I finally had The Discussion aka “WTF do you actually want?” with my estranged spouse. She’s been avoiding the topic like a greased weasel in a lubricant factory, so I was woefully unprepared when she actually agreed to talk to me.
Of course, when I fetched up against the expected wall of non-committal grunts and shrugged shoulders, I felt it was time to ask if she wanted me to give her the D. And by that, I mean “Divorce”. What followed were several hours of such unhinged behaviour, it was reminiscent of the great brass shortage that plunged the cabinet-making industry into chaos.
The following day, I was bombarded with a string of lengthy text tirades, which I wasn’t able to respond to because she blocked me from replying. When I finally managed to sneak one in before the virtual portcullis came down, I wanted to make it count, so I kept it to a simple suggestion that she seek professional help. Somehow this penetrated the thick layer of batshit enveloping her mind and hit home. It seems to have altered her trajectory from a headlong plunge towards self-destruction to one that approaches a lot closer to reconciliation.
Oddly enough, now that the beatings have stopped, morale has improved. Don’t tell my manager or his head might explode.
