Ever since I learned about mental capacity, and the fact that it is a thing, and that the nature of this thing is that you can only hold so many active thoughts and ideas and whatever elses in your brain at one time, being a nerd, I always look at myself in the context of whether or not my brain is full, and how close to full it is getting.
I cannot think very well at the moment. I am full. My family and I live in a house, a very nice house that we share with another family. My wife and I have two children and the other couple also have to children.
In a few weeks, their oldest child will be having major brain surgery.
They have agreed to get a divorce.
The house is in my name and the name of the other husband.
For his birthday, his dad rented him a car and he drove to Oklahoma to visit his online girlfriend, who is equidistant to him and his children in age. He canceled plans with his wife and left on a Saturday. He told his wife he would be home Wednesday. He told me he'd be home Thursday and he arrived home Friday.
Frantic, on Wednesday evening, his wife texted this girl, asking if he had left yet, because he wasn't returning phone calls or text messages. "No" was the response she got.
This man, yesterday, sent his children, two sons, to bed at just before 8pm. At 8:30p.m., since they were being loud (they share a room) he went upstairs and dragged the oldest, the one about to have brain surgery into the basement, where he turned off most of the lights and stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. His son, a delicate but amazing six year old, started loosing his mind: screaming, yelling, obviously hyperventilating himself.
I went down into the basement and calmed him.
This boy, his brain surgery is because there's a faulty tube, an "encavemet" or some such --I don't remember the name. It isn't cancer but it is something that, when he is extremely worked up will bleed, brain into his skull, pressuring his brain.
This boy, who when he is extremely worked up, his brain can leak blood and he might die, was left alone in the dark while his dad could smoke a cigarette and play with his phone.
The part that makes my chest tight is that he, this soon to be ex-husband, is doing his best. He is playing the cards he has been dealt as well as he possibly can. He is extremely personable and friendly and very charming. He can hold down a job even though he doesn't like it -- as far as I can tell. He pays his bills. He tries to do his chores. He starts house projects.
He stays in the basement and chats with his Oklahoma girlfriend until all hours. He works out every night. He usually does specific things that are asked of him.
He's trying. He wants what's best for everyone, in his own way.
We're all trying. We all want what's best for everyone.
I don't know what that looks like.
I turn thirty-five in three days.
Two weeks after that, my daughter turns two.
I am going to look up a gluten free, vegan cake.