Last Sunday was my exgirlfriends 8th wedding anniversary. I remember getting a text from her saying she was getting married. I remember exactly where I was, what I was wearing and what was cooking on the stove. I remember how it felt to hear those words. It was not that different from falling out of an airplane without a parachute only to discover you were dreaming and there was no airplane, and you didn’t need a parachute anyway. It felt like my favorite baseball team won the hockey tournament.  It didn’t make any sense but I was very happy about it. I thought it would give us the chance to be friends without the drama that so often clings to dead love. Oh I know what you are thinking, love doesn’t die, well you are half right. For one of the two, seems like that’s the tradition. I was glad someone else was making her happy and it wasn’t costing me money. I had a different girlfriend and so on paper it all looked just swell.

In every man’s life, there are two  loves. A great and impossible one, and a not so great but possible one. The regular everyday love will sustain him, the other, will consume him.  A real man can manage both. I’m not that real. The last time she and I communicated was in court 5 years ago. It wasn’t too friendly. I don’t mind, usually, I mean, if the Mets ever did win the Stanley Cup, maybe the Canucks can cinch the world series.