Tomorrow is a new day

People say that all the time, but this time it's really true. I'm done with the sad gnawing insecurity of it. I'm through making myself miserable, worrying about what might or might not happen, whether she'll call, whether she loves me, whether she's with someone else. No one should have permission to make you feel this way. It's so high school. It's so self-defeating. I'm old. I don't have time to do this again, to go down this road of self-induced craziness again. If she wanted to be with me, she would try harder. She would pick up the phone. She would hold me when I was feeling blue. She would forgive me if I got a little crazy or afraid. I could be human with her. I could admit to a fault or fear without fear of being rejected or replaced. Honestly, this has been a silly six months, a descent into irrationality, futility and madness. Ordinarily I'm way more self-determined, self-sustaining and resilient than this. Ordinarily I live on my own terms.

Don't misunderstand. Grief is real and grief is a process. We've all heard of the five stages, but I think I've already done a fair amount of anger, denial, bargaining, depression and acceptance right here in our hometown blog. Obviously there is more to do. But I'm through making a crusade out of suffering. I'm through with the forlorn waiting and hoping and the postponing of hope and purpose, of everything hinging on what Marie said or didn't say, or whether there was one I love you or two. I'm not going to count them anymore. In fact, the phone is being turned off, I'm putting it in a drawer for a month, and if any of you want to get a hold of me you can send me an email in the blog.

I'm not looking to get laid and I'm not looking to get even. I just want a more hopeful life, a more well-rounded one, days and weeks that don't revolve around someone else's whims and suspicions. Starting today, I'm going to stop writing about her and stop waiting for her and stop pining for her. I don't care. I mean, I don't completely not care, but where she goes and who she drinks with and when she comes home are all things over which I have no control and no knowledge, and I'm tired of suffering over them.

It's a bit of a pickle that I blog, because all my decisions and movements and activities are right here in plain sight, and Marie is prone to jealousy and retribution. Just two months ago she was so inflamed by a blog entry she literally hunted me down and tore at my face, because I wrote I noticed a woman at Alyssa's graduation and thought about saying hello to her. Imagine if I joined someone for a cup of tea.

No one should live in fear, and no writer writing a living memoir can write half of a life and leave the other half deliberately out. It would be fundamentally and irredeemably dishonest. A censored blog, a tentative or reticent blog, is no blog at all. In the words of the immortal Howard Cosell, I'm going to tell it like it is. Or at least how I think it is. Occasionally I will be deluded or dead wrong, or lost in my own rationalizations. But I promise you they will be the most emphatic and deeply-felt rationalizations I can think of.

I made the money in the tournament tonight, busting out 122nd of 1800 playing another pair of queens too strong. A more clever and patient player slow played aces and I fell pot-committed into the trap short stacked. It was a bad time to have the second-best hand. I could have smooth called, checked the flop and folded, and stayed alive a little longer. Patience, Recognition. Clarity. They are all essential. There are no shortcuts, and you can't be in a hurry. A loss of discipline or an impulsive rash move is nearly always wrong. See the situation and make a decision based on all the information available. Then trust it. It really is a fascinating world, poker. There's a lot of grace and subtlety in the game, and then there is brute force. It has a rhythm, an interior logic, a justice. And then sometimes it can be randomly cruel.

That's another thing. I'm a poker player. I play poker for money. I do it because I enjoy it, I enjoy the extra money, and there's a chance, once or twice a year, to make a significant amount of money. You grind along and do as well as you can and occasionally things go your way. I know I've written about this a lot. But some people build model airplanes and some people drink and some people gossip about their neighbors. I play poker. I like it. I play to win. And it isn't anything to hide or be ashamed of. I don't have illusions of the World Series or poker groupies. I like the game. I like the challenge. I like finishing in the money. I'm paraphrasing The Big Lebowski, one of my favorite movies: "f*ck it, let's play poker."

I'll play 3-6 hours a night, and I'll take a night off when I need one. Weekends, I'll pick 3 or 4 tournaments to play in, go to the gym, see a movie, watch the Duck game, hang out with Doug. I'll go to the occasional family barbecue or birthday. I'll visit my kids. I'll dress up and go see some blues and have a glass of wine. I'm not afraid of tomorrow, of being alone, of uncertainty or adventure. It is what it is.

What it is now is 1:48 in the morning, and tomorrow has become today, and it is a new day. I'll get some sleep and have some breakfast and hit the weights, watch the Ducks and play poker. It's going to be a damn nice day. I'm washing my hands in some warm water, I'm going to slide this ring off my finger and I'm tossing it in my sock drawer. I'm not going to be married to someone who won't take my phone calls, and won't hold me when I'm hurting inside.