I’ve been away for a while. Well, not away per se, just avoiding life in general. Coupled with a genuine aversion to people, so away seems apropos to describe my abscence.

Memories are fallible. Well, most memories are. Mine, while still prone to the odd hiccup, is less apt to miss things than others that I could mention.

We all see life in the light that sheds the most brightness on ourselves, do we not? Of course we do. We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t, but that leads me to the topic at hand.

Memories.

Wasn’t so long ago that I was admonished for thinking (quite in error I might add this presumption) that I was getting ‘too attached’ were the words, to my ex- on one of the trips that I made to see my son.

‘We aren’t getting back together you know’. ‘Do you know why we aren’t together? You aren’t reliable’ and so on and so forth as my father was fond of saying.

And yet, when my fortunes turned, so to speak, all of a sudden, ‘well, you should send me 1/2 a million dollars so that I can buy a new flat. You do want a roof over your sons head, don’t you?

Huh.

A roof over my sons head. He has one. One that I help pay for, along with the over 10K a year for his private school.

Not reliable. Too attached. But hey, when it comes to handing over hundreds of thousands of dollars to them, all well and good, right?

And as it happens, I am not attached to her. Even if she was 21 and a centerfold I would not be attached to that again.

She is the mother of our son, and full marks and credit to her, she has done an amazing job of it. But her memory has more holes than my Microplane zesting tool. Now all of a sudden, I can’t date, although according to her she has had ‘vast sexual encounters’ and uses Tinder on a regular basis.

I guess what is good for the goose, isn’t good for the gander? I’m old, ergo not supposed to be thinking about not being alone, I should just pay the fucking bills and fund their ‘new roof over my sons head’.

We want to come to Canada says they. Great says I. And we want to go to New York says they, so that my son can see the Apple store (Huh thinks I) and I can see the Guggenheim. Ok says I, who is paying for that? You are of course says they. I see.

Not allowed to not be alone, but I have to fund the rest of their lives.

If I thought for a minute, a second, that I wouldn’t harm my child, I would fucking walk away from this and let them stew in their own juice.

And people wonder why, or have wondered why, I get pissy about money.

Not reliable. Wow.

Have a great day all.