Short but sweet

Once a month I do an 8 mile walk. Today is that day. Unfortunately that limits my time to talk, so there won't be a standard entry today.

In the meantime, go back and read the old posts. Maybe there are hidden messages. Try reading them backwards into a micro cassette recorder. You could hear all kinds of cool messages. Impress your friends, impress your family, try it today!

"and don't forget to give me back my black T-shirt..."-Ben Folds Five

Ripping CD's while you work is just one advantage to working at home; veryday being shorts and t-shirt day is another. Why was I ripping CDs? 'Cuz last year my wife gave me an Ipod for my birthday. What do you think she'll give me this year? No, that was my Valentines day present. What about an Iphone? Yeah, I'm holding my breath. If I get a blank card, I'll dance a jig.

I'm a good birthday guy too. I made sure hers were special. It sucked, because it fell right around Christmas. She was so screwed! What parent is going to throw their kid a birthday party during that season? And how many birthday presents did she get wrapped by Santa? No, my heart went out. So I always made sure to save up, making she got cool birthday gifts: sans shiny trees, singing angels, and smiling Santas. They could wait two days. But when they came, I made sure they arrived with bells on too. I swear, I think I spent at least $1000 every year. That's not important though. What's important was that it made her smile, both days. She liked the gifts, and I always made sure to get what she wanted, whether she knew it or not.

That's why I'm ripping the discs today. Well part of it. I'm a music fan. I love music. I love it so much I incorporated it into my last novel. They say write what you know, and I did. Do you know what my day job is? Well if you look in the column to the left it says. No, not the video, or the touch thing. Professional touch? I could get arrested for that…No, I'm a radio researcher. I listen to what the stations play, and report it back to my boss. If you like music, and can't play an instrument better than a 5 year old, what better job could you get? So I buy CD's for research, and I have a literal music library. Even when she takes what she wants from my collection, I'll still have quite a few. Right now my itunes tells me I have 130 days worth of music loaded into my computer, and I still have a wall of CDs to go. I've been collecting them for years, and then there's the cassettes and LPs. She won't want them.

The CDs though, she's gonna want some of them. She'll take all the Motley Crue, no big loss. The Tori Amos is hers too; I'll miss that. There are a bunch of others too, I have no idea what they are, but you know what? If she took them all, I'd be pissed for a bit, but I'd get over it. It's just stuff, it can all be replaced. I'm still burning them onto computer though—just in case.

I've also told her, whatever she wants of mine, let me know, I'll burn a copy. She's making a list, I've seen it. She hasn't given it to me yet, but it's at least a page. No biggy, I'll do it. For the same reason, I bought her the black pearl necklace: It'll make her happy.

Last weekend I finished up the DVDs. Those are mostly hers, but there are a few that were given to me as gifts. She liked giving me movies for my birthday and Christmas; I'll take those. I also bought a box of blank DVDs, making copies of all of all the ones she'll want. Things like Robocop, I don't need to worry about, but The Big Lebowski, Resevoir Dogs, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, she'll want. When I went to bed, I put the box on her desk with a list of all the DVDs I'd made and told her if there was anything else she needed, let me know.

The next morning I got up and on my desk sat the copy of Spinal Tap. I'd left it in her stack, because I couldn't remember whose it was. I figured, if I don't know, screw it, it's hers. On the copy of Spinal Tap sat a Post It. "I think you may have missed this one. I would like a copy."

"As you wish." I burned her one.

When I handed it to her I said, "Sorry I forgot about that one."

"Yeah, you'll probably want to burn a copy of Best In Show for yourself."

"Yeah, probably…" I let it trail. I couldn't tell her the truth. I wouldn't burn a copy. I don't want copies of the discs that are hers. If I want them later, I'll buy them. But I bought the blanks for her, because I knew she'd want them. Am I pathetic or what?

I think she was expecting a fight on the things. Maybe a few rounds of Let's Make A Deal. Naw, I don't want any of the things. If I could just take my computer and whatever personal belonging I could fit in a car, I would. I can't: the mortgage is in my name. I've done a lot for her, but I'm not gonna abandon my credit. I spent 10 years recovering from my own mistakes, I'm not going to recover from hers.

