Initial Separation




I’m holed up in my studio. I’m a music producer and I built a post production suite over my garage. Normally at this hour I would be watching TV. But I don’t watch TV anymore. I used to watch so much, and each night was in part about what I would watch that night. And I would sit and drink and watch them. I could never get used to how soon 11pm came. Because then, nothing was on, and then I was chasing the dragon, anything but going to the marriage bed, that abyss of unrequited emotion.
And eventually, drunk and relatively painless, I had to go to bed where she lay, asleep, yet palpably resentful of a man who could not provide for her. Now, I realize that I did not provide for her in ways it never occurred to me to do so. Or her for me. Even in sleep, I felt the cold coming off her. That bed was like a coffin, without the peace. A prison, without ever really being convicted. No official verdict, but the sentence was life nonetheless. I guess the jury finally walked in now though. Not guilty, by reason of an insanity born of and cultivated by ennui.
She says she wants me to try and find someone else, and she is convinced she is not the love of my life. I don’t know if she is right, how could I? Love of your life? I would settle for love of my day.
So we are separated. And trying to put on a good face for our two children. The real loves of my life. And every moment feels alternatively like ascension and demise. But mostly, demise.