Rowboat

Mitch and I got to see Annie and Jon in Seattle over Christmas break. They got married this past year, and we were talking about marriage. The divorce rate is about fifty percent, and Jon said he hoped that that didn’t happen to any of our friends. Sometimes, though, fifty percent seems like really really good odds. Sometimes I am 100 percent sure that Mitch will divorce me someday. This is why:

Sometimes I would like to divorce me. My mind is not an exceptionally nice place to be. It’s like being on a row boat that’s sprung a leak. In comes this water – all things my senses are telling me and all these experiences I don’t understand. The only way to stay afloat is to be constantly bailing the water out. I need to pick everything apart and figure it out otherwise it’ll churn, on loop, in my brain. I have to put it all into words or I can’t get all that input bailed out of my tiny boat. Unfortunately for Mitch, in this analogy, he would be a guy in the row boat next to mine, and I’m throwing buckets of water on him.

Now, this is an unacceptable state of affairs, don’t you think? Mitch might have some rowboat leaks of his own that he needs to figure out. He’s not going to tolerate having to bail out my leaks too for very long. I wouldn’t.

So that’s why I write in here, splash some of that water on other people. But then, as soon as I post this, I’ll probably run over to Mitch, who’s sitting on the couch watching basketball, and say, “I posted something on my blog! Did you see it?!” and then bring his computer to him and sit next to him until he’s read it. Because that’s what I do.