with the two pit-bulls coming towards us -- she's overruled (and scooped-up) straight-away.

Dec. 5th - 6th

    From my Dec., 2nd blog (that's still this one, only higher-up the page -- duh)  you may have (justifiably) received the impression that I am unhappy. "Paralyzing, inadequacies/grievances." "state of fetid decay" "psychologically and emotionally mangled victim of my own insecurities, fear  and cynicism." "soul-sucking mire in which I am sinking." Hyperbole aside, all true! But unhappy? Quite the contrary! (Perhaps this is a big part of "the problem.") If I were fully sane I believe I would most certainly be miserable. Thank God, I'm far from it. (And far from miserable.) Alright, maybe a little  miserable (Is that even possible? Can you be a "little-bit" gay or a "little-bit" of a genius or for that matter, partially sane? (I strongly urge you, dear reader, not to draw any inferences from what are merely (poor?) examples.) "Miserable" may, in itself, be more exaggeration. Deep frustration and sadness caused by emotional, psychological, physical stress and disappointment in myself. Vague, but a tad more accurate.(Yes, I collect all the stresses. Strangely, they seem to be a byproduct of a "stress-free" existence.) I shall address these stresses at a future date. Surely, a good deal of this stridently decried soul-malaise is due to the imminent departure of my sole companion and terrestrial responsibility  It is hard to face such profound loss without some resentment and anger. I truly love the "stubborn monkey." (I often expressed to Crystal that it wasn't possible for Willow to be "spoiled" because that would imply she expects more than she gives and to the contrary, she has always given fully and unconditionally of her Willowness. She is quite a loving and spiritually generous creature and I will miss her profoundly. To the point of not knowing how I will deal with her being "gone." (But it has to be better than dealing with her sick and dying.)
     Perhaps I can go to the pound and find another dog... for a heart and lung transplant! Do dogs have blood types? Can I sew fast enough to keep her from bleeding out? (I'll need clamps and a scalpel.) Could I remove the "donor" organs without damaging them? Can I rent a respirator?  I'll need to remove the bed from the spare bedroom and get a large aluminum (stainless-steel? ooh... expensive) table... How sanitary is "sanitary enough?" I will need more light. Disinfectants (iodine?) and anti rejection medications. Strong pain medication. Anesthesia... This could work! Yeah... maybe -- if I were Tony Stark. (I just had an image of Willow with little crimson booties and a glowing blue circle in her chest rising up three feet of the ground to snatch a stunned lizard in her grinning maw.)

Dec. 10th

     Well, sheet. This is rough. Willow is still having really good days. I can't say the same for the nights. After sundown she is pretty much comatose. She started having some trouble sleeping a few nights ago -- periodically, shifting and her breathing is becoming more labored; Bad sign. I do not want her to suffer. She is still eating, drinking and joyfully chasing lizards. I have been debating on whether or not  the best time to "put her down" (oh Lord!) might be when she is outside chasing lizards, with  belly full, bowels yet empty, and the breeze ruffling her hair. (Schnauzer's don't have fur.) Her (lifelong) glory, her element; happy. Perhaps I could have the vet meet me out there. Would this be an act of compassion or selfishness? I am living in a state of semi-shock caused by the soul shredding sadness of her impending departure. (Couldn't have come at a worse time either, because I do not want to leave her alone (and thereby miserable) and yet, I am in a real financial bind. I was already in a funk -- but this episode has brought it to an entirely new level.) I know, I know it's just a dog. The closeness I feel, mostly, illusory; an affectation brought about by our (decade-plus, long)  proximity and reliance on one another's presence. Her's for companionship (far more successfully than Crystal) and me as slave to her every desire.
        Part of me even wonders if I am depriving her of something important by just suddenly ending it. If those moments of revelation --  that her body is dying -- is an integral part of her journey through this plane of existence.
       This is so difficult. Her "mother" hasn't called once. Oh wait -- she did . About a week ago. To ask about a package that was erroneously shipped to my old address after which she inquired after Willow.  I had called her the day I got the diagnosis -- and told her I would bring Willow back up to Pensacola for "goodbyes" (I think Willow would like that -- but Crystal said she rather I didn't. That she wasn't as good as I am dealing with "death." (Translation: I am her emotional superior. Intellectual too. (Yes,  I know the latter is rather obvious but I felt like proclaiming it!  While I'm at it, I might as well lay claim to emotional superiority. (However developmentally-arrested --  my emotional "purity" sanctions and affirms this claim. This particular triptych may, in fact, entitle me to wear the "spiritual" crown as well.  (Debatable; she is a youth minister after all.)  None of this changes the fact that it's all-the-more difficult going through this alone. Then again, I know, first hand, how difficult this is to deal with and wouldn't wish this emotional trauma on anyone -- even my monstrous minister ex. So, I forgive her. )
       Willow wants to go out -- couldn't possibly refuse.
     

Hooray! I Made It Another Year! Just Great.

 Another freakin’ birthday!

 Just one more wasted year

 One more year of losing,  

 Of giving in to fear.

 Hooray! Today’s my birthday.

 Praise to awesome me!

 Flyest guy beneath this sky…

 From sea to shining sea!

 Really? One more birthday?

 Since last time what’s been learned?

 What it means to feel unwanted  --

 Discarded, soul-stung, spurned.

 Rejoice! Today’s my birthday!

 Raise a glass up to the air –

 Toast my health and my good-fortune,

 He’ll nod approvingly up-there!  

 Know what you can do with this here birthday?

 Hold still -- I bet I can…

 Wait a sec; whoa! Check out those legs!  

“Whachoo lookin’ at old man!?"

 Happy, happy, birthday.

 My joy this world to share.

 Given purpose in His light…

 Perhaps it’s time to care.

  Paul ‘13

That Loving Feeling... Now It's Gone, Gone, Gone!

