Life as an Extreme Sport


I’d like to start off by apologizing. Looking at my mental list, there’s an awful lot I need to apologize for.

First, and foremost. I’m sorry I wasn’t your friend and partner last summer and fall. Instead of supporting you when things were getting rough, I ran. Instead of fighting and trying to work with you to save our marriage, I hid and sulked. Instead of holding your hand and encouraging you to try the new things you wanted, instead of doing all the things I had put aside, “if only” and “someday”… I didn’t act like a friend. I certainly didn’t act like a wife.

I apologize for January 9. For telling you to not call me, that I couldn’t talk to you. For being hurt that January 10 didn’t mean anything to you, and that you hadn’t thought to spend it with me. January 10 was only a day, a date. By placing such immense meaning on such an intangible thing, I was unable to see and be rational, especially about how well things were going.

I apologize for not calling you, all those nights I looked at the phone and talked myself out of it. For not making the first effort. For not admitting I was wrong. (I was wrong.) For being so goddamned and godawful stubborn.

I apologize for not telling you how confused I was, when we talked at the Sit & Spin. For not simply telling you how happily confused I was at spending time with you, how much I enjoyed seeing you and hopeful I was that we could keep talking. How wonderful it was to hear your voice.

I apologize for flipping out the next week, for panicing and not understanding and generally not being all that with it. I sent you a true but hurtful eMail in this time frame; I felt like I needed to exorcise something, but instead of talk to you about how I felt, I tried to cut the ties again. Running away isn’t solving anything, and it’s not making me miss you any less.

It might be too late now, and if it is, I wouldn’t blame you. But Mars, I miss you something fierce – would you let me try to be your friend?