kvetching up

 Entry 1     9:56 a.m. That Jenny is dying and having an affair and refusing to stop (or now even acknowledge or admit it), and is angry that I have facts that contradict her claims and her lies, but has no real contrition for the behavior, these are all hard things.  It is tough enough to have to deal with just those things. That she alternates between denial and acceptance is understandable, most of us would likely be there--I can't see any reason I wouldn't be wrestling with that every day.  But the madness of the illness and naked manipulation that she uses in an attempt to ply compliance to her demands is, well, remarkable. It is shameless.   Just after she returned from the hospital, one night at bedtime, she was wracked with pain. It was the kind of pain that makes you act like someone has run an andiron through your right eye and prodded it out your left ear. She had had her regular pain meds, we had worked through the rescue pain meds, a ...

You can't write if you can't relate Trade the cash for the beef for the body for the hate And my time is a piece of wax falling on a termite That's choking on the splinters --from Loser by Beck I wanted to avoid madness.  The days have been so calm.  But it wasn't to be.  Monday evening was nothing special.  Just Jenny, Abby and me doing our evening routines. Jenny surfing Facebook and texting with the pinché motherfucker, Abby writing songs and playing her guitar in her room, and me my head in the clouds, thinking all was quiet on the western front.  It wasn't to be.  Jenny, sitting in a corner of the sectional, said to me, "I just want to warn you I think I'm going to have a breakdown."  I didn't move to comfort her, although she made it clear she was on the knife's edge.  I'm not sure why I didn't move to comfort her. No matter, I just didn't.   She began to cry, a deep inconsolable cry, tired of living with a terminal illne...

  Lest We Forget The feelings of grief, anger, and betrayal after the discovery of the affair have made me see the world through a cataract eye.  Nothing is clear or concise.  There are no clearly defined borders.  There is no good or evil in this story.  Jenny isn't a child eating ogre who is never kind to me, who lashes out in anger all the time. She presents, generally, as loving and kind, even when texting with Eric the pinche motherfucker.  She is, though, intentionally choosing to do something incredibly painful to me, and doesn't care enough about me to stop hurting me every single day.  That she acts lovingly toward me just fucks with my head. She walks around seemingly oblivious that the fact that she refuses to stop the affair while she is dying makes me feel like I am standing in a wind tunnel on a bed of nails. This dissonance, both cognitive and emotional, makes me feel all the more like I have lost the plot here.  I love her. I car...