          I came across this New York Times article on the psychology behind, long-term, emotional commitment.   It's not a "quick read" -- but not much in this blog is!
          It seems that regarding the management of our emotional relationship -- I had it all over Crystal.    Of course, I had already believed this to be the case but seeing my beliefs affirmed by psychologists is cathartic. One of the parts that "jumped-out" at me says that infatuation and passion must give way to: "compassionate love, composed more of deep affection, connection and liking." And this describes very well what I feel for my "ex."  What the article fails to say, (but I assume is implied) is that it takes two "to tango." That both need be willing to work on a relationship. to accept, develop and evolve these new emotional/psychological parameters, and, well, that's where I am at a disadvantage. It makes me so angry and sad!
         The article also said: "a flourishing relationship requires three-times as many positive emotions as negative ones."  But when your partner only sees the negative? Well, then you need to strive for a hundred times the number of positive expressions -- and even then... watch yo ass!  I have already covered all this in Marriage/Autopsy -- I guess Crystal just gave up trying. Very sad. I think that's what hurts the most. At least I endure, secure in the knowledge I never gave-up.  Not emotionally, anyway.
         Dear God, I need a hug! I actually do! That's so weird! I guess I haven't had any human contact in a couple of years. The emotional heft of our marriage's dissolution is necessitating a comforting/affirming embrace. I would even take a "bro" hug at this point! God this truly is sad. The only one I don't want a hug from is Crystal... no, actually, that would be nice too!

Marriage Autopsy : Addendum

          Well, I think we spewed (more-like, projectile-vomited) just about everything that could be regurgitated  involving our "unequally yoked," marriage; As with any good purge, an expulsion of such vitriol (venom: frustration/condemnation) is followed by a measured relief. A renewed vitality and sense of well-being.  (Aside, perhaps,  from some lingering oral putrescence.)  I heartily recommend just such a purposefully interjected "finger" for anyone going through a similarly nauseating life-upheaval.    
          Hurt, spiteful, ridiculed, diminished (by half) -- we sought-out weaknesses to exploit and cause pain.
          Funny how perceived "facts" of  once frigid rigidity might resolve themselves into tepid and amorphous mind-puddles under the pressures of such heated diatribe.
          She is not  a petty person, that's me; I am.  A lack of self-esteem/confidence (of a learned/earned  maturity) is most likely cause for this particular failing; as well as countless others. I didn't intend to get "mean" -- I hope I don't come across that way. (Angry? Sure.)  I meant to convince myself,  more-so than "dear reader," that our parting is all for "the better" that there was, indeed, an early and repeated erosion of  sound emotional and psychological compatibility indices; left unchecked these unerringly lead from deterioration to dissolution. (Of once shared goals and desires.)
           I am deposed and abandoned; disowned, disclaimed, discounted as friend and companion. (Sheesh! This certainly doesn't help with my (real/perceived) depression!)
           For the record -- Crystal is a glorious and truly incredible person. (Thus magnifying every aspect of my loss a thousand-fold.)  I don't claim this with flippancy. She is, indubitably, a divine force of service, virtue and light in her community and has been for decades. (No exaggeration; we're talking truly heroic here peep-o, in both thought and deed.) As such, she has a earned a vibrant and omni-present support community of (literally) hundreds; compared to myself  with a fan-base of one: the omnivorous, wild-child: Willow Angelica. (my silly, too-loving-to-be-"spoiled," Miniature Schnauzer.) That's it.  (I.M.H.O. a damned-fine companion --  but still, conversation is, mostly, one-sided.) [Well, there is an overbearing mother and an emotionally distant sister...  and at this point, I'll take 'em -- gratefully!]  I mention this to explain the psycho-emotional necessity of this blog to reach out to (an, as yet, non-existent) online community -- hoping to make some sincere and supportive connections. W.T.F.?  I'm an awesome person too, after-all! And,  whoa -- pretty freakin' talented as well! (Hey, who else do I have to stroke me!? I might as well stroke mys---  Doh! That's so wrong...)
          I don't want to give the impression that this "pity-party" is evidence of outright culpability -- other than, as previously mentioned, that my lack of a focused and responsible-maturity serves to amplify any ascribed qualities of perceived, unattractiveness. (Wherefore art thou roguish-charm?!!) I am beginning to understand (if not appreciate -- how a centered and responsible adult would be considered a more desirable persona for someone of my experience and station. (Ha-- yeah right! Like that's gonna happen!)
          And that's why dear reader -- I find myself at these "as sad, as inevitable" crossroads -- I am simply unable/unwilling  to be anything other than what I am. Y'know why? Because I freakin' ROCK! Despite my many failings... I AM PAUL -- and I do aspire to greatness. What do I consider "greatness?" Greatness for me is nothing less (nor more) than being admired and appreciated by a kind (and I hope, occasionally bored.) Creator.
         Nevertheless, I'll be the first (well, maybe second) to acknowledge that the implementation of multiple behavioral modifications certainly hold the promise of  great benefit for myself and my life. And rest-assured every last one of these shall be thoroughly addressed, implemented and achieved   --- eventually... beginning with these dismal procrastinatory tendencies...

