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ironduke50

Member Since 2009

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Wednesday Aug 12, 2009

Aug 12, 2009
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It was my 30th birthday. In my small house I sat glumly, without anticipation, miserable and dejected. We were at the kitchen table, "we" being my mom, brother, wife and myself. This was to be my day of days. There was a cake. Who knows what presents I received; it doesn't matter. I had been unhappy in my marriage for an eternity. This misery was a function of my immaturity, but of course I didn't understand that at the time. She loved me as much as I allowed myself to be loved. That much I do understand.

It's all so trivial, this life I live. The battlefields of singledom are not worth a damn. Is this why I ended my marriage? One can give their heart to the pursuit of an imaginary love even as they reject the ones who love them. My hypocrisy towards Kelly has been stunning. I am reminded of the final words of one Darth Vader: "Tell your sister you were right about me, tell her you were right." Those could be my final words to Kelly's sister Bridget. I am a piece of shit and a coward to boot. Those are Bridget's words about me and she is right. That much I do understand. But, we diverge from the matter at hand, The Last Good Time. My 30th birthday.

It was a Wednesday. This was to be an ending, before my decline became noticeable, before I fell apart. Of course I didn't know that. We spend our days in denial. In Finance that morning Clemence wished me a "joyeux anniversaire". I was thrilled even though therein laid my destruction, my downfall. I wanted her. Who isn't a sucker for a pretty French girl? Eventually she would break my heart; that was to be my future with Clemence. On the day of days, however, I still had hope. Hope for a better future and hope that I would know happiness. I have been looking for an external source of happiness instead of making myself happy. That never works, but in our insanity we keep beating against the wind, slipping back as much as we move forward.

On my 30th birthday I actually sat at the table with my back facing everyone. I had little to say but with some effort I managed to not snarl and hiss. There I sat, hunched over, the very image of defeat. Soon enough we had the cake, I blew out the candles then my dear wife gave me a hug and a little kiss on the neck. My heart cried out "maybe there is still something to be salvaged here", but it wasn't to be. That kiss was The Last Good Time.




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