I was so excited about Anthony having a full time job in corporate America that I posted a picture of his first check on Instagram. That’s right. A real live contribution to our expenses after two and a half months of not working. I chose the “valencia” photo filter because let’s be honest, that thing makes everything look better – even a two-week, eight hundred dollar paycheck. No, he wasn’t going to be my sugar daddy anytime soon, but he was home and we were together and from what I could tell, he was happy. He would come home from his training classes excited about what he had learned, and the fun activities they would participate in throughout the day. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that most corporate trainings were a blast and then they throw you to the wolves of real-life. Instead I let him ramble on with his stories and throw around his newly-learned word “legalities” like he was some big shot. I heard that word at least fifteen times a day for a week straight, but I didn’t care because I was just happy that he was content with his decision. Things were finally, actually becoming normal in our life.
After training ended, Anthony got assigned to a shift that started at 6:30AM every day. That meant his alarm went off at 5:15AM every single morning, and like clockwork he would lay there non-nonchalantly farting in between snoozes. I wish I was exaggerating when I say this happened every single day, but sadly I’m not. I couldn’t and still don’t understand his comfort level with farting. Most people would at least chuckle with embarrassment at the release of such filth and play it off like a mistake, but no, not this guy. He would let them rip and then lay there in the dead silence of the morning like it was as normal as breathing oxygen. I would lay there, back to him, and jerk my eyes open to the rippling vibrations coming across our bed at me. I had been with him for over three years at that point and never had the balls to fart in front of him. Not even once. And yet here was Anthony so kindly subjecting me to more gas than one person should ever have to endure in a lifetime. For someone who has their alarm noise on their phone set to “twinkle,” farts do not generally resonate well with me as a soothing way to wake up on a daily basis. And because I’m high-strung and irritable in the mornings (Anthony lovingly refers to me as a bear), I could only refrain from losing my mind for about three weeks. From that point on, we started our mornings bickering about farts.
If farts were the extent of our unhappiness, then this entire blog would have been able to come to an end in another paragraph or two. We would have floated off into the sunset of our monotonous, boring routing lives that I craved so much and live (un)happily ever after. But there was more to our dissatisfaction than we ever discussed. We went along with our days at work, would come home and grocery shop, eat dinner, sit on the couch to watch TV, and get lost in our phones. Anthony started to call out of work here and there, and I chastised him for being irresponsible like a six year old. We fought because there was nothing better to do most of the time and dipped into a small funk. Not the kind of funk where you move across the country to live in an RV with someone and then get dumped a month and half later, but a funk nonetheless. Anthony shared that he was getting tired of having a desk job and couldn’t stand being tied to a phone all day long. But then by the following week he would be on board with sticking it out in order to progress in his career. This happened a couple of times before it all came to a head.
Anthony walked in from work one day, and I was sitting on the couch finishing up some work. He said his friend Antonio had been fired that afternoon and that he also couldn’t stand to work there another day. I looked at him and said, “It’s almost time for baseball season to start again Anthony” in a calm, but I’m going to kill you kind of tone. He immediately got defensive and said he never mentioned baseball or said that’s what he wanted to do, but that he was losing his mind at that job and it wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing with his life. With that, I knew what he meant he was supposed to be doing, and Anthony vs. Angela 2.0 erupted in our apartment. He denied that he wanted to play baseball the entire argument, and I accused him of ripping the carpet out from under my life for the gazillionth time since meeting him. I had made him promise just four months earlier that he was making the right decision for himself, and he couldn’t have been more convincing that he was. He swore. Then the way he was just changing his mind without regard for anyone else, especially me, was infuriating. We had bills to pay, and with the snap of a finger they all fell back on my plate again. He just quit his job and decided he didn’t need to be responsible for them because Citi Bank just wasn’t his cup of tea anymore. The lack of respect for me and my life at that point was maddening. I went to bed that night with so much disappointment and anger that I tossed and turned non-stop. I battled internally with whether or not this was something I could endure any longer, and hated him for putting me in the position to make that kind of choice again.
Early the next morning, Anthony was texting on his phone. Generally, I pay no mind to what he’s doing on his phone, but I just knew what was going on so I asked him, “Who’s texting you at 7:00Am?” and he wouldn’t tell me. So I pried until he gave in and showed me that it was the owner’s wife of the San Luis baseball team back in Mexico, and they were negotiating pay terms for the upcoming season. Even though I knew this is what he quit Citi Bank for; even though he denied it the entire day prior; even though I had come to expect this kind of bullshit from Anthony, I still couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe the audacity and selfishness and disregard. We fought all day long and I eventually decided that we were over. Again. It wasn’t worth it anymore. The tumultuous ups and downs were killing me, and we both agreed that no matter what we did in this relationship one person would always have to give up the life they imagined for themselves. So we decided that when it was time to head back to San Luis for baseball, that we would part ways for good. And so we spent the next thirty days just waiting for that day to come.