Turn the Corner Softly

Is it getting better or worse? There’s no way to tell. I turned 50 last week and hit 60 days sober the other day. What do you do when you’re faithfully married to someone you truly love, but you just keep falling farther and farther for someone else who you know has no interest? Who you know you can never have? Who helps you see all the things you aren’t getting at home. Who shows you how good it could be. Who shows you what it means to share feelings. What it means to listen to someone else. To really hear them. But why is he so fucking good to me? He makes me lovely gifts, sweet pictures. He knows the songs I love. He sent me a playlist he made inspired by a conversation we had. He hears what I say. He remembers what I say. I suspect it’s all just to be kind and support me through a rough time. He doesn’t love me like that. He’s just kind and generous. It’ll never be anything more than generosity, though. I’ve seen the girls he falls for; they’re young and talented and skinny and so pretty. I’m none of those things. None of them. He decided we’re starting a band with D to play at a rock party thing in another state in February. He started writing the songs already. Four that he’s sent me so far.  It’s my job to write lyrics and melodies. All the songs will likely be about him and how hard this all is for me. 

I thought I’d turned a corner earlier today. I was feeling hopeful about what lies ahead: this band, completing my dissertation, writing more, feeling possibilities in the world. But in these last few hours, I’ve backtracked. I just feel mired in the muck of this lazy marriage. It’s fine, but it’s not what I want anymore. This isn’t living. It’s surviving. It’s languishing. But it’s my own fault. If I want to change it, I have to do it myself. 

C. encourages me to be creative. D. encourages me to be patient while he’s creative. That’s the biggest difference. I’ll never be able to admit anything to C, though. It wouldn’t be right, but there’s a part of me that wants to say, “Hey, how would you feel about an overly affectionate platonic relationship?” I’d be afraid he’d be disgusted and our friendship would be destroyed. He’s got enough on his plate. He doesn’t need me banging on his door, too. Pay attention to me! Pay attention to me! I’m a fucking grown ass woman. I should be able to get a handle on all of this myself, but then he touches my hand and I fall apart again. 

He told me he’d like to find someone who respects his relationship with his son and doesn’t need to spend every minute with him. He travels a lot to zine/comic/art shows, rock shows, Disney stuff, so he’s often unavailable. He needs someone who’s ok with that for at least the next few years. That’s me. That’s ME! But I’m unavailable, too. 

Is this all just a phase? A midlife crisis? A wave that will pass like a cold front, sending the birds south with my hope. 

I wish I wasn’t so crazy about him. I break my own heart every day. Every goddamn day. For no reason. For a fucking fantasy. A childish one at that. I feel like a fucking fool.