Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn

Entry 1

Soooo, I have been in a hotel for 11 days. I am going with Abby to her sleep study tonight, and then tomorrow will begin staying for a month at an airbnb at 65th and 35th.  Jenny still refuses to stop seeing Eric the pinché motherfucker.  I finally realized this means she has chosen him over me.  I'm a bit thick at times, and more of an optimist/idealist than I realized. I have been coming home each day to care for Jenny, and will continue to do so. She is angry whenever I leave. I can't take her anger, the constant texting, the sneaking off and the overt time spent with el pinche rather than with the kids or me.

The kids seem to be doing ok, they still see me every day and that will continue.  I apologized again to Leiney for moving out, and she assured me that she doesn't think this is my fault.  Abby is a cipher.

Sadness comes in waves, sneaks in when I least expect it.  If home with the girls, sans Jenny, I am content.  Given that I literally never know which Jenny I'm going to get when I see her, I have begun to dread seeing her. She can be so mean, she who I wait on hand and feet, she who has rejected me for another, but is angered I won't share her bed and want to distance myself from her emotionally.

Crazytown

Yesterday, Abby and Jenny picked me up at the hotel around 11--Abby driving (having just finished practiced her freeway driving).  It seemed normal enough, the pickup--not at all like last Sunday when Jenny ran away after flipping out over my moving out and demanding to know who (no one) I am seeing.  She came back in the evening, which ended that incident.  Anyway, yesterday Abby had acting on Mercer Island in the afternoon, and Leiney drove her. This left Jenny and I alone at the house.

After they left, Jenny shifted her mood to this:

She said she was having a panic attack.  She wasn't.  She, instead, was pouting and throwing a fit that I would not move back home.  Her standard theme, that nothing has changed between us, and therefore I should just pretend Eric the pinché motherfucker doesn't exist, was her chief argument.  Batshit.  I explained that, as our therapist pointed out, nothing has changed for her.  Everything has changed for me.  Everything.  I acknowledged that both of us had failed to fix the problems in our marriage before I discovered the affair, and that I got serious about fixing the existing challenges when she was diagnosed.  

She holds my conversion on the road to Damascus against me, because her story is she tried to fix it and I refused. I pointed out that having an affair for over 3 years is hardly trying to fix this.  I also again referred to our therapist pointing out, as I have consistently done, that we got here together.  Her affair is a choice, not driven by me, but achieved through her own decision-making.  Her narrative is that it is my fault. It is all my fault. She had no choice.

She is like a dog on a bone.  She will never concede a point, and is so dishonest in her arguments that it hurts.  I have to go into hostile witness mode with her to get any truth from her. When I said I am sure you talk to Eric the pinché motherfucker everyday in response to her saying she barely sees him, she said that isn't true, he is often home and can't talk (because that would fuck up his marriage).  I then had to be very precise.  "I  am sure you text him everyday."  I know she does.  And, she didn't deny it.  She talks to him every day. Last week, in her weekly goal statement she writes to her therapist, she wished Eric the pinché motherfucker was single. I read all of her correspondence. It never reflects the unreality she weaves for me. It must be frustrating that  I see through it now, having been such a fool for so very long.

 I am shit to her.  I don't get it.  Just writing this is soul crushing.  I want to run out of the house and not come back.  It's time for me to go walk.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Life, A Cascading Series of Disappointment

Image
Jenny has cancer.  Terminal cancer.  We learned that in late July. Jenny had  dropped 25 lbs. in the spring without trying.  She had been having vague stomach complaints since October.  As a balm for her concerns, her doctor agreed to do a CT scan for her, but told her they would find nothing.  Jenny wanted to rule out pancreatic cancer, which had recently killed her dad-in the spring of 2019.  Her mother had been sick with lymphoma since February 2020.  The day of the scan, the doctor told Jenny they would get results back in a few days. When Jenny's phone rang that same afternoon, I was in the living room with Abby, where I was torturing her by playing the Rapping Duke on Youtube. Jenny shouted from the room, "Geoff, get in here, the doctor's on the phone." "You have a four cm. mass on your pancreas,"  he said. Jenny made a sound like someone had punched her in the stomach.  "There is a spot on your liver. You have a necrotic lymph nod...
Read more

Still Muddling Through Somehow

Image
At the park, I walked my dog through the rain this morning— not really proper rain— more like air that has decided to shrug water at you out of habit. It suited my mood well enough. As I walked, my thoughts kept returning to the same small universe they often do. They are not new thoughts. They orbit the same losses. They consider the same betrayals, the same questions that never resolve. They have been captured, these thoughts, never to escape, never to be forgotten, never to burn up in the atmosphere. It is simply the gravitational field of my life now. What might seem or feel like self-pity is more like muscle memory, which tells me I need more exercise. The holidays are here, and Christmas has always been central to my life, atheist that I am. It was stitched into Jenny’s life — the love of Christmas — at least as strongly as it was stitched into mine. We carried that love forward with the kids, year after year, without ever needing to talk about why it mattered; it just did. I...
Read more

Don't Do It, Don't Do It, Oh, Lord

Image
It Hurts, It Hurts So Bad.  .  . 3:44 a.m. I walked in the door last night at just before 10 to find Jenny in a ball on the floor--between the giant ottoman and sectional--agonizing pain in her hip. I had ridden to acting with the student driver.  But, let's back up. Jenny had chemo yesterday.  Her friend Jennifer took her.  It was uneventful and she received chemo.  I, as always, prepared the house for her arrival to make sure she wanted for nothing and would be comfortable as she endures the aftermath of all that poison.  Sometime before she came home, she texted, saying the doctor suggested she try Aleve for her hip pain.  Aleve.   She asked me to pick some up for her while Abby was at acting.   During the text exchange I realized she would be alone after Abby and I left for acting.  Leiney was elsewhere and had therapy at 5 and kickboxing later, and her sister Moni had bailed on chemo because she had so much to do (Wit...
Read more