I had asked Paul to “just leave! Get out of here! Move if you are so unhappy!” at least a hundred times, and Damnit, one day he did. Just like that. Gone. He and my bank account.

I am here to tell you that money buys you all kinds of time, but absolutely no tendency to self-reflect . I had never done a single thing in my life that made me stop and wonder why. This day was no different. I had read somewhere that you could get over anyone in 24 hours, if you locked yourself up in your house, got out and looked at all the memories, forced yourself to feel as sad as you possibly could, and then did a ritualistic thing—like bury a box of photos, or burn a letter in the fireplace. It seemed like a lot of work, but it was raining outside, and what the hell. It might be fun.

The problem, is that the intersection between people who don’t reflect and those who are nostalgic is very small. I couldn’t find any photos, except an old driver’s license. I did sit there looking at it for a minute. I really did try.