That Time When Your Life Was Napalmed

One tends to ignore the truly unimportant in the face of the personally destructive

Yes. I've been absent from the Attention for a coupla weeks. Apologies.

I've missed writing snark about so much: Elon Musk buying Twitter, Amber Heard taking a dump on Johnny Depp's bed, more atrocities in the Russian war that we're all just getting a little bored with, more revelations that Jan. 6 was an inside job yet no one seems to be going to prison.

I've been dealing as best as I can with a personal shitshow: the dissolution of my marriage of seven and a half years. The evening of Easter Sunday (not that I celebrate such things but that's the pervasiveness of Christianity, doncha know) my wife and decided to call it quits.

For the sake of the children (and our mutual set of aging parents) I'll provide what we are calling the PG version. The NC-17 is filled with tawdry and sordid details that have left the scent of scorched earth and burnt flesh in the air. Also, I'm pretty sure there's a shot of Jared Leto's cock. So PG will suffice. After seven and a half years, she wants an open marriage and I'm just not that into slapping Chris Rock. After a bit of discussion (and given that whiskey was involved, you can guess how that sounded) we came to an impasse. She wants to get her fuck on with , I don't know, different and I'm simply not wired to live that way.

I'm not throwing shade at those who swing or do that open marriage deal or the polyamorous crowd. You do you. Like the whole Will Smith/Jada Pinkett situation, if one half of the union is into banging rappers her children’s age and the other half signed on for a monogamous arrangement, the guy on the emasculated side loses his shit.

"You don't think you could handle it if I saw other people," she asked.

"Sure. I could handle it fine right up until I put the gun barrel in my mouth and blew my brains out," I countered.

The past two weeks have been that of incredibly awkward co-habitation as she looked for a place to live and I slept on the couch, hoping that her search would result in her absence sooner rather than later (I have a phenomenal couch but it's a one bedroom so the dance of not talking while right on top of each other has been a bit of a nightmare).

After three nights of drinking myself into submission (NOTE: bad fucking idea because you then tend to say awful things you'll never be able to rescind) and she had her one night when whiskey punched her in the face and she unloaded on me, the decision was made to endure the discomfort sober.

It's Vegas, so we filed for divorce and were granted it in three days. Given we were engaged on our third date (more on that in days to come) the speed of it all seemed to fit.

This morning, as I'm typing, she is sleeping in what was our and will heretofore be my bed. Her stuff is loosely packed in crates and boxes. She's subletting from a friend who left this morning for a five-month gig in Montana whose apartment is approximately 25-feet from my own. The next three days will be consumed with getting her over there and my traditional divorce ritual (isn't that sad and ridiculous that I have a divorce ritual?) of re-arranging what's left into a space less familiar and more like "OK. Time to be a bachelor again."

As the perhaps overly self-reflective type, I'm seeking lessons learned in this experience and, aside from the tried-and-true "Never trust ANYONE" which will likely fade because I have proven I am both uniquely trusting and incredibly stupid, I'm finding that in the midst of a personal upheaval, all the issues of the day that consumed me before don't matter at all right now.

One wonders how so many Americans blithely ignore the histrionics of the national discourse and this is why. They have more important shit to contend with than canceling JK Rowling and worrying about Elon Musk allowing Trump back on Twitter.

And so it goes.

If you're in any way interested, I've been channeling my wounded soul by writing short fiction. I have no idea if it's any good but it is absolutely helping.

The Improbable Dangers of Candle Wax

The Eye of the Beholder

The Consequence of Bad Choices

As always, thanks for reading, sharing, and subscribing. Be good, gang.