Marriage Autopsy Part Five

Your desire to be home all the time, to nap in the middle of the day, to do the same routines night after night, day after day; whether it be TV, video games, music or comic books, or just surfing and reading on the internet, at times got overwhelming to me and although I may or may not have said it out loud made me become resentful and slowly it changed me.  I am not as joyous as I once was and I painted on my “happy face” for the world to see. Well, jeez! It kind'a sucked for me too! Depression is pretty awful. And I am clinically depressed; according to two psychologists, an M.D. and an NP -- but heck -- let's just ignore that.  Then on top of that, dealing with the four operations -- the nearly (over?!?) 200 jobs I applied for (with the "application received" emails to prove it.) The endless drudgery of cleaning floors and washing clothes and putting-up dishes and cleaning bathrooms and mowing lawns (sick or not) -- and managing the trash, cleaning up pet-poop (and pee) and pretty much being alone 75% of the time -- then finally getting 3 hours with you (pure joy) then going through it all over again (Weeee! I'm throwin' a  pity-party; attendance of one!)  Also, keep in mind that it was during these endless online hours that I began studying social media marketing; spending several hundred hours acquiring the knowledge and skills to excel (eventually)  in my new career.  I also consistently read WIRED and Pop. Sci., Rolling Stone and E.W.  (and Nat. Geo. when I can) and about 20 more varied articles on technology, science and news, daily. I always have a new novel going, and yes, many, many, really great comics from every decade since the 40's . Add that up -- (about 200 - 500 pages of reading) and the housework -- I don't "surf" or use social media -- I mean no chatting or emailing... (except, currently, for work)  and along with the chores, you have a very full day.  Though, mostly, you seem to be utterly oblivious and have cruelly marginalized this issue with my stomach; it's a lot worse than I let on.  I am pretty much in constant pain -- and when I carry the wrong way (or too much) or stretch just a tad too much in the wrong direction -- I have to deal with a considerable increase in the amount of pain for a few hours until it levels off again to it's consistent jagged-ache. Hey, no one ever said it would be easy being a (badly) injured, depressed, (semi)super-genius/house-bitch with a petty, unappreciative, vindictive, absentee wife!) You swallowed the plastic.  Times were hard.  You are a hypochondriac, I know this, so do you.  (Not at all. What you call a "hypochondriac" I call a person who is smart enough to supplement a huge knowledge base with research, in order to learn (better understand) what the heck is actually going on; and never, ever, implicitly, trusting doctors.) You joke about it, but it is true. "Honey", I am nowhere near a "clinical" hypochondriac. If I don't feel well, it means something is wrong --not that I'm "going to die" (though it might possibly be cancer, or even (though, less-likely,) Ebola!) Before I  got that cold-bug coming home from Rome -- I hadn't even had a cold for three years!  We both gained a lot of weight.  We ate away our insecurities or pain.  For me food was a source of happiness, something that made me feel secure and in control.  I am broken and don’t know why I can’t get on track, I know what to do, but don’t understand why I don’t do it.  I am broken and I need healing.(That's for shit-sure! Me too!)  You preach about healthy lifestyles and yet you do nothing to improve your own need to lose weight, except making excuses for not being able to exercise. (It's a valid excuse -- my stomach is a great impediment to working out -- I will, necessarily, need to drastically and continually diet.) I have no excuses; I am overweight because I choose to do nothing about it.  You are the same but won’t admit it.  (Mostly true -- depression and this (direly) messed up stomach -- but still, you're correct. I have the ability to change -- perhaps not alone -- but I am never actually alone.) The Dr. has told you that you must lose weight to have another hernia surgery but I don’t see you doing anything to make this happen.  And I am resentful that I have you nagging at me about “eat this, don’t eat that, this has too much of this, this hasn’t got any of that”; it is almost like being married to your mother and I didn’t expect it from you when it is all you hear from her yourself.  We have issues with weight, it is that simple. So you're mad at me because I care and have the knowledge to help you -- but not feeling you deserve to be helped (at some deep emotional/psychological level) you rather just be mad at me for caring and trying to help... yup, makes perfect sense! Also you need to realize that all fat is not the same -- you are a diabetic -- I am not. I actually have very healthy blood and organs. (Though I am certainly stressing them (and my joints) due to inflammation and  by carrying around the extra weight -- also by not adequately oxygenating my blood. However, my healthy (insulin regulated) organs will bare the stress of my weight a lot longer than yours. Though certainly not indefinitely and besides, I hate being fat.   

Then came more operations for your hernias and shoulder, more healing, more time off, more excuses and more resentment from me.  Only a "monster-bitch" would resent their loved one's immense (and repeated) suffering! Not that you're one! Your dad got sick.  We knew he was going to die and you were going to be with him to help him move on.  I admired you for this, because even your mother and sister wouldn’t help him in his time of need.  I was angry at them for not helping to make things right for him and to help you. If you ever needed proof of my ability to "step-up" and rise to any occasion -- considering what I accomplished with my Dad, there should be absolutely no further need -- ever!  And yet..?!?!? I moved all his possessions cross country -- by myself -- after my stomach injury!  No one cared that his bills were there, things needed to be sorted through or that things needed to be taken care of with his estate.  That ended up on my shoulders and no one ever asked if they could help or taken over any of the responsibilities.  And when I would ask about things with the estate I would get flip or nonchalant answers, as if I was the only one who cared what was being done with the estate.  I am utterly paralyzed with frustration, rage and grief , over his death and the handling of the estate. I still am. Not helpful, I know. This would actually be a fine example of a severely contrary circumstance that I am utterly incapable of surmounting if it  wasn't also completely out of my hands. Quite infuriating!! 

