{"id":13256,"date":"2018-09-14T04:38:26","date_gmt":"2018-09-14T11:38:26","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/godammit.com\/?p=13256"},"modified":"2018-09-14T04:38:26","modified_gmt":"2018-09-14T11:38:26","slug":"adulteress-part-three","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/godammit.com\/adulteress-part-three\/","title":{"rendered":"Adulteress: Part Three"},"content":{"rendered":"

What is love? Don’t ask me. I can’t define it, but like Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart, I know it when I see it.<\/p>\n

When The Tragedy wrote back that he now wished he had said he loved me, I felt vindicated somehow. It hadn’t been my imagination; the thing between us was real! Upon reflection, he could call the thing “love.” He had misspoken because he always knew our affair had no future. How silly that all these years later, I felt consoled by a different ending.<\/p>\n

Okay, good! Now I can collect my winnings, I thought, meaning now I’m not a jackass who threw my heart at a brick wall.<\/p>\n

So we exchanged some more email, discussing the past and the present. He avoided emotional content, and I was still me: Curious, provoking, long-winded, judgemental. He described his life as happy, even though he had given up dating, working, and driving a car. He was deeply invested in leaving a light carbon footprint. He rode everywhere on his bicycle, and he spent his days playing golf. He still read books but had stopped keeping a list of the ones he read. He enjoyed podcasts about politics.<\/p>\n

Why no women? Did I break him? What a coup that would have been. But there were others after me. Unwisely, he told me the number.<\/p>\n

I began to feel frustrated by our correspondence. His taste in music was dubious. His concern with the environment seemed pointless. Why did he care so much about the survival of our species, when he had opted out of his own life? He assured me that his life was full and meaningful. I asked him to send me a picture and eventually he did. He looked like someone’s grandpa. Not the blue-eyed husky who shot me down.<\/p>\n

Fuck this, I decided. There was nothing more to be gained. I realized that I’d given him a pass early on, when he wrote: “What year was it that you had went to Michael\u2019s party?”<\/em> What kind of idiot writes “had went?” I should have called a halt there and then, but instead I had pressed on. Ending it was a relief.<\/p>\n

I’m looking for some wisdom to relate, now that I’ve taken you on this emotional roller coaster. I’d like to have learned something for my own sake.<\/p>\n

One thing I know for sure is that bad grammar is a red flag. Ignore it at your peril. Next thing you know, you’ll be hearing “with that having been said” every other sentence. Also, people who keep a list of the books they’ve read are too anal for your purposes.<\/p>\n

Memory is just the stories you tell yourself, and you are not a reliable narrator. Figures from your past are smaller than you could ever imagine. And giving someone the power to decide your worth is just madness.<\/p>\n

If someone doesn’t love you, it’s their fucking problem. If you know any young people, pass this on. They won’t believe you but it’s worth a shot.<\/p>\n

And the Christianity, you ask? He broke up with that, too.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"