I don't know when or how (when we got married I would say but he would disagree) being with Aaron became the same thing as being. But it did (a fact, one of the few, on which we agree). It is as unthinkable that we are not together as it is untenable in its current state of togetherness as it is laborious to amend that state into something sustainable. And I'm tired of trying to both put back it together and somehow be my own person and all this pressure to be FINE everywhichway allatonce, "working on myself" as my contribution to the wellness of our relationship, all of it, I just want to stick a fork in my eye a lot of the time. And what's worst is I'm the one insisting on all this oppressive wellness because I don't know how not to drag myself/him/us through what's required like it or not because that's one of my jobs in this relationship (another fact we agree on, and both hate).

But really, I want to lie here instead and smoke and jerk off until my bills are overdue and a mile high and my body doesn't worry me because I don't care (my wrinkles could be unabashedly unmoisurized, fucking yay) and I've fallen into some hole in myself where nobody knows what I'm thinking not even me and I won't care because I won't know about it.

I don't want any of that really, but I feel like I do. It's not an option, though, whether I feel like it or not. There are kids here. The conditions of our relationship are the conditions of their childhood. So I have to want what is right, which is ultimately what I *do want*, even just for the adults' sake too, whether I *feel like* doing the work of it or not (which I often do not). Try to hold that thought why dontcha? We have to. Both of us. Whether we fucking feel like it or not.

For Aaron, who doesn't much care to read my writing if it's about him, because what threat is there to uncover in it if I'm not writing about sucking Dave's (or whoever, pick a phantom, any phantom, dead or alive) dick?, and what is the point in reading for anything but threatening phantom dick sucking secrets?, but whom I love anyway (I feel your pain, baby):

"Reconciliation"

Fuck it
let's be terrible together
broke and sick
bill collectors calling unanswered
like your psycho mother relentless
and my dad after happy hour
flowers dead in the boxes
us buried in butts, Marlboro man's bitches
fucked fat and pretty happy
let's leave ourselves
well enough alone
untended and unvoiced, mostly
gone to worried-mind seed
just let it be til death do us part this time
Love of my life