The only things I wanted were:

The car, (because it's on my mortgage)

The bed, (because I have more expensive tastes when it comes to where to sleep. She can replace it cheaper than I can, and I only want the mattress. She can claim the headboard and frame if it makes her happy.)

The TV in the office (because I put it on my credit card, and I'm paying for it now. A monthly credit card bill, isn't the type of reminder I'm looking for.).

Those are the things I asked for.

Sitting at the new dining table, she ran down her list, which included most everything else. That's fine. The only thing that pissed me off was when she mentioned the table. Not that she mentioned the table, whatever, but that she had to jab at me by saying, "I want this because it's the only thing I picked out." WTF? She picked out EVERYTHING we have. Ok, I picked the aforementioned TV, but she picked the Treadmill, Washer, Dryer, Stove, The entertainment center, the hutch, the sofa. Ok, well I kinda picked the sofa. She told me she wanted a new sofa, so she wanted to buy this cheap $200 lumpy thing that was great to look at, but you'd never want to sit on it. Ok, I'd never want to sit on it. So, I found a few that were nicer, and said, "what about one of these?" She picked the one she liked. My point is this: if you snuck into our house in the middle of the night without turning on the lights, whatever you bruised your shin, shoulder, or head on, she picked it. Those things you're loading into your van, chances are she picked them too. So when she tells me that she didn't have any say in what we bought, it makes me want to slap her. Don't worry, I won't. I was raised better than that. But a man can dream can't he?

We've also agreed that I won't be here when she moves out. I'm not going to help my wife plot her exodus.

She says "You can trust me."

I didn't have the heart to tell her it's not that I feel I can trust her, it's just that whatever she takes, I can replace; take what you want.

Some of you are probably going "What a sap!" Not really. First off, who really uses that term anymore? Why don't you call me a "maroon" too? No, I'm not that either. Nor am I a sucker, fool, or wimp. I've thought this one out. I could make this a knock-down-drag-out over every little item, and you know what? I think I could get it. I'm far more obstinate than she is. Oh, she thinks she's good, but not really. The thing she's best at is overestimating her ability. I may use that later, but not here. I've decided that if it's stuff she wants, then it's stuff she can have. If that's what gets this woman masquerading as my wife out of my life, then I'll sign the check, and pay the price. The woman I loved didn't care about the things. I see this as my last gift. I'll give her the friendliest happy divorce anyone could ever ask for. I'll be twice as compliant in divorce as I ever was in marriage.

You want to know something nice about her? I used to want to be a radio DJ. That's how I got my current job. One year I went to this big conference in New York, and she did everything she could to make sure I was ready. I wasn't making much money, and she took some of hers and paid for some new clothes, a haircut, a manicure, and new business cards. I think we even did some roleplay (no! Not the French maid and the lost sheep roleplay you perv!) She made sure I was ready to go schmooze with the big boys, because it's what I wanted. She was there to support my dream. It didn't pan out, but she was there when I fell too. In those days, she was my friend and my confidant for better or worse. So, I'll let her go with whatever she wants, the only thing I wanted, she's taken away already.

"Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile."- Albert Einstein

So yesterday was Memorial day. The day we give thanks for those who gave their lives for our freedom. Since I write these the night before, Monday is slipping away as I type. Today was a normal day around our house. It was a little tough because it was a long weekend and she was home 3 days. I know, I sound horrible but the tension gets a little thick around day three. One more day and the silence could be shattered giving heat to a battle of our own.

But this was not my day; it wasn't her day; it was the day for those who, despite their personal needs, and home crises, repeatedly put their lives on the line. I've been blogging for five days and I can't shut up about my problems, while the daily death toll in our military rises. Whether you believe the cause of the war to be just, you must believe that every individual who serves, is sacrificing a premium. A premium I'm not sure I could pay myself, and I would like to think their sacrifice is worth more than my whining. So I will take my blogging day as a day of silence.

For those who have come before, and those who serve in the future, thank you, and may God bless and keep you.

"I turn my camera on..."-Spoon

Today I sifted through a huge box of old photos. My sister wanted some shots of her and I together. Looking through the box I found tons of pics, but only a few shots of my wife and I. Now granted, it's not the same box with our wedding pictures in it, and since we've been married we've had a digital camera….

