December 24, 2015


I’m in the bedroom, about to begin one of my exercise routines. I’m holding a jump rope in the ready position. K is in bed with her binky (iPhone).

Me: I hate my life. Help me make this fun.

K: You can pretend you’re someone else.

Me: Someone happy?

K: Yeah.

Me: Who?

K: Stephan.

Me: Who says Stephan is happy?

K: Well, he has nice hair.

October 6, 2015


Last night, as we lay in bed, K said she would kill all the angry and stupid people for me.

I asked her, “Sweetie, will you kill all the angry and stupid people for me?”

“Yes,” she said, without looking up from her binky1.

Sometimes I ask her ridiculous, impossible questions, because it seems a funny thing to do. Recently she’s taken to answering yes to whatever I ask, to try to get me to stop bothering her.

I think this is what love is like.

  1. “Binky” is K’s name for her smartphone. It’s a word from her childhood. It means pacifier.
November 1, 2014


Today is the tenth anniversary of my first date with K. I’m not entirely sure how this happened. Ten years ago I went on a date with a woman named K, and when it was over I asked to see her again. Then we had a second date, and a third, and so on, and now today is ten years of one day following the next with this one woman, K.

I don’t believe there’s a word for the kind of disorientation I feel. K says, only half-joking, that there must be one in German.

In the simplest sense I know exactly what happened. But those are merely the facts of the case – one day followed the next, and so on. At the same time there’s another, deeper sense in which the facts are besides the point.

Whenever I fly cross-country, there’s always that befuddling moment when I suddenly find myself several thousand miles from where I woke that day.

Sometimes when K and I are talking, I try to retrace how we arrived at the current subject. Rarely do I manage it.

But then, really, what does it matter? We arrived.