When your father died, I never saw you cry, I still haven’t.(Nope -- transcendent view of transcendence, thank you. As it should be for any Christian. Tears at the loss of a loved-one are, purely, selfish. (Obviously, you can't be crying for them but for the loss of them from your life; selfish. ) Although I am (debateably,) a very selfish person, my selfishness does not extend to regretting or wishing to deny aged or sick loved-ones peace and release. What to me is the ultimate (and joyous) fulfillment of any human's life-arch.) Now, premature or accidental death is an entirely different story. I suspect that I might indeed cry under such horrific circumstances. My theory on death is completely different from yours as I know in my heart how many times I have wept for the loss of Fr. Steve in my life, even now 6 years later, I still cry out to him and for him.  I can’t imagine how it will be when my parents die. (You mean your "feelings" on death -- not your "theory." Because if you had a "theory" -- it would, necessarily, be thought-out and not be contrary to what God wants/expects for/from us.)  But for you, it is joyous. Yes, it is!  You make jokes that he is dead, but I know you miss him. I don't joke that he's dead but about him, being dead -- big difference! I say stuff like: "I talked to my dad today" or "Dad called today." I think of it as "bitter-sweet remembrance, not "joking."   I worry that you haven’t mourned the loss of him and it is putting you in this state of depression. Nah, plenty of other reasons for the depression -- and now a wife who (semi-understandably) imploded.  Maybe you don’t see you are depressed, but I do.  Glad you noticed -- I take back what I said before! You have no friends and don’t desire any, you are content to stay home and be alone and I am the only source of contact you have to share your life with.  It is almost as if you live a hermit’s lifestyle and I think this is due to depression about your father. You haven’t worked now for 31 months Wow! That is a long time -- but I have been working! Real work too! Just not for someone else...  and not getting paid for it. and that is a long time in anyone’s books.  I know you were receiving unemployment for most of that time, but the unemployment was a crutch for you and it ended in March of 2012. Hated receiving unemployment! Merited or not; truly sucked. Probably sparked my (now raging) depression. Note to self: Apply for disability.  I know you were “sick” during that time, note the quotations  but you had plenty of energy to sit in front of the computer day after day No, I don't. Every six hours, I need to take a nap. Information overload!) and could have taken a desk job somewhere, but you chose not to. Um -- like where? I applied to a ridiculous number of jobs! And besides, It would not have been worth the gas to work somewhere for minimum-wage -- or the blow to my ego!(Wink-wink!)  You told me once that you would never work for anyone again, but only work for yourself. I wish! That was just in frustration. Jobs, I suggested, were tossed aside as if they were beneath you. (And I have often and honestly asserted that I would be happy cleaning up after zoo animals (But only if it meant additional, however minimal, interaction with the animals themselves -- not just their poop. I really would! So, "no;" I don't find anything "beneath me," not socially -- only emotionally, or creatively... so-far as it doesn't stifle or impugn my imagination or glorious spirit -- either of which I wholeheartedly refuse to tarnish or diminish. I love working hard!)  You stated that you applied for over 200 jobs in the last year but it seemed like you weren't applying yourself to ones you could have gotten. Somewhat, true.  My love for you turned into resentment, and resentment turned to anger and finally into bitterness. What a kind and loving wife!  It came to the point where I would find the little things within your personality and actions that bothered me; making the things I saw tear you apart in my mind and my heart. Yeah? Well I spent 8 years having to be woken up 20 times a night by big-Joey-the-longshoreman, uber-decibel-level snoring for 8 years!! My God! From a tractor idling next to me, to a sudden silence when you wouldn't take the next breath --  which would seize-up my heart with fear from even a semi-conscious state! So you're not the only one that dealt with "little-things." (I suspect you refer to my exceedingly efficient salivary glands resulting in my excessively audible mastication.)  My problem wasn't just about the money any longer, although it is a huge part of it, but it was about your acceptance and contentment in your lifestyle. 

I was and am tired of your rude comments. The "rude" comments are a perfect example of these "little things" you became accustomed to distorting so you could  justify (rationalize) your growing (selfish) resentments. These were 70% - 85% imagined!
Well, the comments themselves were real -- but they were meant to be good natured jibes or minor teasing, never outright slurs or attacks. (Well, almost never.) This is one of your more glaring (false) excuses/rationalizations  for giving up on a challenging marriage (and Sacramental obligation) in what is way-too-broad an array of them. You see them as only NY language but they are hurtful.  I bring it to your attention and you refuse to change.  I (re)assert that if there is minimal (if any) true negative intent behind the words -- that the person who is instilling or perceiving the negativity (or hurtful) aspect to the words, is more at fault -- than the dim-witted (obliviously, insensitive) individual who spoke them, failing to realizing how their tone might be misconstrued. How can someone you love tell you to not use words to hurt, when you know it bothers them, yet you continue to because it is just you?  You see nothing wrong with the way you speak to include cursing and negativity, fuckin'a! and are very vicious with your tongue.(Fucking bull-shit!)   You make negative comments and when I get upset you tell me you are kidding or act like you have no clue why I am angry. I usually don't.  Your tongue is a cutting sword for me Crystal, you have deep seeded emotional issues that stem from an alcoholic and  verbally-abusive Father -- If I say something like "Didn't you see that, there?! In a raised voice. Or  "duh" or "It's pretty obvious if you'd use your head." you are hearing exactly the same thing each time: "Stupid-bitch!"  Additionally, and I assume tied to your  deep-seeded insecurities, if I say something like "That's like three bowls of cereal, not one, in your bowl!" You hear: "Fat bitch!")  and you tell me, that it is my problem as I choose to interpret your words as negative.  They are negative. Not really,  more like being insensitive to your "issues." Not that this is alright -- I feel badly about it --  I  apologize. You have cut Chris and me with your words and after a while, the words “I am sorry” isn’t enough. (Doh!) Just more nitpicking! You must know I adore you -- as I show you repeatedly in all the little things I do for you day-in/day-out  why nit-pick about my stupid, joking, sarcasms. I felt the joy I had always held, even the fake joy that I showed to everyone; slowly seeping out of me and that I have become someone I don’t even know any more.  People note it too.  It is sad when your best friend has an intervention with you and says “What has happened to you?”  “What are you feeling?” and “What have you become?”  He told me then, whatever it is that is causing this, you need to break free of it, because you are no longer happy and no longer joyous.  You are a shell of who you were and even with the youth you have lost your edge. Buttinskies! I think they convinced you of this. Sure you were in an emotional valley but does kicking the one person in the world you are supposed to stand beside (no matter what) when they're down themselves (at their lowest as a matter of fact) and who have absolutely no one else to turn to, make you feel better? Maybe it will... but such an "ill gotten" quick-fix -- can't possibly be beneficial (mentally or spiritually) in the long run. Then again, I'm just angry and it might be the exact right solution. All I do care about (in regards to our union's dissolution) is that you are eventually happy.

