He didn't want to talk about it...

...but I didn't want to ignore it. Funny, that. Since it's the total opposite of usual for us. I'm the ostrich of the family, either sticking my head in the sand in avoidance or simply pretending that everything is just fine. Which is easy to do when you are a task-oriented, compartmentalizing, bookworm who can find just about a thousand things to think about and do that are NOT the things one SHOULD be thinking about or doing.

We went to dinner last night, because he's still sick (actually...our whole family has the cold-plague right now) and emotionally exhausted, so he didn't have the energy to cook. I never have the energy to cook because, well, I don't like to.

We went to our regular place and then came home and got the kiddo to bed. He asked me if we could put off our conversation (we were supposed to talk about our big "divorce fight" from the weekend). I guess he was planning to just sit on the couch, drink beer, and play video games to get his mind off what was bothering him...or rather, to wallow in what was bothering him, because that's what he does.

In a very uncharacteristic move, I said I wanted to talk. I didn't want to avoid it or put it off because limbo is a worse fate than hell, and I'm not interested in hanging out there anymore. Besides, I've prepared myself the best I can for the worst. I'll say that's one good thing counseling has provided me this year, the strength to face all the possibilities and the knowledge that I'm strong enough to make it through any of them.

So, we talked. Calmly. And basically, without going too far back into our history or too deep, it comes down to this. We are tired. We love each other. We don't seem to know how to make each other happy. Each of us provides the other this huge part of ourselves that makes life great, and then this small piece that makes the other miserable. And that small piece is the problem, because it's like a pea under the mattress. It becomes huge, and it is impossible to ignore. It's not just about our sexual incompatibility anymore, it's about our ability to accept one another's faults and weaknesses. It's about not feeding the most central core of the one we love most. It's about starving souls. My not wanting him and desiring him in that uncontrolled, passionate, chaotic way that makes him feel alive and strong and virile is crippling to his essence. And my inability to measure up, to bend and twist myself into a woman I'm not to avoid losing him is not only wearing me out emotionally, it's consuming me with guilt and desperation.

Basically, the golden nugget of our conversation was two-fold.

One: We love each other beyond measure. Deeply. But the catch-22 is that we are miserable together and will be miserable without each other.

Two: I'm not sure what to do now...try to hold on, or prepare to let go.

There was no definitive conclusion to our conversation. The holidays are here, and with both our families nearby, a young son, and all the expectations that come with that, we decided to put off any "decisions" until January. Of course, that makes the coming month look like a fabulous time filled with fake smiles and white lies just to keep the peace around us. But, neither of us have the heart to destroy the holidays by announcing our split. Besides, neither of us is willing to say it's over yet, either.

We're hanging onto the edge of the cliff, for dear life, incapable of letting go of everything we've both worked so hard to build. It's the climax of a long and rocky love story. The turning point. And I'm not sure what's going to happen next.

Imperfectly yours,