It has been such a process, this decision. Two years ago I was looking for an apartment in Manhattan, cut adrift. I faced a separation that my gut knew was right and I searched to find a home and a haven. The little slice of the West Village I burrowed into is precious to me. Though many would mutter that at his age he should have so much more, I know it is a tribute to my resourcefulness that I have supported my separated wife, myself, my office, and my business.
But now I have more decisions. I love being single and trying to find Mistress Right. But my wife is slowing - withering away - and needs my help. At first I dug my hamfisted heels into the ground. I won't move back, I won't. I'm happy where I am.
But when I see her struggle to even pull up her feather light, elastic-like, jeans and I rush to her aid - I know there is one choice. So come June I'll pack up my bachelor pad and put everything, including my never-been-used-on-me Twisted Monk hemp rope and Victor Tella baby single tail, into storage and move back in to take care of her.
Until another life I shall cut out a graceless heart and trust that time will provide a restart.
A Munch Guide
2 weeks ago