Well hello again.
My tradition has been to post only every February 29th. It's a manageable posting schedule. Very... hipster?

Anyway, in light of recent changes: it's time to break the schedule.

The recent changes I'm referring to are really just the one, huge, shitty change: My Wife, my Love of 11 years, Christine Winckler, left me for her unemployed, poly writing assistant. It happened over the Thanksgiving (Thankstaking?) weekend. I decided not to write about it until the evil, sentient 2016 was dead. I didn't want it overhearing anything.

So you know how most people in a serious, committed relationship have the wisdom and the will to take action to preserve that relationship if they recognize that they're in the middle of a serious emotional affair?

Yeah, not Christine the Changeling. She decided to justify it instead, with the help of her increasingly narrow group of friends. A friend group winnowed down to a small rotten core of like-minded people that also happens to be a polyamorous clique. Her justification? You guessed it: she feels like she's polyamorous and enlightened now!

I'd been going through hell for months as I explain to her that we're not poly. That she's always been very anti-poly - so what the hell is with this 180? Then explaining that, okay, we can be poly, but poly involves boundaries and here's your one boundary: you can't date your writing assistant.
Yeah, she wasn't okay with that. And we never really became poly, because she clearly only wanted her writing assistant, and I clearly only wanted her. She kept complaining that she was in a cage. I couldn't force her to feel differently, but a cage isn't the best analogy. She was in the Garden of Eden, and her young writing assistant was the one, the only forbidden fruit.

There's a bizarre twist. I can't decide whether this makes me feel worse, or better: he is in no way successful or attractive, and she practically admitted to that. So what was he? He was around a lot. That's pretty much what it boiled down to: proximity. And not even physical proximity, for the most part. They spent almost all their time online, working on Christine's blog. (Which she laughably believes to be a career? It would be amusing if it wasn't so sad. More on that in a later rant.) I've taken enough psych and human sexuality courses to know that proximity is the number one catalyst for emotional attachment. I couldn't compete with Christine's writing assistant, because I had to spend long hours working. Y'know, supporting us and building our future.
Well, MY future, now. I'll have more money now that I'm not subsidizing an unfaithful spouse's affair. Silver linings and all that.

I literally and figuratively set 2016 in fire and stomped it to death. Well, semi-literally; I had to make do with an effigy. Some Seattle friends hooked me up. Good times. Well, cathartic times. Legit good times won't be back for a while.

I'll bitch about this more later, because this shit's cheaper than therapy. In the mean-time, I'm just happy that this hell-year is over.