Ok, yeah I know, I've just explained away why there weren't many pictures of her in the box, but that's not my point. My unsupported point is this: I have piles of pictures of everyone else. From parents, grandparents, sisters, ex girlfriends, even girls I never dated, but only three or four pictures of my wife. I can check the digital camera folder on my computer, but I know what I'll find: I have more pictures of our cats than I have of my wife.

Before you start pointing and yelling "See? I knew you were an asshole," wait. I'm not saying I'm not one, but not about this. She hates having her picture taken. The few shots I find are either blurry action shots of her diving behind a hedge like the camera is a drive by attempt, or a huge middle finger displaying her philosophy on picture taking. I don't have many shots of me either. Not that I need them, I know what I look like, but she hasn't even pointed a camera at me since 2000. She has taken some great shots of storm clouds, ships on rocks, and hungry predators. If only they meant something.

Now your looking at me like I'm a weirdo. "Is he saying that because she doesn't involve herself with American vanity camera rituals, he's happy she wants a divorce?"

No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm just documenting facts. A picture is a document of the people we know, some we love, some just decided they needed to be in your picture, so you obliged them. (Yes I'm talking about you Kirby, thanks for ruining my wedding shots. I hope you never get all the blue frosting from your butt crack.) But years later you'll be able to look through your big box and go, "Look, that's Kirby."

When my wife is gone, what will I have left? Blur, the finger and that's it. I mean the times aren't great right now, but I spent 7 hears with her. Sure at my most bitter moments, I consider it a complete waste of time, but I'd at least like something to show for it. I wasted 4 years in college and I still got some fancy calligraphy and a nifty tassel. I want something for my time.

Maybe it's selfish, maybe I can pretend I mattered to somebody. I'll show the future Mrs. Rob pictures ('cuz that always goes over real well…) saying, "See, this his how I spent the early Millennium years." She'll clench her fists and go, "that's great honey." But at least I'll know I meant something. I didn't just take up space on this wasteful planet of ours, I gave something, and I got pictures to prove it.

That's her watching me wash dishes

That's her watching me mow the lawn

That's her watching me try to figure out what the hell went wrong. Is she smiling..?

She's already told me she wants the Christmas ornaments, but that she'll leave me with the tree. Yeah, I'm a writer, the metaphor of a barren faux tree didn't escape me either. But anyway, I think she expected a fight over the ornaments. I didn't want them. We picked those out together, I couldn't take that.

Sure, I know what I said, yeah, I want pictures. Something I can store in a box and pull out when I'm drunk and depressed. I don't need a fir full of memories standing over an empty tree skirt staring at me for a month of cheer and good will. No thanks. She can keep that.

She may not have been the best thing to happen in my life, but she happened. And I may not have pictures, but I will always have memories. Memories of our first apartment, of the first car we bought together, our first big vacation, of the time our transmission blew up, leaving us stranded in Vegas for a week with no money, and yes, most certainly of our wedding day. Everything up until the day we moved to this house, the rest is a blur and a finger.

"I was knocking on your ears...you were always out…"-Modest Mouse

Communication. I spent 4 years hunched over in an accredited university, racked up over $20, 000 in student loan bills, and graduated Cum Laude, learning to communicate. I think I got screwed. Maybe it's because my degree is in Mass communication, and I'm only trying to talk to one person. What if I asked--what is the equivalent of a "mass?" I suppose that's about what, a church full? So, 200-300…we'll call it 300—could I ask 299 women come over stand around my wife while I try to talk to her? Do you think that would help?

Part of the issue is that, not all communication is verbal. Too much interaction is non-verbal and open to interpretation. At this point in my marriage there's so little interaction, and I'm leaving nothing to interpretation. If she asks me to pass the butter, I will make sure that that's the only object she wants.

"Do you want the butter dish too?"

Not to worry, I'll never misinterpret the pass part. We've come this far without throwing things; I'll err on the side of safety before I open up to a missile assault. Besides, she's got a better aim than I do. I throw like a girl.

