I like this painting from Gary Wick. It's called Choppy Waters. The sea is all messy and choppy and beautiful and colorful, like marriage and life and love and truth.
We agreed today that no matter what happens, we're not fighting. If I come home and there are five heroin needles sticking out of his eyeball, we're not fighting. If I ask him about the five heroin needles and he lies and lies and insists that they are not heroin needles, that he's just today been diagnosed with a special kind of eyeball diabetes, that ninjas sprang forth from the walls and attacked him with eyeball needles, we're still not fighting. And he promised that even if I come home and scream at him that I know there are heroin needles somewhere in the house and demand for him to show them to me in a complete fit of absolute insane hysteria, we're not fighting.
It's been a frustrating couple of days. We've had all this affection and fun and happiness and clarity between us, but it keeps getting kind of chopped up. We'll fight, acknowledge our urge not to fight, and then fight some more, and then apologize and make up, and then fight again. It's getting pretty exhausting, and so we declared No Fight Tuesday No Matter What. We can always fight tomorrow.
It's meeting night tonight, for fuck's sake. I'm ready for one. I miss my BFF, and I'm tired from a busy weekend. I'm behind at work, so I'm spending too much time in the office, which diminishes my time to take care of myself. I need to go on a long walk, but it probably won't be tonight. A meeting will do me good, though.