When I moved to NH for my new job, I was in my 40’s, living alone for the first time in my life; no husband, no kids.  My life, during the week, consisted of working full-time, cooking for myself, and doing what I wanted.  I spent weekends back to NY or he came to me.  The separation, allowing us to step away for a while, made it possible to put all things good into our time together.  I knew exactly what my life was like, but I never asked him about his, probably because I didn’t want to know in case it spoiled mine.  He spent a lot of money, something that made him feel good.  When I don’t enjoy life, I eat lots of peanut butter and chocolate, so I knew he wasn’t in a good place.  It didn’t matter, because I was.  When he finally moved to NH, we continued our marriage, quickly forgetting how to appreciate each other’s company and arguing over the same recurring issues.  I was still me, and he, he, so the only difference was more time spent together; time enough to return to old hurtful patterns, but not enough to solve them.  Ridiculous.


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