“The Betty Lady explains love and splitting up: "It´s like playing the shell game with Jesus. You can´t figure anything out; it´s best not to try. You´ll just humiliate yourself.”

“Conversely, I though humiliation would be everything, but it´s such a nothing.”

“Hello. Yes. You left A´s raincoat in your car Saturday? That´s cool. Look, try to hang on to this new raincoat I bought him today. We had a good day, by the way. We took a bath and I gave him a haircut. Reagarding you and your new girlfriend, She Who Doesn´t Exist You Swear To God? Fuck you."It feels good. But the good feeling doesn´t last. It is thin, a cheap sweater. No way to take back the words, either.”

“You get what you give," we will tell his sorry, selfish ass." The Betty Lady has spoken. I detect a Bronx accent."But," I demur, "it will make the other woman say, ´See? She IS a jealous and paranoid and pushy wife.´"The Betty Lady rips open a cell phone statement with a nail file and, without looking up at me, says, "Let me tell you something, honey. In my experience? The only thing they care about is what they see in the mirror each morning and WINNING...or their perception of winning.”

“It´s a little song about abandonment, and it goes something like this....”

“How could you do that to me?" I repeat. I don´t have to itemize. He knows what I speak of.Eventually N produces three answers, in this order:1. "Because I am a complete rotter." I silently agree, but it´s a cop-out: I have maggots, therefore I am dead.2. "I was stressed at work and unhappy and we were always fighting...and you know I was just crazy..."I cut him off, saying, "You don´t get to be crazy. You did exactly what you chose to do."Which is true, he did. It is what he has always done. He therefore seems slightly puzzled at the need for further diagnosis, which may explain his third response:3. "I don´t know."This, I feel instinctively, is the correct answer. How can I stay angry with him for being what he is? I was, after all, his wife, and I chose him. No coincidences, that´s what Freud said. None. Ever.I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and walk toward the truck, saying to his general direction, "Fine. At least now I know: You don´t know."I stop and turn around and fire one more question: a bullet demanding attention in the moment it enters the skin and spreads outward, an important bullet that must be acknowledged."What did you feel?"After a lengthy pause, he answers. "I felt nothing."And that, I realize too late, was not the whole truth, but was a valid part of the truth.Oh, and welcome to the Serengeti. That too.”

“Already things are changing; it´s starting with small shit but oh it´s starting, the change, the irrevocable, impossible change.”