I’m wearing my ring again. The wedding band that I designed. I designed mine, and she hers, and they were joined by a theme. Does that mean that we designed them, or did we each bring them about to mean different things?

Jody has asked me not to give up. She’s asked me not to keep moving on the path of letting go. She sees these things that are going on, these things that I have accepted as grim and unavoidable, as aberrations of behavior and personality. Our mutual friends have echoed this. This is not like her, they say. This makes no sense. Why does she become angry when holes are poked in her logic, instead of re-thinking? Why is she living so fast and hard? Why is she acting like life is the monitoring of servers… give everything just enough attention to shut it up.

Jody has not yet been asked to untie her knot. This contradicts what I thought I knew. My sister (in law… she calls me her brother, without the added two words. Is she my sister, then?) tells me that she has decided that she will not untie her knot unless we both ask. We must both ask Brandy for divorce. I told my wife (she is still) that the only reason that I would do this is because this is something that she must do to be happy, to be herself.

She was angry with me already. This did not help. She glared at me, saying that we would have to have “that talk…. again.” Again? I’m certain that I have an understanding of the time line, and that it does not suffer the usual failings and generalities of my memory.

At every step of the way, she decided on her own. She did not include me in her thoughts, in her ruminations… when she finished thinking, she presented me with an ultimatum. Polyamory or divorce. I would not choose divorce. I told her that while I could not deal with her showing physical affection for others, it would be foolish for me to think that I had any power over whom she loved. Marriage is commitment, and I was committed to her.

She began to think. Her frustration came from our lack of intimacy. I told her that there was some distrust, from the last time we came close to parting ways. I told her that the things she did made me not like her, though I loved her. They made me less likely to feel intimate. I told her that when I did approach her, she was not as in the mood as she claimed, and would rebuff me. Feeling rejected and confused (had she not said that she wanted this?), I would turn over, and then she would be angry at me for not cuddling. Then she would feel angry at herself for strong-arming me into cuddling with her.

The things she did… starting things and not completing them, not doing what she said she would do, driving wildly, driving without insurance… she decided that she needed to find out if she did these things that made me dislike her because they are a part of her, or if she did them to spite me. She suggested a separation, a few months staying here in Michigan before coming out to California with me. I thought about it for a day, and decided that if this was what must happen to save our marriage, then it should be. I told her such, but I said that I still could not deal with her sleeping with other people. This angered her. I asked her why she needed to sleep with other people, if her intentions were to determine who she was without the influence of other people. She says that it is an external restriction, and defeats the purpose of her discovering who she is. I said that what she wanted was outside of marriage, to me. It was not_marriage, as opposed to marriage. This is our fundamental disagreement. This is what is causing our divorce.

Scott says that what she’s asking is outside of our commitment. He believes that were we to change this fundamental nature of our marriage, another wedding would be in order. He thinks it’s that different.

Lauren says that you can’t put marriage on hold.

Geoff says that marriage is a thing, it can’t just stop like that and start up again.

Jody says that she has not been this frustrated by her daughter in a very long time.

Eric, Scott, Lauren, Geoff, R. Chris, Ken, Jay, Brandy, Jody, Emily, Kelly, Alex, Anne, Scott K, Bob… so many are making certain that I do not feel alone. They make certain that if I need something, I will have it. They are worried about me, and they are the best people… every time I tell this story (and I’m certain that I’ve forgotten a few), more people tell me that all I need to do is contact them, and they will be there for me.

I have told the story so many times, but I haven’t told my parents yet. I haven’t told my brother. I am so frightened of the finality of telling them. If I tell my family, it makes it even more real. How can I fight it once I’ve told them? How can I hold out hope? They are the real world, after all. I’m here, living in my dreams and fantasies, and they have to deal with the real. If I bring it to them, this thing touches the real.

This thing.

My divorce.

I don’t want it to happen.

I wonder, sometimes, if it’s better off if it does. And that makes me shrivel up inside myself.

It was almost a week before I stopped wearing my ring. I was attending a handfasting. I’ve been such a hermit lately, and it was incredibly short notice. Still, I felt an urge to go, so I made the time.