Tonight was game night. I have friends who played "Simon says" with their kids, my wife played "silence" with me. Silence is a game for 2 or more players, but only one person needs to be an active participant. The object is to say as little as possible to your "partner." This game is called "simple silence." If you have three players you can play "Ignore." In "Ignore," one person is "it." You can talk to the third person, but the object is to ignore "it." Pretend "it" is an elephant in the room. In "ignore," there are points for turning your back to "it" and talking around "it." Maybe later I'll explain "Seething Silence." We're both good at that game.

We just played simple silence tonight. I was "it."

I'd say "Hi, how was your day?"

Grunt. (That's only a half point ambiguous noise word.)

"So anything exciting happen?" I’m a competitor, remember?

Silence.

I let it go. The opening round belongs to her.

Before dinner, I think she spoke less than fifteen words to me. During dinner we ate in absolute silence. It wasn't until after dinner that I was allowed the opportunity to compete.

Here's a tidbit about me: I don't like fat. We had steak, and my piece had lots of fat. Don't roll your eyes! I'm not saying she did that on purpose, she likes the fat, so why would she give it up? But after dinner there were carved chunks of cow marble littering my plate. She moves her empty plate towards mine, looks at my plate, then back up to me.

Maybe she wants my fat?

I shrug.

Once more: push plate, look to plate, then at me.

I open my eyes wide, look into her daunting emeralds, open my mouth (just to that "I'm an idiot" point, not the "Toss something in here" point.), then shake my head.

She drops her shoulders, shakes her head, and repeats her previous gesture. This is the longest look we've shared since we first said "I love you." Too bad everything before "you" has been replaced with one less endearing word.

I know what she wants, but I'm not giving up easily. Besides, I'm not giving her extra points for misinterpretation. No, I'm Scottish, I'm stubborn, and I'll play this out. I stare silently back.

"Cosmo?"

Ha! One word penalty. Cosmo is our dog.

"Outside."

Three points for being obtuse. Besides I don't know if she wants to take the fat out herself or wants me to take it. All you need to do is ask. Say the words Babe! (ok, so I didn't think "Babe." sue me.)

Sigh, "Are you going to take the fat out to Cosmo?"

Complete sentence, 15 point penalty. And that's the game.

"Sure! That's a great idea." I'm a bad winner, I'll rub it in, "You should try talking, it comes in handy. It saved the cave man."

"No it didn't. He died."

"Well the ones who didn't talk died, they were eaten up because they couldn't communicate."

"They all died."

"Well yeah, but that wasn't until they met cave woman." Ok, I didn't say it. I wanted to, but I didn't. See though? That's the difference between then and now. A year ago I could have said it, What's more, I would have said it, and all would have been fine. In fact, she'd probably have said something like "too bad the cave women didn't take all of you out and save us the trouble." Then we'd have laughed. We don't laugh anymore. Everybody is busy replaying every word for hidden meaning.

The rest of the evening we watched TV, that's the only time we talk. Something about the electron radiation allows us to speak without worry. We critique acting and plot. We're experts. Tonight we watched an episode of Cold Case from our DVR. It's funny, in this episode a husband and wife were fighting, and their daughter confronts them. She says "You should stop fighting"

Dad says, "It isn't that easy."

Preach on brother man! Oh televised sage, tell me what I can do to save my marriage.

That’s when he says the stupidest thing I've ever heard. "Lets make popcorn."

What the hell? I missed the self-help chapter on "Popcorn: The bad marriage cure-all." Dude! Somebody dig Orville Redenbacher up and give him a Nobel prize; He's eliminated divorce! So, TV failed to answer our communication problems. Since "The Decision" it's been like this, and when we do talk, it's like running your knuckles through a cheese grater. This was a conversation from last week while driving to dinner:

Her: "They should watch what they abbreviate on their sign."

Me: "Why? What did it say?"

Her: "It said S-T-yeah that's an ok abbreviation-Paul E-V Episcopal church."

Me: "Yeah well I know what E-V is--"

Her: "Well so do I. but not everybody does."

Me: "Right, but they probably figure, that the people who don't know what it means, it won't matter. Although it is odd that Episcopalians would mark themselves as E-V they tend to be more inclusive."

Her: "They're Lutherans"

Me: "No, Episcopalians are different than--"

Her: "NO! the church is EVANGELICAL LUTHERAN!"

