.

.

... failing miserably

10.24.2003 // 3:19 pm

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So DC and I are on the phone and he's complaining about his marriage... again. He's talking about leaving... again. He's trying to gauge just how traumatizing it will be for their daughter... again. Eventually it got to be a little frustrating. So here's what ended up happening.

He calls me up and tells me, "I told wifey I'm not happy. I need more."

So I ask, "What did she say?"

He goes, "I don't know I just kinda tuned her out after I said what I had to say."

"Um. okay. So why bring it up if you're not gonna have an actual conversation about it??"

He says, "It don't matter. It was prolly gon be something I didn't wanna hear anyway."

So we start going back and forth about it when I realize I' m perpetuating the madness by even talking about this with him. So, I shut up. But he couldn't leave well enough alone. He goes, "All I know is, if this don't work out, I'm not doin this shit again."

I don't really know why, but in that instant I just got so friggin pissed. Like... what the fuck do you you want?? Infact I asked him, "DO you even know what you want?"

He answered, "I don't know. I thought I did, but I don't any more. I know I'm ready to leave though."

Nucca please. IF it don't work out?? You just said you were ready to leave. How you gonna try and convince me---or better yet---WHY try and convince me you leavin when you know good and well you ain't goin no damn where?? I got hot. I felt like he just wanted to think out loud and said, hey...why don't I let Mac listen...she always does.

It got to me though, so I came at him straight, "Can I be honest? I really do fell like you ain't goin no damn where."

He didn't like that. "What?"

"I said, you ain't leavin. Look how long you been there complainin about the bullshit. If you was gone really leave you woulda left by now. You can't deal with the uncomfortability of your life bein different. So what its fucked up right now? You're used to that shit. Change scares you. You ain't goin no where. If your marriage ever ends, it'll be because she gets fed up and leaves you."

I'm thinkin he either he didn't know what the heck to say or wanted to cuss me out so damn bad he couldn't get the words out. So all I got was, "Oh yeah? Aight homey." Then nuthin.

So now I'm feelin like, damn...maybe I shoulda kept my two cents to myself. So I shift gears real quick and come with, "You know what you guys' problem is? You never want to work on your marriage at the same time. When you wanna get real, she ain't tryin to see you. And when she wants to work on it its usually at a time when you out doin ya thing and actin like you don't give two shits about what's happenin in your house."

Apparently that wasn't a very popular opinion either. "Oh really?? And when exactly did she wanna work on it again? When did she want to work on it and I didn't??!"

So I begin explaining to him that a woman who no longer wants her man doesn't go through his pockets, count his condoms, call numbers in his cell phone; that kinda shit. "Sure she's fuckin some other kat, but its not like you're faithful. So, you can't use that as proof that she don't care about the marriage no more. You out doin ya thing yet you still call me up and complain about ya marriage all the time"

"Oh. I talk about it that much, huh man?"

"Yeah...pretty much."

It was somewhere here abouts that the conversation ended. He said he'd call back. He never did. I'm not surprised.

You know what's real ill? The fact that this is not even a sexual thing for me. That's too bad. At least if it was, I could blame it on hormones or lust or something. This is purely emotional on my part. It's that, so called, connection I'm trying to hold on to with him (and failing miserably, thank you very much.) I'm being supportive but not being supported. I am clear on not wanting an intimate relationship with him at all, but then I end up with a screw face when he talks about the next chick. Honestly, I can't even fault him for his confusion. Truth be told, I don't know what the fuck I want either.

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