You Seem To Have Found A Way To Bring Me Down To Make Me See Just How the Problem Is Mine. If You Would Like To Be A Person Making Me Feel Worse, Well You Can Get Behind Me In Line

Happier times in Lahaina

The Worst Part Is.   .  .

Last night Leiney drove Abby to acting, and Jenny and I spent the evening together.  We planned to walk to Mio Posto on 55th and 35th and have dinner.  As we were leaving the person showed up who we gave the sleeper couch my mother had given us back in 2008.  (She bought it so she could spend the night at our Renton home and not drive down from Marysville 2x a week to care for the kids.  We schlepped it to California and back, to our apartment on Gwinn--where it sat largely unused in the giant sun room, and then here, where again, it sat largely unused in the office.  I guess I'm explaining because I feel terribly guilty about giving away this artifact-one last touch point connecting me to my mother's memory. Apparently, they hauled the couch on top of a car, we didn't stick around to see how that worked, but we know it did.)  We walked over to the bridge at Ravenna Park, when I realized I hadn't brought a mask--in fact I had had a mask in my pocket that I realized was Leiney's--she had been frantically searching for it before she and Abby left--and as Jenny and I were leaving hung it on a hook holding a ton of masks but neglected to get a replacement mask to wear.  Dumbass.  Anyway, so as we walk across the bridge I see someone coming from the other direction and instinctively reach for a mask that wasn't there. Funny thing is, Jenny too had forgotten a mask.  What a couple.  

We decided, or Jenny good-naturedly cajoled me, into continuing the walk and asking for masks when we got to the restaurant.  When we arrived, we realized that we had a dilemma. You can't enter sans mask to ask for a mask.  So, I called, and they brought them out--problem solved. The coolest thing about the evening is Jenny ate dinner without a hat.  I love her confidence.

Drinks

For the first time since COVID, Jenny and I had drinks.  Her drink was non-alcoholic. I had the house Manhattan.  Given the precarity of our situation, I am not sure me having a drink or three was the best idea, but it did loosen my tongue.  Earlier in the day (see text to the right) Jenny had sent me a link to a house on Zillow. Considering state of things, I was perplexed.  Because I have only been journaling recently, some background might be helpful. 

Jenny suggested last February that we begin looking for a home to buy.  I arranged a realtor.  We began looking for homes. She hesitated over and again.  She set up a boundary, which included Renton.  I found homes in Renton.  She decided that was too far away.  Houses were too cramped, too this, too that.  We were going all over the place, but she seemed particularly interested in Shoreline.  We found a home that she loved, a green home in Shoreline.  Then, she freaked out because Leiney wouldn't have a parking space.  Details.  It was odd.  Still, we got earnest money in the form of a cashier's check and.  .   . she dawdled long enough that she was diagnosed before we spent the money and purchased the house.  A month and some days later, I learned of the affair.  Surprisingly, or not, Eric the pinché motherfucker lives in Shoreline.  Motherfucker.

When she was diagnosed, she told her sisters that she wanted more than anything, for the kids and I to have a house.  They both promised--I was there--they would give her all of their mother's inheritance to allow us to put down a great deal of money.  They changed their minds.  Whatever.  It would have been nice, but buying a house with a cheating spouse, not high on my list of things to get too enthusiastic about.  We did share house listings for a few more weeks, but I stopped, and specifically said, "not sure this is the best idea."  I was being polite, I'm quite sure it was a terrible idea. Also, FYI, her sisters, after reneging, called me specifically, and not Jenny, telling me they thought the best thing we should do is to find another rental.  Thanks for the advice.

So, here we are. Out of the blue, she sent a home to me.  I am a bit schizo.  I admit I sent her a home a few weeks ago. But, I have better resolve, since I have gotten less delusional about the future, not to do this.  After I got the text, as evidenced by the screenshot, I suggested we discuss it at dinner.  So, after my first Manhattan, I raised the issue of the listing.  I asked her what she was thinking.  She wants a home for the family, she says.  I told her we didn't even know if we would be together after she goes into remission, and we don't even know how long we will be together if this illness continues alongside the affair.  She suggested we buy a duplex, even if we split.  With raised eyebrows, I explained to her that I am angry, and will be angry should we get to a point where she is in remission. Frankly, I have no interest in watching her gallivant around with Eric the pinché motherfucker.  Period.  I have no intention of spending my days with that pain in my face all the time. Nope.  

She was, bafflingly, shocked that I am angry, and expect to remain angry for a long time.  I pointed out that she is STILL having an affair.  That smell you are experiencing now is the gas from the light she then turned on.  "Eric The pinché motherfucker and I are just friends now, we barely get to see each other," she tells me.  Blah. Blah. Blah.  I scoffed, asking, "Do you talk every day?" Of course, then I had to go into lawyer mode when she tried to game her answer by saying they don't talk everyday, when she well knew that I meant communicate.  They text every day.  "Do you still tell each other 'I love you' every day via text?  She started to deny it, and I said, "The last time I could check, 3 weeks ago, you still were."  She was angry I had looked at her phone, the same one she said I could look at any time I wanted.  I then explained that I would remain angry and am angry every day.  I noted she never can tell, I don't show it, but it is the case.  

She then dramatically announced we should split up, that she doesn't want to be with someone who is angry all the time.  I asked, A) "Isn't it true I never show my anger?" and B) "How would you expect me to feel about the fact you are having an affair?" She admitted to the first, and gave no answer for the second.  

I was not done.  I asked her if she thought about what she is teaching our kids by this behavior, this affair?  I had an affair, it was a mistake, and I stopped.  She is having an affair, and refuses to stop.  She has convinced herself that these are equivalent, and I am sure she paints it that way to others. 

I also pointed out she had an affair with Jason, which she admitted then and denies now, but never gets angry when I make the claim--go figure.  Also, Moni told me Omi thought they were having an affair at the time, as did Leiney, who asked me about it the day she found out about Eric the pinché motherfucker. So, you do the math.

It got heated.  Jenny decided she was going to leave. She got up, put her hat on, put her coat on, and then I opened my phone case to show her I didn't have my debit card.  She sat back down, and I insisted we stop talking about these matters absent our therapist.  It was hard, but eventually we managed to stop, I had another Manhattan with dinner and we had amazing dessert.  My debit card happened to be in my pocket, a lucky stroke. I'm glad she didn't leave.  After a limoncello, I was too tipsy to readily walk home, so we took an Uber and the night ended well, oddly enough.

Palliative Chemotherapy

During the night, prior to the sturm und drang, I got a wakeup call on my denial.  I had believed, without evidence, that there is some magic possibility that Jenny could achieve no evidence of disease ("NED") status.  Jenny explained patiently, that all of the doctors have said there is no possibility of a cure.  I had believed, incorrectly, that she could go dormant at least.  But no.  The best hope is to stop the growth and spread of the cancer.  I have done so much research, have read so much, I just had it in my mind that some miracle could happen.  Jenny doesn't believe this, but is hanging her hope on stasis. For me, the crazy disconnect is, I have explained over and again to people since the advent of this journey that palliative chemotherapy is not curative, but still my mind was not there. So, remission is a pipe dream. I have talked about it a lot, even in this journal entry, but its like talking about grumpkins and snarks.