Me: "Oh, I thought you said they were Epis--"

Her: "NO! I said LUTHERANS!"

Me: "Oh, I heard Epi--"

Her: "I said LUTHERANS!"

Me: "I believe what you said, but what I heard, was Episcopalians."

We've become my grandparents without the 30 years of staying together. We've skipped the fun, and shot straight to senile. If we slept together, I could look forward to toothless snoring and, blanket stealing.

So now I guess I'm supposed to share a "good" memory huh? Well, it's all those times we were able to communicate. We used to be an awesome team. Before 2005, She could practically read my thoughts. She knew my moods, and she knew how to appease the inner belligerent child. And I could do the same. It was great, when one person was down, the other person was on their game. We were awesome! We could walk into a store, split, grab what we needed, and meet up at the checkout without duplicate items. That's what I loved, but even more, I loved that we didn't split up unless we needed to. We strolled through the store smiling at each other, laughing stupid sale signs, and running each other over with the grocery cart. One time we had a whole adventure just trying to find fresh fennel for a recipe. We searched all over town, and we found it. Together.

"I move with the movement and I have the touch..." -Peter Gabriel

"you got a haircut."

I'm not sure if it's a question or a statement. I answer appropriately for both, "a while back."

Well. Monday. But that's "while back" enough. How could she miss it? The last time I had my hair cut was in January. I remember it well. The sky was blue, the birds were singing, and it was the last time anybody touched me (until this haircut of course). Yes, and during this haircut there was an accidental rubbing. I'm all set for the next 3 months!

I wonder how long I can go without touch? I mean I'm a very touch oriented person. I've always thought of touch as kinda intimate. But I've also always thought it was necessary. It's like proof that the people around you do exist. Doubting Rob, that's me. Forgive me, I'm feeling a little alone in the world.

When was the last time my wife touched me? Early January just after New Years. Well technically that’s wrong. She has kissed me since. She continued kissing me up until late February. But that was not the standard husband/wife kiss. It wasn't even the public display peck on the lips. No, this was the kiss your parents made you give your fuzzy mouthed, hairy lipped aunt Sadie when she came to visit. Now I know how aunt Sadie felt. Sorry Sadie.

What's more, these kisses (the ones with my wife, go ahead and drop Sadie for now) allowed for no physical contact. My wife would lean in, hands either clenched into her side, or locked behind her back. Then the most delicate touch, her lips brush mine and are gone. It may not have even been lip to lip contact, maybe it was the push of air and wishful thinking touching my puckered mouth. I don't know, I think she'd have worn a radiation suit if the neighbors wouldn't stare. She cares a lot about image. I am sure she carried Listerine swabs for such kissing emergencies.

Oh, I'm not the angelic waif here either. I couldn't even look her in the eye after she mentioned she was considering a divorce. I was too afraid to let her see the hatred torching all fond memories and glazing everything personal. Maybe that's why she barely kissed me, the searing heat would have engulfed her in flame. Oh Joy! A Bar-B-Q….

A man can dream, can't he?

She doesn't kiss me anymore. The average evening goes like this.

***

Setting: A small office. It's night. A man and a woman sit at separate desks. The man continues to work on his computer, while the woman finishes a game of solitaire. She turns off her computer and walks to the door. Without looking back, the woman speaks.

Woman (monotone): I'm going to bed

Man: Good night. Sleep well. (The man looks up to see the woman exit.)

Woman: I will.

Woman exits. Man continues to work. He looks after the receding shape of his wife as she moves down the hall. Sighing, he turns back to his work.

***

Yup. Watch for us on the next Hallmark special. My wife will be the woman standing at the door yelling at the little kid, "Return the stupid shoes, it's too late. Your mother's dead."

Me? I'll be lying on the lawn making snow angels, staring at the stars, waiting to feel something. anything. Just a touch.

I'd like to end these entries with one good thing. I mean, no matter what, she isn't a monster. I married her for a reason. I didn't sign on for the seven year plan; I planned on forever. But as Prince sang "That's a mighty long time." But there were reasons I loved her, and still do, if I'm honest with myself.

