It was a crazy workweek. I suppose if I wrote in this thing regularly I’d start every weekly post with “It was a crazy workweek.” Crazy’s the new normal.
But I was really looking forward to coming home and spending some time with Jessica (yes, THAT kind of time) and just goofing around on a Friday evening. Unfortunately she was feeling blue and looked pouty — but not sexy pouty — and was upset about our financial difficulties and that our next door neighbors were going out to celebrate their fourth wedding anniversary, which was some kind of envy thing.
There’s a part of me that can’t really divorce his wife’s unhappiness from his own sense of inadequacy. In other words, I feel like if I had finished college instead of having an affair we’d be in better financial position right now and my kids could play soccer or take art or music lessons and we could take a vacation to the Bahamas and my wife would want to fool around and act playful and young instead of looking sour and dour all weekend. So everything’s my fault (queue Kurt Cobain’s gritty spitting lyrics of the same theme).
So I had a beer or two last night and I talked with her for a little while and then I got a shower and laid in bed, which felt good since the last time I’d done so was 2:30 the previous morning. She went off to shower and I remember thinking she’d come back fresh and clean and maybe somehow by some miracle I could talk her into letting me have my way with her even though I’m a loser and shouldn’t be spreading my seed. But I fell asleep and woke up in the middle of the night with my glasses still on and my cell phone on my chest.
I got up at five when I heard birds chirping. I’m going to go take a nice long jog and reflect upon everything. Me and Matt are supposed to go to Andre’s in Milford for breakfast. After that I don’t know what the day holds, but I hope Jessica will be okay. Not just because of the sex, but because I don’t like seeing her sad. It’s not like her natural state of being. She likes to laugh and smile, and her smile is beautiful.
Anatomy of a Reformation 