I've written volumes since Wednesday.
I've posted nothing.
I'm still thinking. I'm still veering wildly between shock and rage. This is a good thing, trust me. I don't know what comes after this and I don't want to. I'm so not ready to talk about Jacob breaking promises that he should have kept. I will never be ready to be alone like this.
Luckily tonight I don't have to be alone. I just put the kids to bed (shesstillfunctioningwow) and put the Leafs game on TV and Joel is bringing over Portuguese deli and Jack Daniels. We're going to stuff our faces and watch the game and split the bottle and lament the effort people foolishly invest in love. With any luck I'll be asleep drunk by nine.
Oh, but we're not bitter.
(I think he might be bitter, I don't know what I am yet, it's entirely too soon.)
I wonder how many people get to share an evening like this with their former psychoanalyst.