We first met online, in 97. She lived on the west coast, and I was going to school just off the coast of Lake Michigan. I was playing music trivia at some AOL site, back when AOL had a deal with NTN. It made me thing I was in a bar drinking $5 beers rather than sitting alone in a cold dorm room drinking room-chilled Mountain Dew. Occasionally I'd hear my neighbors having sex, adding to the bar theme. Well sort of. Anyway, I'd be playing trivia, and I always kicked ass. I like music, and I was good at trivia.

Then one night a woman logged in and consistently finished just ahead of me. Did I mention I'm competitive too? So I'm playing, and she's beating me on the barely music related questions, like which model was dating what singer? Who cares? She did, and she beat me because of it. It didn't matter that I knew who sang what song, what CD it appeared on, and which studio it was recorded in. Nope. So I IMed her and told her she wasn't allowed to beat me. She returned my IM telling me what I could do with my inflated ego, and we fell in love shortly after. I visited her that spring for break. She was everything in person that she was online. She was smart, funny, and very secure in herself. We continued online and on phone for another year until I graduated, hooking up for every school holiday possible. We ran up $500 phone bills back in the days of 1010321. We talked a lot. She flew out for my graduation, and we drove back to her place. That's one of my best memories of her. Meeting her and getting to know her. That woman was happy and supportive. I did everything I could for her, and it was love. Not fairy tale love, but something more concrete, with the smudges and imperfections. That made it more real more substantial. At least that's what I believed.

Ok, I'm gonna go look for some touch. Does it count if I rub one of the cats? I mean in a purely plutonic way. Nevermind, I'll just let them sleep.

"Countdown to extinction..."-Megadeth

"If I can't stop hating you by August, I want a divorce." That's what my wife of 7 years told me the weekend after Valentine's day. I want to tell you that I was shocked, I want to tell you that I didn't see this coming, I want to tell you that it's all was just a misunderstanding. I can't tell you that.

"Okay…" That's what I told her.

She continues, "I don't want you to grovel…"

No need to worry about that.

She says more too. Apparently it's not enough to tell somebody that you hate them, you need to document it, support it with exhibits and labels of "you’re an asshole because," and submit that packet in triplicate, Or maybe this is a courtesy ritual reserved for the soon-to-be ex-spouse.

So I know what your next question is: "What did you do?" You'd have to ask her. The reasons she gave me don't seem significant. Then again, maybe that's the problem. I don't take my fatal flaws seriously enough. Still, what I did doesn't matter. Ignore it. What matters is that she's decided 7 years bad luck is the longest she wants to subscribe to Rob Daily. The end. If you need a reason, try this: Think of the most disgusting heinous act one person could perform to another outside the throws of passion, and without consent. That must be what I did to her. That's ok, every argument has at least 2 sides, so you could say she did the same thing to me too. We're even.

So what's even? Wasn't it JFK who talked about the fruits of victory being ashes in our mouth? Yeah, I've been spitting soot for months now; I feel freakin' victorious.

It took her a month to decide hating me didn't need to wait until August. She needed a divorce, but would wait to file. So right now we continue living together in holy acrimony. It's ok, we're like roommates. We talk about pop culture, I ask her about her day, and she nods and smiles when I talk about mine. The good news is she pays half the bills. I need that; I can't sell the house. She waited until after I refinanced our home to tell me she wanted the move out. I'm locked into a SERIOUS 3 year pre-pay penalty mortgage, in a soft housing market. She's thrown out the lube, and this is just forepaly. I'm screwed.

One thing the divorce has taught me is who my friends are. As soon as I reached out, people scrambled backwards, like I was a leper. Of my bushel of "friends," I now have 6 people I can talk to, and I'm related to 3 of them. The one person I used to tell everything, is now the one person I can't talk to about anything more than what happened on the last episode of Lost.

I've started this blog, because in cyberspace no one can hear you scream. I work at home, and I have limited (ok, NO) human contact; I need to vent somewhere. Even if nobody listens, my voice will float in the vacuum, propelled by a need for contact. Spinning into the void. I can pretend somebody will read, and that somebody will be suffering a similar catastrophe and need to hear a voice. Maybe my voice will make somebody else feel less alone. Right now I need to pretend I'm needed by somebody. My wife hasn't needed me since 2005. Maybe I'll get to that later. For now I have to go to work...