Things fall apart

The center cannot hold.

I know that poem is about war, but it feels about right.

I have an interview with a school in Springfield Oregon on Monday, which should make for a pretty long day.  If they offer me the job, I’m going to take it.  I will be 5 and a half hours from her[e] and by myself (but there’s nothing new about the latter).

This really isn’t how I pictured myself or what my life would be like at 27.  I figured I would have a steady job [no], a wife who was in love with me [nope], a dog [ok, yeah], and maybe a kid [not in the foreseeable future].  I thought I would respect myself [nah] and that I would have the respect of those around me [no].

Instead, I find myself scrambling to put things in order – the death of a relationship seems to be just as complicated and messy as the death of a person.  Splitting up the banking accounts, shuffling around car titles, deciding who gets what.  I guess it is a death of sorts.  A relationship collects a lot of fragments, odds and ends, baubles, and quite a bit of dust over the course of a decade.  Disturbing that dust is like exhuming everything that used to be the reason for doing anything.

I love her, and I doubt that will ever stop.  But this is the result of my temper and my previous actions so I have nothing and no-one to blame but myself.

This is all public, she could read it if she really wanted to.  Part of me wonders if she does.