This night broke me once again because I knew he was right.  I was a fragment of who we were when we met.  I used to laugh a lot, tell jokes, act up, be silly, do crazy things, and when I realized it, I thought I haven’t done any of that in a very long time and I believe it has been several years in the coming.  I realized that I have to find me once again or I was going become a miserable, self hating person. Just wait!  Someday you'll "snap out of it " and realize how truly, cruel, hateful and short-sighted  -- you really were. You chose being miserable over seeing the good and striving to make it work through God's love for us, both independently and as a sacramentally united ouple. I don’t want us to grow to hate one another by tearing one another apart.  I still love you and look at you as my friend, but I am no longer in love with you. I'll say it again...what are you 15?!  I don’t even love myself for that matter. I don’t want to be a ticket taker and tear you apart with my actions and words and I don’t want the same from you, but that is all we seem to do anymore. You bring up things from the past constantly. You just can’t let anything go and have to always have the last word or be right in every situation or conversation. I never argue --  I am forcefully explaining how I am right!  You say it is 75% me and 25% you that is causing this problem between us.  Maybe 70% - 30%... no, o.k. 75/25 is probably correct.)  I don’t see that, but I won’t argue the point for what good will it do me.  I have to put myself first now, I have to stop being the enabler for you, for that is who I have become, and it is time that I stop worrying about you and fix me. You never worried about me enough -- obviously. Well, too late now!  

So, no;  if you think that my wanting out of our marriage is about a night with non-seasoned chicken and my not knowing how to cook, or clean, or sew, or iron,)  or hormones from going through life changes, it isn’t my parents, or money, or anything like that.  I have prayed to God so many times to show me the way, to fix us or to help us.  He made me realize when I was in Orlando this past fall that I am a wounded healer. Too bad you never made the slightest effort to help heal me. Think about it? Did you?   I have to think of me…even if it means being selfish and letting you go. "Selfish" is quite the understatement, don't you think? Not that I haven't been guilty of it to a similar degree.  I don’t do this because I am mean or a monster, as you remind me regularly now, it is because if I don’t fix me, I will become a shell of the person I was.  I want to return to the woman I was, not the one that I have become. Alright -- good luck with that. 

We have been in therapy now for over a year and a half and it hasn’t changed anything.  You are happy with who you are, you have told me that. Except my current weight and general lack of direction -- yes, I am. I am not happy with either of us.  I know you place part of the blame on Dr. Fairbanks, but he isn’t the “brainwasher” you think he is; he just listens to me. He's a dork.(and that coming from me!) He was supposed to be our marriage counselor -- we were supposed to be seeing him together. He failed miserably when he sent me to Moreland after three months -- yes, I know why he did --but  a month and a half later I could have/should/have returned.)  I am asking you as someone you love to let me go, to let me grow and to allow me the chance to heal my brokenness.  I don’t know how long this will take, and I don’t know if I will ever return to whom I was, but I do know one thing for sure…we are unequally yoked as your mother told me 11 years ago.  I didn’t want to see the red flags, it's all you see! I was in love with the idea of being married, and I am simply not happy. O.M.G. This is 10 years of our lives you're tossing!! 10 years of enduring that monster-snoring! And  Chris (monster-human)! For what?!?! I thought it was for Love -- just to be there for you when you needed me -- and you have nee--- ,, never-mind, if you can't see these things, only seeing the negative... then you don't actually deserve all the good that you are tossing anyway.
I haven’t been for a long time.  You tell me that God is angry with me and I am turning my back on my faith, and I tell you that is between me and God. Screw the Church is what you're saying! "Between you and God" is one thing; but what about "you and your Church?" (Hey, don't worry 'bout it ...The Body of Christ is quite used to being wounded! Heh..!)  and He knows how I feel inside and how I am struggling.  I realize I can’t change who you are and really I shouldn't want to or have to. You are a good person, you have a good heart, and I hope that you find the happiness you deserve. You are quite pathetic. You accused me of being immature (and yes, I am) but I am the one who always tried (up to a point...)  I massaged your feet and drew your baths and cleaned the house and took care of Chris and the pets, endured your constantly being gone -- and orchestrated our nightly entertainments (all, pretty darn perfectly I might add!) -- All, so you would be comfortable... but I guess still not "happy." Alright I'll go. Your loss. 

I just know in my heart that the happiness you desire won’t be found in me. My happiness is you! Hmmm... maybe that's my problem! We could easily tear each other apart by picking at each other’s faults, but what good would that do, other than hurting each other more.  We both have things that we don’t like about each other, this is a fact and I don’t want to go into all of them.   I don’t think it is necessary at this point. What did you just spend 10 pages doing?! Duh! (Oh, how rude!) 

I am sorry.  Sorry for the many times I hurt you, sorry for the times I let you down or didn’t make you feel loved.  I pray that in time you will feel joyous too (too? I am joyous! You are the one that sounds miserable! (I would be too if I just up and turned my back on a Sacrament of God, and my husband.) and that you will find someone to love you as you deserve to be loved…unconditionally, because obviously I can’t be that person for you. Great! So it took you 10 years to figure this out? Ummm  -- thanks? "Sorry" completely covers it! Only one of my 8 God-given decades... no prob...