I had gone to Meijer’s to pick up some food, as it was potluck. Not much better than kettle chips. Anyway, I parked in the driveway, and just… froze, I guess. I was staring at my ring, and I didn’t even realize it. It felt wrong to wear it into a ritual setting, especially one that was a joining of lives. It felt like I’d be lying to them, to myself, and to the gods. I took it off and dropped it in the cup holder in the car, amongst the pennies that she keeps there.

I didn’t get in the car all Sunday, and any of Monday morning. By the time we were heading into work, I was panicking that somehow the ring would no longer be in the cup holder. I was deathly afraid of it getting lost or stolen. My chest would tighten up any time I thought about it.

Another cliche, used over and over again because it’s true. Used so much that the intensity of its meaning is lost until experienced.

The ring was still there. I’ve been carrying it around in my pocket, next to my keys and change. You can hear it clink when I walk, usually. The ring has always had such an amazingly clear sound… I don’t know what to do with it. Do I bury it in the yard, leaving it behind with the house? Do I take her suggestion, and have it melted down into something else, into a new meaning? A new significance? Do I pawn it, and get some practical use out of it, and hopefully let someone else attach meaning to it?

I keep thinking that this would all be so much easier if could just get out to California, and start with the moving on.

I thought that I was done with that last one. I’ve been sitting here, chatting, and realized that there’s more roiling around down there. In the tempest, if you’ll allow me the pretension.

The night that we came to the big impasse, and the word divorce was first said with a sense of finality, she went out driving. I let her go. When she left, I started to shudder, and tears overwhelmed me, and I started to sob. Really sob, like can’t-control-your-limbs sobbing. Like when you’re twelve and get turned down by that girl you like, or when you realize that you’ve thought for a long time that your wife doesn’t really care about you.

I stopped it. It was too much pain, and I REFUSED to admit that this was done. I decided that sleep would be less painful (red flag) and I went upstairs to go to bed. I got to the top of the stairs, my dog looking at me with those “gimme pettin‘” eyes, because he knew that I needed comforting. He’s just lucky that he gets to express love by getting it. I started to break down again. All of the cheese phrases about hugging yourself, about feeling yourself break deep down, about abandonment, about the cold depth of being alone… they’re easier to dismiss when they’re cheese.

It sucks ass when they’re true. When they’re real. It took me a bit, but I recovered, and went to bed. I lost myself to sleep and dreams, and I woke up feeling better. It was another day, I was in bed, and only mildly disturbed that she hadn’t come up to bed that night.

I got myself around, went through my pattern (patterns are so comfortable and reassuring), and didn’t get shocked out of it until I saw her ring finger. Empty.

It was so quick. Did she doubt? Did she just toss them away like they were worthless? Do they carry chains and cuffs instead of love? We designed them, they’re unique. Both hers and mine.

Did she pause, like I did, and stare at them, wondering what the shit was going on? Did she ask herself how she got there? Did she regret? There’s too much wall to know for sure, and it’s no longer my place to ask.

Last night, we were finally going to bed at the same time. She wasn’t going out to a party, wasn’t going back in to work, and wasn’t staying up to read Harry Potter. I come up to the bedroom, find her dressed, laundry basket in hands, and her pillow on the top.

She headed for the door, and I asked why she had her pillow. She said she was taking it downstairs. I asked her if she was sleeping on the couch, surprised, and she answered with, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to sleep in the same bed.”

The last time that we had slept next to each other, even after she had stopped wearing her rings, we had both slept as we had before. Undressed, and close to each other. She had inched toward me, and cuddled me. I was taken aback, because she had put up so many walls between us. She told me something about there not being anything wrong with still cuddling. I pressed back against her, letting myself drown in the feeling.

How many more chances like this was I going to get?

Looks like none.

I still think that there’s a chance that this isn’t going to reach its conclusion. I still hope to avoid divorce. I understand, logically, why we are doing this. I don’t like it. It scares me, and I am questioning myself at every turn, because if I were cool, she wouldn’t be leaving me. If I were good. And that’s the looming depression over the horizon, the mind weasel nibbling away at my confidence.

She is my wife. Why doesn’t that mean something?