The one that admits it is over, now that it is over, but at least it is over…

My wife and I  spent seven years madly in love. The problem is we were married ten years. It turns out that the last three years I was the only one madly in love.

She sat down with me sixty days ago and said she was not in love with me anymore. She was leaving me. It was over. She was unwilling to try to save what we had, unwilling to even talk about it except for a few hours where she spared me some moments. It was over.

I think I’m telling you this partially to get things straight in my head. Partially it’s my exhibitionist nature. Mostly I think this is the next step.

Sixty days is probably the world record for dismantling a life together. Suddenly I will never hold her, or kiss her. I will never be inside her again. I am not going to ever cry on her shoulder, or feel her tears on my cheek as I comfort her from some horrible tragedy. All this, I have lost.

It is Halloween, and she will be here in a few hours to collect the last of her stuff. I woke up and looked in the mirror, and have hated what I have seen for sixty days now. But she just now left with the last load. She and her brother have returned their keys. They are moving out together, and they are never coming back. They talked while moving stuff. They joked. They sounded so… happy.

Even at the last moment she would rather leave in silence, seeing me in pain, than offer even a moment’s comfort or a kind word.

But now I know.
I know it wasn’t I who stopped caring. It wasn’t I who focused more on myself than my partner. It wasn’t I who pulled away.
It is not my fault that she has left. It does not speak to my character that I wasn’t worth fighting to save.
In the end, I was a toy she had grown tired of, and because I could not be returned, resold, or trashed, she simply abandoned me.

I have discovered a secret: Love is given, and never received.
You may love, but understand it begins and ends with you. You can love deeply, madly, and wholly, but it does not effect the other person even a little. For what you show is not love. What you show is what is best in all Men. You show tenderness, and kindness, caring, forgiving, and mercy. Those are the gifts that reach past your own skin. What you feel is love, but these are what you do.

And by showing none of these, becoming distant, then cold, then mean, she has shown more than any proof created by scientists, lawyers or priests, that she does not love me. And because of that, I am crying, not for her, but for me.

And that’s OK, too. But what I do not need is tears. What I need is companionship. I need to remember that people can be forthright and relied upon. Hard lessons to remember, right now.

But the most important thing I realized is: Now I move on, because she cannot hurt me ever again unless I let her.

the one from the ground zero of my life

Ok, what those of you who follow me (as me) on facebook probably know and those that follow me (the author) do not is that my life has become interesting lately. The Chinese interesting. The one they curse you with.

My wife has decided she does not love me anymore, and nothing I have done has dissuaded her.

So she is leaving. I am still without a job, so paying my bills is now impossible alone. I need to figure out how to get some roommates fast that will not chop me up and leave me in a trunk somewhere.

This has blown my inner muse into confetti, meaning I have not gotten a decent wordcount in over a month, leading to all that brings: nightmares, insomnia, and weight loss (yay!) that was mostly muscle (boo!)
Now my publisher, which has had in reserve the sequel to my personal best seller is going through some restructuring and thus has delayed the only chance to get money flowing soon.

Also the S key seems to be failing on my only computer.
So.. I am living in interesting times.

It’s been a few weeks and I’m cried out. I’m panicked out.
I started by reviewing the file of Fox Crow II: The Opus Discordia.

I punched up the crow-isms and added some detail. Also found something I have to apologize for… but that’s another post.
But here is a post to let people know I have not given up. I’m getting back in the saddle.
Doing work, submitting work, planning for the future, releasing short stories, and getting things nailed down so I can FINALLY tell everyone when FCII:OD is coming…

So, I am wounded, but alive and kicking.

he one without a title

I have a secret.

I have a phoenix heart.

So many times it has been struck through the heart.

But it comes back, ever and ever, lighting the way unto my life with the pure power of creation.

But another secret…

Sitting before the furnace that lays dead and broken…

I don’t believe.

I don’t believe anymore.

The one where I facepalm…

Found this guy on youtube…

OK, and they never show bathrooms on the Starship Enterprise.
Just becuase it is not in the movie, does not mean it does not exist, but rather they decided to focus on other things.

I am getting less and less patient with the dumber intellectuals that are out there.
Come on. You are supposed to be smart. Think for a minute.

The one where I remember where it came from.

I had an update on facebook that went something like:
I am convinced everytime I come to the doctors office that I am going to have my feet cut off, and then I’m going to go blind before exit.‪#‎thejoyofirrationalfears‬

And others responded, glad that they had no such fear. One thought to offer a trigger event about this fear. Nice though the thought was, I remember when I gained my fear of hospitals and doctors. I was twelve.

My aunt (gone many years now) was an enormous woman. Tall, wide, majestic like a mountain… literally. She had been hospitalized with unknown unexplained ailments that still left her talking and breathing, and she was kind and she was nice, and so I was eager to visit her in the hospital with my mother. It turns out my Aunt had advanced diabetes and had not dieted, exercised, or taken insulin.

At all.
I remember walking into the room and the first thing that hit me was I thought of as ‘changing station sheets’ all over the floor. They are the little absorbent pads nurses used when I had a newborn family cousin to catch any spills when changing the little sucker. These, however, were on the floor, and they were as thick as a carpet. In the middle of the space between the beds there was a chair toilet. The other toilet was simply feet away, but the use of this wheeless wheelchair with a tub in the seat became clear from the bloody sears all over the pads.

I remember very clearly the pattern of gore all around the bed, lavatory chair, and staining the sheets. I started to breathe fast, and that was a further mistake. It stunk and nearly made my eyes water. Well it was at that moment my Aunt came out of the bathroom (the chair was too uncomfortable for a woman of her girth to use regularly) and hobbled into bed. The smell that was simply a hint underneath the antiseptic hospital fog and full time venting of the room detonated like a dead dog left in the sun for  a few weeks.

My aunt had feet the size and shape of footballs, massive, swollen and disfigured. The surface was pockmarked with sores, deep crater like things that oozed blood and pus.Have you ever been around someone who had an abscess drained? No? Let me tell you that the smell of pus is like the antithesis of everything living, and it was everywhere. Every step pressed more out of her feet, and the moment it hit the air it did nothing else but travel into the lizard parts of my brain and hit the “Run away” button so hard it broke. Permanently.


Yes, I kissed and hugged my aunt, and said all the things visitors say to people who are guests at the hospital. But after, I spent most of my time wandering the halls, away from the smell, not understanding the injuries I had seen, nor that the reason for them was a genetic hiccup that ran in the family.

I didn’t understand much, but I understood the smell. I understood the button.
Every doc who has seen me since I was 15 thinks I have high blood pressure.
Wonder why? 😉