Marriage Autopsy -- Part Four

Our marriage became routine. (I think that is beautiful. Nothing wrong with routine. I equate that to "safety and security." Though I could be wrong... )  I usually felt as if I was your roommate or your mother most of the time, not your wife, but I always I felt like your friend.  Even when things started to crumble I enjoyed your friendship even though I worried that I was your only friend and you seemed ok with this. (Sure, a friend requires a lot of energy and you were much more than my only friend -- you were my wife, my soul-companion.)  It made me worry, because I knew you needed other people.  I introduced you and tried to integrate you into my friendships, but that really didn’t work either.  You were happy with just me and the dog. (Let me tell you about our "friends"...  As it turns out, I was correct -- finally! (I expect "finally," shall elicit a more sympathetic reaction than "as usual.") Seemingly the best group of people in the world; however, when the chips are down, this veneer of respectability and righteousness crumbles straight-away. I have found this to be the case with many a "holly-roller."  I did nothing to impugn the sanctity of our relationship, like hitting you or having an affair. It was your decision to divorce me (what took you so long?)  Did any of these "guys" that are supposed to be my "friends" bother to pick-up (pull-out) a phone and see how I'm doing or what my plans are? I strive to be 100% genuine at all times. How could you expect me to integrate? I say what I mean and mean what I say -- except, when I'm being sarcastic; then all bets are off... and even that is just a temporary (pseudo) state  reserved  for humorous effect. I know you hated your job at Gulf Breeze Ford, And yet: I still made "Salesman of the Year" every year I was eligible!  but for me, you seemed at your happiest.  I felt our marriage was at its best.  You were proud of your accomplishments, thrived in the competition, had friends to talk to and hang out with and had great money coming in for us to live and play on.  Things were good.  But you said you were miserable, and they closed the business and things started to truly fall apart for us. (All in your mind -- I think things got inestimably better -- just less "play" money.) The first unemployment time came.  For 18 months (13 months -- and it wasn't my fault -- I tried working remember? The recession hit and work became hard to find. Here, she conveniently forgets that I was coming off of 6 years of working 60 hour work weeks  ) I felt jealous that you didn’t have to go to work.  (My god -- why would you be jealous?! If I could do what you do -- influencing all those lives by bringing a deeper understanding and appreciation for their faith -- I would be in heaven -- or at least I might have a better chance of getting there.) The unemployment checks were ok, but not enough to really live on. (How embarrassing! I never wanted to receive unemployment -- and if they hadn't tried to steal my fairly earned money at Hill Kelly -- I never would have needed to! )   We didn’t really save anything from the “good times” to take care of the bad times and we threw ourselves into a financial nightmare. (Total exaggeration. No house or vehicle payments, a trip to Spain-- yeah, what a nightmare! She went to Ireland too, with Chris!)  (We were virtually living by credit cards.  We weren't really curbing our spending and we were digging a hole that made me feel insecure and desperate.  When your father passed away and we got our first settlement, we were $26000 in debt with credit cards. (Uh yeah --I think I brought in about 30 grand then...) I thought with his passing and the settlement we would never see ourselves in this type of debt again. (All gone! Poof! The debt I mean...)

The red flag should have been the fact that I knew when you worked in NY that you didn’t work consistently. (Uh, I worked nearly non-stop. It was very consistent -- I had those two waiting gigs for the East side and Mid-town Chabads -- for three cosecutive years and worked nearly all of Moishe's and Gita's gigs both, for 5 years and even had two steady Restaurant positions, So Boo-yah! And don't forget -- this was in one of the most physically demanding professions known to modern society ... a catering waiter.) You worked when you needed money and when you wanted to.  You didn’t punch a clock and you didn’t take being “managed” by anyone well. How then, my ex-dear do you explain the proceeding 6 and a 1/2 years of 50-60 hour, work weeks?    I knew this from your tax statements I saw when we first got married that there would be years on your social security statements with a zero on them when it came to income.  (Cash industry!) You came into our marriage with student loans, unpaid debts that you never intended to pay off (although I paid them anyway) and a horrible credit score. (Bad credit score.) You went from being taken care of by your mother Yeah, until I was 18 and then to being taken care of by me. If me bringing in over $300,000 dollars in our 10 years together is being taken care of by you then -- good job! Check the I.R.S. records. If you are going to make up stuff because you are feeling wholly inadequate and petty or guilty for ditching a Sacramental obligation for totally selfish reasons than at least try to come up with something factual!  I We! paid the bills, the loan and cleaned up your credit rating to put you back on track. I knew before our marriage that we were raised differently too.  You came from a household that never really had to struggle, other than with your parents marriage and their final break up even though they still lived together and got along better divorced than they did married.  I never really understood their relationship of living together, but living separate lives.  You came from the idea that if you bought something; you always bought the best because it would last. And I am sooooo right! But more importantly than lasting, although that is important, it is better (easier to operate and better results) the entire time you're using it too!  Money didn't hold any importance for you and it still doesn't   Money meant only fun or convenience for you and still seems to.  

I came from a family that truly struggled as I was growing up. (And in your mind you somehow equate this with virtue? Nah. In fact -- your sense of "value" got totally "effed"-up. I place value in all the things you can't see or touch -- you in things  material.)  I was raised on yard sales and thrift shops.  Living in a trailer and sharing a room with my brothers.  I was taught at a very young age that you saved for what you truly wanted and if you couldn't afford it, you didn't buy it.  I was a saver and money was of high value to me.  Money meant security for me and still does.  I don’t need a ton of it, but I need to feel that all my debt is paid each month.  I need that sense of security in my life.  You tell me how the country is in trillions of dollars of debt to reassure me that debt is expected, but I wasn't raised that way.  I don’t care about the country's debt, I care about ours.  I want to be debt free each month with nothing looming over my head. Debt is a costly illusion -- and a cheap date.  (I have no idea what I mean by that!) 

You have stated that I only live for the day and you think for the future. I certainly never said I think of the future -- I have been known to say: Future/Smuture!" Poor, confused-thing; look what I did to her! She used to be lucid.  I live for today, but recognize my own limitations and as I have told you many times before, I don’t want to be a 63 year old youth minister retiring finally because I can’t keep up.  Already I feel my limitations although my ministry is as important to me as it was when I first started youth ministry 17 years ago.  The youth make me feel alive. 

