"Let's just call it, call it, call it what it is…"-Incubus

MyWife,

You seem convicted in your march towards divorce, and I seem inept in my ability to communicate. So here's an email, because Post-Its don't stick to our fridge. I spent half the night trying, and they all slid underneath. They're still there; I ain't fighting the dust gibbon over them; he bites. I tried writing you with refrigerator magnets but there wasn't alot I could say with "languid," "frantic," and "ubiquitous" that hasn't already been said.

Then again, so many doors have been shut between us, that there isn't alot I can say anyway. If a divorce is really what you want, may I recommend you look into this:

http://www.completecase.com/

It appears to be the Turbo Tax of the divorce world, and is much cheaper than dueling lawyers. Well, much cheaper than even one lawyer. If we're going to be "friendly," this may be our best bet. Filing costs aren't included, but those are at most $350, that's still not bad, and would leave money for both of us to restock necessities.

It's just a thought,

Rob

I feel like such a coward. That's what I just finished writing. But she doesn't listen when I talk, and when she does, she interprets this whole world of neurosis into "pass the butter." I needed this to be clear—no interpretation. I think I wrote what needed to be said immediately; now it's in her hands. Well this thing has always been in her hands, but I digress.

By the way, thank you for the advice Azhira. After a little consideration I decided the Complete case thing may work best. MyWife is more the quick solution type. Pouring over actual law documents smacks of more time consumption than I'm worth. Ok, that was only a little self pity, let me brush the remainder off my chin.

Ok, back to the email.

I feel like a fifth-grader waiting for a fight. You remember how that worked? Some kid would do something to piss you off and you'd go "You're dead. At recess..." He'd glare back, translated as "It's on!" Then you'd spend the next half hour watching the clock tick towards recess, wondering if his spitting a jellybean on your desk was worth risking bodily harm.

What if he's got a knife?

What if somebody else jumps in?

What if I wet my pants?

These are all grave fifth grade concerns.

Tick, tick, tick...

You're locked in now, there's nothing you can do. That's how I feel. I'm locked in. I've pressed send. She knows I know she wants a divorce.

Divorce. I don't think I've even said the word aloud to her. I think saying it will expose the elephant, make it real. It is real. Like it or not.

Tick, tick, tick…

I wrote a poem several years ago about a girl I dated once. I reread it tonight. It's more about this now, then about that then. I'm gonna share. I know, you're all diving for the first clickable link. Anything but reading somebody else's bad poetry. I'll tell you what, squint. I'll change the font color. When you stop seeing red, poetry is over. Ready, here goes:

Waiting

I’m waiting for the axe to fall,

‘cuz I’ve got an axe to grind.

I’m waiting for the world to end.

I hope that you don’t mind.

Your eyes were once a beacon

I used to guide my soul.

Now in the dark my ship lies scuttled;

I’ve relinquished all control.

But oh! That words were flowers,

I’d still pen you a bouquet.

Yet neither rose nor prose will save me,

and my heart has lost it’s rhyme.

And yet I wonder, as I look around,

“What was all of this?”

A quick caress?

A coital mess?

A carnal alloy forged into a ring

of electroplated bliss?

I wore the ring , a talisman.

I displayed it on my hand,

and now my hands are green with envy

to a memory of days of dreams and plans.

But there was a moment.

Oh! That moment,

when you were love incarnate.

The seconds of sensation

where wonder and infatuation

were passionately intertwined.

But for the toys of Christmas and I

Time is not a friend;

the cheerful peals of laughter we wrought

we’ll never hear again.

For even the most loyal of toys

can’t overcome a child’s boredom in the end.

So I’m waiting for the axe to fall,

and I will no longer flee

I’ll put my neck upon that block

if that’s what sets me free.

Ok, I'm done. Sorry. Just being moody. I still have to wait for her to reply. Will she reply or will she just file it? Would that be worse than if I got up in the morning and found both our chairs in front of her monitor, and a cup of coffee waiting for me? Her smiling gleefully, tail wagging, the divorce page pulled up and ready to go, just like how we used to solve Myst puzzles all those years ago.

She can sit on my email for a while if she wants. I think that'd be easier to take.

Now it's all up to the wait.

Tick, tick, tick...