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St03ssel's avatar

I totally dig the audio option. Also, thanks for shout out to the new Cure single. Disintegration was released my freshman year of college. And this track really takes me back to that sonic place. It's truly fantastic. Thanks Serge, as is often the case, you made my Friday brighter on this gloomy PA afternoon.

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Tom Ciorciari's avatar

Hey hey! I love the audio option. I listened and read along, which bathe best way for me, because I do love seeing the written word. And it never occurred to me that the pronunciation was Arl-ee. Eep. My bad. I have an ex-sister-in-law (is that what we called those folks?) named Arlene and we’ve always called her Arl, and I guess I just assumed Arle was pronounced the same way. Anyway, I dug listening very much. And the Philly accent just added to it all. Note: I’d suggest folks listen to the audio at the bottom of the essay rather than clicking on the photo link (kinda like YouTube), at the top of the essay. The photo version sounded oddly AI’ed.

I went through my own divorce a few months shy of 14 years ago. My kids were older, and there was a whole level of having let them all down that went with my experience. The look on my 14-year-old son’s face that said, “I can’t believe you’re going to leave us here with *her*” that’s seared into my memory and digs daggers into my heart whenever I think of it. I think folks don’t ask about your (I’m using the Royal your here) divorce because it’s like a death; unless they’re in your inner circle they don’t know how to approach the subject; what to say. “How’re you doing?” probably feels so platitudinous a thing to ask. “Do you need anything?” perhaps a sincere but empty offer. Because no one’s gonna give you that extra $1000/mo that’s gonna pull you through. I ate those dollar store tuna and crackers snack packs everyday for lunch for months just so I could have food in the house for when my kids were there (Mondays, Wednesdays and every other weekend). And no one gave a shit. My coworkers would joke and ask if I was eating cat food for lunch. And I didn’t make a big deal about it, because you just do what you’ve gotta do. Because that’s your job. And it’s hard as shit a lot of the time. I’d lie in bed those first few years, when my child support payments were more than a two week paycheck, four a.m., anxiety racing through my blood like lightning, wondering if it was ever gonna end; trying to think of some way to pull a George Bailey. But life moves forward. And eventually things ease up. You can breathe again. And all the silent sacrifices are eventually noted and appreciated. Not that that’s why you did—it’s your job, man—but it’s nice to have your efforts recognized; to hear (from that same ex-SiL), “we didn’t know how much you did at the time”. It’s a river we’re on. Flowing forward, always. You have to ride it and do your best to traverse those rapids, not let ‘em smash your skull on the rocks just below the surface, and remember there are also those placid smooth as glass parts as well.

Thanks as always for the words and the incredible imagery (that first snow bit was ::chef’s kiss::). Have a good week.

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