You live with ideas of things that will make you famous, happy, or wealthy and if they don’t happen, you are ok with that or so it appears.  Sure I am -- and incidentally I couldn't care less about "fame" -- that's one of my most defining, "core"  principles -- fame is entirely valueless -- producing quality art -- that's important. And , no I haven't even tried since I met you. Except in my lifestyle.  -- I can’t count how many times you have said “I could be a millionaire tomorrow if I chose to” exactly that -- I never said "exactly that"  but close-enough; I have said:  "I probably have a million dollars in poems and stories right here." (And I probably do -- If I bothered to get them published. ) because of your writings or business ventures, but you don’t apply yourself to do it. No, I do not.. all is death and thievery! (Ha! How absurdly inane!)  You blame me because you don’t write anymore and that I seem to be the crutch you place the blame on.  You simply stopped writing because you weren’t interested anymore. Yeah, that's obviously true -- how can you not be "interested anymore" in (probably) the one thing you were put on this earth to do. For years you had to opportunity to write and chose not to, it wasn’t about me or because of me. Uh, that's true -- (I never claimed it was because of you. I just stopped doing it while we were dating or married. Seriously, you have never come close to understanding the artistic temperament -- or "art" for that matter... totally beyond you.  (Not to be mean -- just not in your nature.)  I believe the apt rhetorical description is "philistinism." Aren't you the one who has repeatedly stated that you prefer being ignorant and "happy?" (Even though you say you haven't been "happy" for awhile... so, how's "ignorance" working-out for you?) Well I prefer being informed and happy. (And by the way -- being unhappy is a conscious choice -- I believe happiness is our natural (God given) state (how can we not be happy when there is a God that loves us so much!!)  and obviously, you need to remind yourself of this.) You say that I bury myself in my work and that is true. It is where I find joy. Then why be "jealous" of my not working?  I know that my expectations or needs are not being fulfilled in our home and this is where I can find a substitute to fill them as much as I can.  Through the many adventures, outpouring of love from the teens and the stories of their equal brokenness I find peace.  I know this isn’t filling your needs or even addressing them, but I don’t know how to fix what is broken in you let alone understand it. This is going to take some time and effort to address -- neither of which I am willing or capable of giving at this moment I'm tapped out. Suffice it to say, you are correct: I am broken. 

                                               End of Part 4

Bogged Blog -- UPDATE!

     Hola, Dear Reader!

     It's Monday, February 18th , President's Day and the day I sign my divorce papers --
     Totally depressing. I love her dearly and feel horrid and small for having failed her (and myself) in so many ways.  Then again... today marks a "liberation" of sorts and a new beginning. Sort of.  Life will go on pretty much identically to before the divorce -- until I have the resources to get my butt down to Orlando -- and start all over again. Which could happen any day -- week -- month -- year?! It all depends on sinister forces and the alacrity with which they choose to act -- their are lawyers involved. (Oooh, I got a chill!  Scary stuff! )
      I wanted to write you today to inform my faithful reader(s) (I kind'a doubt there is even one let-alone more than -- allow me my  fantasy!)  I have most certainly been writing and working on this Blog. I spent the past wek interspersing my commentary throughout her nearly 10 page long "divorce letter" Crystal wrote me. " Marriage/Autopsy" briefly appeared online as 5 very long (hopefully very interesting/amusing) parts.  (Sorry, it's a highly emotional time)  I took down the posts at my wife's behest. She claims an affront to her privacy as her letter contains personal and "private" discourse. But unfortunately for her, it's my letter (composed for me) and she read the letter to me in a "public" setting -- her therapist's office. Here, an argument could be made that her therapist's office is not a public place -- and I would tend to agree -- however, I don't think there is anything particularly tawdry, demeaning or diminishing  in the letter --if anything,  it makes me appear the "louse" (wink-wink) -- and I also believe it provides a serviceable jumping off point for my Mid-life Metanoia Blog.  It gives a very full (if not complete) picture of our emotional and psychological -- even physical states at this present time (from two different perspectives) and, as such, I feel it is an indispensable record despite any discomfiture it may provide. But as I am beholden to Crystal for allowing me to maintain residence (at our house for the past 10 years ) I would be brutish of me to cause her any more emotional stress than she is already experiencing in this life-upheaval. So it's public posting has has been suspended indefinitely. I will find other ways to enlighten and entertain the masses -- and hope the masses eventually  begin returning my generosities to me -- with encouragement and support -- or just acknowledgement -- (even negative, I guess.) anything will help me through this extraordinary period of my life.  Very lonely, just now.
Be Well, Be Swell! -- God Bless,        Paul

UPDATE:  Papers are signed. She'll be taking her maiden name again. Good. During our legal meeting today Crystal asked her attorney (no, I don't merit any legal representation.) if there was anyway which she could legally keep me from posting her letter online -- but according to him "Freedom of Speech" laws mean I can do anything I want with the letter -- including interjecting childish tirades between her sentences and then humiliating both of us by making it all public! Boo-yah! Another stroke in the "proud American" column.

Marriage Autopsy -- Part Three

After we stopped trying to get pregnant and began the adoption process, sex became obsolete and at times I would  joke about being able to be a nun, but I really felt inside that I was undesired, unattractive and not loved for who I am…as a wife, a partner and a lover.  Yeah, my bad; although I can't take the entire blame. I can't count the number of times you would come home and I would be there wanting to give you a hug or a kiss and you would turn away -- and give your "terrible" -breath or having to pee as a reason to quickly move away -- this was hurtful and it  went a long way towards conditioning me to not even try.(But I kept trying anyway.)  Not to mention (though I will) you used to pleasure me in other ways -- I think that stopped soon as I gave you an engagement ring... so you are not blameless in these matters. For me spiritual closeness and general togetherness/sharing was always more important and gratifying. (Puerto Rican or not.)   You would say that all I had to do was “ask for it”, but I knew it was only words, as I had asked for “it” in the past and you never responded, only rejected me again and again with different excuses. (I'm not physically comfortable with myself. Sheesh.)  And I was jealous every time you would look at other women, which was regularly, or comment on them. Well,  sincerest apologies for that. (Seriously, I feel badly about it.)  However, if a talking fish was placed on the banks of a stream do you not think it would say:  "Oh dear! That water sure does look inviting! Throw me in! Throw me in!" Actually, poor analogy; maybe kind of a funny one but not entirely accurate. How about: an  Art History Major that had never been to a museum and suddenly finds himself in front of a Rembrandt or Botticelli. Would he not cry out in astonishment and awe?! Nope, that doesn't work to well either. Alright  -- I'm just an insensitive, abusive, pig. ) You joked that the remote is stuck when the Victoria Secret commercials come on, knowing that they bother me. Oh please. If we didn't have a DVR and couldn't skip trough commercials, what then?!  You know that I catch you leering at other women as we drive around or go places and you simply laugh it off to being a “Puerto Rican Male”. (True?!)   Excuses or not, it hurts.  You made me feel inferior.

