My ex-wife's grandson hit a 104.7 fever, and she was not amused when I mentioned that was the frequency in MHz for KZZP in Phoenix in the '80s.
Like, when you've heard a jingle often enough, you can't just hear "104.7" and think "this is a terrible fever."
He's got Covid. Of course they didn't immunize him, because, well, I didn't marry for intellect. I'm not calling my wife an idiot; she just needs a bit of hand-holding to believe that she's come to the rational conclusion on her own.
It's somewhat excruciating to watch from afar. But once we start heading down the path of bad decisions that get us to this point, you'll be bored, and it won't excuse a fucking thing.
I'm feeling a pull back to her. She, back in 2009. warned me this would happen. She said that people somehow decide to be in her orbit, and she didn't understand why.
I know why, but ... no one else does. This ends up being a problem, as it makes our reconnection look arbitrary.
Over the course of 16 years, you learn to know what your partner is thinking, even if they haven't quite grokked it. You're ready to respond to the question that hasn't yet been asked.
I have been of late haunted by the image I see when trying to sleep. I'm at her door, crying and crumpling into a crouch, and I look up at her, and she kisses me deeply and then invites me inside.
I'd not head there if crying in reality, but I dislike the implication, because with her, we know how to make shit work.
For very brief periods of time.
Nonetheless, we are seemingly stuck with each other. Neither of us has found a better alternative in a fucking decade, which is twice as long as we were married.
We still do not use each others' names. If there's one thing that really stands out about our interaction, it's that names are the knives-out last resort. If we've gotten to names, someone's likely sleeping on the sofa.
And yet, though I don't want back into some fresh hell, I can't pull away from the other half of me. The one I can't feel via touch because it's just another limb.