Last Wednesday, I worked on getting my mother-in-law moved into the house. It was quite a day; as none of us have a car larger than a four-door coupe. Nothing was boxed, either. There were a few close calls with chairs and smaller furniture pieces almost leaping out of trunks, but everything made it through with only minor nicks. We had loads of room around the house. The wife had been donating 'gently loved furniture' to local groups.
Yep. We all slept like the dead on Wednesday night.
Thursday, I was contacted by the office of an "R.T."; the good Dr. Tan. I had a 10 a.m. appointment that had been set up by my wife. Tan is a Reality Therapist, which is a kind of Cognitive Behavioral Therapist that deals with a real-world approach of planning and implementing social interaction. My wife had apparently stepped up her game plan. Apparently, there is a head shrinking element in her benefit package.
After the rage subsided, I decided to jump through the hoop. We spoke for an hour, then I came home to a letter.
Dearest Ian;
I am writing this in the hope that you will see the error in judgement that you have made in regard to your home, family, and promise to me. I cannot believe that this man who worked so hard to woo me, to promise his eternal Love to me, to surround me with the wonderful children who are in our lives; would choose a BOOK over a real LIFE.
I understand that the past months have been difficult for you. It must be traumatizing to have dedicated your mind and time to a job, only to have it taken away from you through a single error in communication. For this, I am truly sorry.
However; you MUST return to your feet and take care of your family. We are supporting you, just as you have supported us in the past. It is time to let go of the past and look to the present. Look to the future! We are all right here!
I would have spoken to you about the contents of this letter face to face, but you would have stared blankly at me and return to your basement. What is the point of breath and emotion when the person whose eyes you are seeking can only see ink and paper? This letter is my Final Go at this topic. I am tired of crying. I am tired of feeling cut to the bone.
You know something? I just don't care. I'm tired of trying. That's why I've turned you over to a doctor. I've moved your clothes, some furniture, and your precious writing over to an apartment on West Street. The key and brochure is enclosed. You are paid for the next six months. Go be a lump. Beg someone to feed you. I just don't care anymore. I've spoken to my attorney and have begun divorce proceedings.
Enjoy your life alone. You know where to reach me whenever you decide to TRULY return to the real world.
-Erica
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