Breathing my Mind into Your Face

It’s 6am on Friday. I can always do better also means nothing is ever good enough. This blessing and curse of my nature bit me in the ass last Saturday. My family was driving to the in-laws and my wife had a sense that I was annoyed with her. She asked if I was mad about something. I said I haven’t been having a very good time with her lately. As she continued to pry to find out why the more my mouth farted out the thoughts that typically remain isolated. It became more than a discussion about how I don’t like hanging out with her when she’s getting drunk like she’s been doing regularly, to me questioning our compatibility and love. I told her I pictured what my life would be like if I lived alone and only had the boys part-time. (The boys had their headphones on and hopefully couldn’t hear any of this.) When she asked if I wanted to divorce her I said I didn’t know. Then we arrived and had to pretend all was hunky dory for her parents.

We didn’t talk much over the course of the next 30 hours at the lake. I napped and slept in the separate bedroom downstairs, which isn’t uncommon. When we returned to the conversation back home on Sunday night I said that I didn’t think ours was a big love. I said our initial relationship had revolved around drinking and now that I didn’t do that we needed to find a new way to connect. She was pretty devastated to learn I maybe had never been in love with her. She wanted me to take it back or rephrase it so it wouldn’t be so hurtful to her. I did that on Tuesday after listening to a podcast from The Atlantic about when to fight for a marriage. My takeaway was that I’m not unique in having these thoughts questioning whether I chose the right person to spend my life with. I realized there is no perfect love. So I felt more heart palpitatingly in love with my first wife, was that better? She broke my heart. It’s my personality defect that I think there could be this ideal love out there somewhere for me. In reality I’d be lonely as fuck sitting in a shitty condo swiping right on hotties fifteen years younger for me in hopes of some strange poontang. That shit’ll never go platinum. I recognized that I need to work at what I’ve got and what I’ve got is pretty great. If I can do that instead of flee it’ll be better for me and my family. 

So by Thursday we’d righted our ship. We spent last night at an AirBnB on magic mushrooms. This was part of my push to try something new together after all the articles I’ve been reading about how it can serve as relationship therapy. We did have a top five intercourse experience and felt more connected. The adults only getaway continues through Sunday as we make our way to the northwest corner of Michigan to hang with old college roommates. I think things will be alright as long as I don’t give her a nervous breakdown.