 (Sorry, In quite a similar fashion to how I am keenly aware (sensitive) to sonic creativity (or a lack, thereof.)  I am "alert" to the supremely unique and entirely beguiling "art" that is the feminine form. You can say I should have control of this,
but I don't. It truly feels like it's on a cellular level.  "Leering" at a woman implies an underlying sexual yearning.  I do not "leer"  I respect and honor women (whether they desire/deserve it or not.) I admire, not desire with these furtive glances of (mostly) chaste appreciation. I look at pretty-much everything with a sense of wonder and appreciative awe -- a pond, a cactus, a turtle, an ant hill...  it's my artistic nature.
I can't turn that off.  I just find women the most interesting and complex objects of beauty the world offers. I've often looked at you that way as well. When you are sleeping or just sitting on the sofa but your own insecurities keep you from being aware of this. And  when I looked at you it was with a profound sense of love and responsibility for you. Oh well.)   Your desire to want to look at others in a sexual way would tear into my insecurities a little more each time this happened.  I wondered why you married me and not the Asian women you look at, not the skinny women you comment on.  Why me? What made you want to marry me?  I asked you this before and you gave me no comment.  When you  asked me this recently, I said to you "Because you are you." --        I thought this was as profound an answer as anyone could hope to receive in response 
to this question --a Kwai Chang Caine  aphorism. (Y'know, from "Kung Fu?") Obviously, you took it to be a "non answer." 

I know you felt/feel as if I rejected you too, because I simply stopped caring about touching you, kissing you and hugging you.  Your rejection of me became my rejection of you.  It was becoming a vicious cycle.  Neither of us was receiving the “love language” we needed. What language is that? Do you mean  the "coitus" language? Well, I am a lot stronger than you obviously -- because, even though I was far more "repressed" (and even if we were equally "repressed.")  I place a lot more value in the other aspects of our compatibility. Or I wouldn't have married you. I knew and told you what to expect -- up-front. I needed affirmation and financial security, and you needed touch and attention which didn’t involve sex. See, here's the thing: Crystal was raised from the perspective of being near destitute. Nearly everything her family ever had or used was either handmade or purchased second-hand, from thrift-shops or garage sales. Which is still the case today even though her Father is now a millionaire (perhaps, multi-millionaire) -- (And no, I had no idea about this when we were married.) So while this has made Crystal particularly responsible with her money she is equally as insecure about it. So when it is "tight" she feels very threatened. As much as I would rather be bringing in enough money to keep her from ever having to feel this way -- I hate the very idea of money. I think of money as a wasteful and valueless controlling device -- used to keep the vast majority of society "slaves" to it's capriciously-valued, acquisition. Evidence: a lawyer can charge $4500.00 for a 25 minute conversation ( and the copying of 50 pages.) Criminal? No. Industrious! Also, consider  the endless parade of  CEO's with  (near) bankrupt companies that load up their coffers before everything is shut-down. (see: Citigroup) Our entire economy -- particularly the "investment" or "speculative" aspect of it in, is actually a vast Ponzi scheme;  perfectly evident to someone as deft (or daft!) as I. (There is a reason economists refer to it as the "false economy")   A small percentage of people control the resources and their conglomerates manipulate our wants and desires. Additionally, they assure it is nearly impossible to receive "justice" without the (ultra-vast) resources required to even attempt to  permeate an impregnable web of legal inscrutabilities. So if financial security does not mean having everything in the world you could possibly want (and usually a higher quality of such, )  having no unmanageable debt and never having to worry about our futures either -- than no, we are not financially secure.
 Chris knows you never accepted him as your true son.  That you tolerate him and that at times you dislike him, and at times even hate him.  I will not touch the Chris issue here.  I'm a quasi-saint; let's leave at that. You have told me as much.  He has heard from your lips that you don’t consider him your son and that you don’t love him. Utter nonsense -- I do love him (... I  just dislike his character more.) Nevertheless, I  tell him all the time how talented he is and "Be safe, I love you" --  Didn't help though. )   He has his own issues to work out, but we have not been good for him and his own sense of self-worth.  It was either really good or really bad between the two of you and I was always caught in the middle.  It was like raising two children, not a husband and a son.   I still remember when he was in boy scouts and you were again angry with him about his crying because he didn’t want to go and you hit him in the throat to stop his crying and drove him home without going to the meeting.  Again with the throat !! Never happened. (I don't even need to ask Chris about this one! I remember the incident clearly.) He called me a "fucking asshole " in the car on the way somewhere -- not  Scouts, as we were going in the opposite direction -- and (whether correct or not) I lost it and slapped him on the side of the head -- no throat involved.) You were barely out of the house and returned.  I told you then that you were never to touch him or discipline him again and then you stopped caring about him other than to complain to him or about him. No, I only made hundreds of lunches for him and cleaned his toilet and shower and repeatedly pooped-in underwear (through age 15 ) and drove him to dances and everything else a parent does.  He rarely hears praise from your lips and with that, I over compensated for him and praised him or helped him as I felt he didn’t receive enough love from you. ( I am protective of him, I always will be, and I don’t like having to choose between you in arguments. (Bull-shit. Always remember: my encouragement,  praise and support --  I attended his every performance -- played a significant part in Chris developing the confidence to choose acting as a major. Of course, he won't thank me when he is receiving his Academy Award -- he is incapable of understanding when gratitude is truly warranted; only perceiving when it is the proper affectation. And if his career choice backfires (which I doubt) -- well, at least he tried; no regrets or wondering "what-if." I certainly didn't encourage him to sabotage him. Only because he is gifted and hard-working. 


Note: This last section was highly edited -- because Chris has enough to deal with (being Chris) without any recriminations from this particular dysfunctional parent. 


                                                     End of Part 3