“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.”

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.”  I mean, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

I should have included the above quote from the famous Inferno section of the Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri, in my “3 Quotes for 3 Days” challenge.  But no, I wasn’t deep enough in the circles of hell then.  As proof of my continuing descent, I offer the quote, juxtaposed artfully in the context of marriage.  I’ll let you look up the translation for yourselves, and I bet you literally laugh out loud.

And if that doesn’t make you laugh, this might.  I shit you not:  before I got married I didn’t drink.

Don’t get me wrong.  When marriage is good, it’s very good.  But when it’s bad, it’s more work than I sometimes have energy for.  Which means it really sucks.  The deeper I get into my journey through the circles of hell…  I mean, “the downside of marriage,” the more a little stress relief sounds like a good thing.  And when a little stress relief isn’t to be found, there’s alcohol.  I just don’t want to become an alcoholic.

As mentioned in a previous blog, I’m not a fucking mind reader.  I don’t know the 3 magic words that will melt her icy heart into a submissive puddle of willingness to do whatever I want.  It evidently worked at one point, since we have kids, here presented as exhibit A and B.  But “I love you” doesn’t do it.  “Have some wine” doesn’t cut it.  And I don’t have “a drug dealer on speed dial” because I’m not a rock star, so there’ll be none of that.  Not that I really want that as an option.  I’d prefer we just communicate with each other, and treat each other like husbands and wives are supposed to treat each other.  When spouses treat each other like they’re supposed to, marriage lasts.  But when spouses don’t, it’s difficult.  Some spouses give up, which is why they invented divorce.

I’ve tried different things.  Footbath.  Back massage.  I’ve even helped with the damned hair coloring, for crying out loud.  If she loved me, I wish she’d try harder to keep me.

I don’t want a divorce.  But this is not a healthy situation for me.  So after I finish working my day job, washing the dishes, taking out the trash, vacuuming the carpet, mowing the grass, buying postage stamps, scrubbing the toilets, and taking a hot shower, if that’s not romantic enough for her, I’m going to start drinking.  On a weekday.  Because fuck that.  I’m tired and I want what I want (as mentioned in a previous blog, steak and sex are sufficient) and if I can’t have what I want, I’ll settle for just sex.

Pushing me away only makes me go away, and I go farther away than she wants, and then she gets mad because I “seem distant.”

Fuck yes, I’m distant.  YOU pushed me away.   Last night.  Again.  And on my fucking birthday.  Come bring me back closer.  I’m willing, but you’re not.  So fuck you, and by that, I mean the opposite, until you come get me.

So tonight, after the chores are done, I’m probably going to be drinking something strong enough to drive away any thought of what I really want.  Unless she drinks with me, and then starts, and finishes, something.

Maybe she’s waiting until the “Paradiso” part of my journey, and I’ll be on an optimistic swing someday, maybe in a few months.  But by then I won’t need it so bad.

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4 thoughts on ““Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.”

  1. Just to add insult to injury, but I’m not sure whether it’s to her or to me, today I recalled proverbs 3:27 and 28. She’s right there. I’m right there hanging off the edge of a cliff. Does a fall lead to adultery? Can she throw me a rope, give me a hand, do something?!

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  2. Steak and sex are like the consolation prizes on a game show you didn’t win. You won’t turn ’em down, but it wasn’t what you really needed.
    Consolation prizes may be “it will do” but it always ends up being “if I can’t have what I wanted.”

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  3. steak and sex are the prizes that say I’ve won. when I’m getting treated to baloney and cheese (“go away, I’m tired,” “no,”) and being told to be content, when there’s a steak in the kitchen that’s bought and paid for, I’m complaining to The Cook.

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