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On April 1, 2017 I was in Tucson, Arizona visiting the best man in my first wedding. I was there because my then-wife and I had just gotten divorced, and she was moving out of our apartment that weekend, and it felt like a good time to get away. That weekend started with some potential for me, and ended in a cloud of dust and smoke and I don’t even talk to anyone in that Tucson family anymore. I’m sure it’s largely my fault, but honestly I can’t even remember all the specifics of what happened that weekend. Best I can tell you, I was drunk on that Sunday and I gave advice to one of their couples friends who was struggling with their marriage but had two kids. I was emotionally very in over my head that weekend. I regret most of 2017, but definitely in and around there.
When I got back, which I believe was April 4th — five years ago Monday — my dog was still in boarding when I got out of the Uber, so I went up to the apartment we had, until about three days prior, shared. I opened the door and 65% of the apartment was gone. I already knew I was moving out of there in mid-May 2017, but it was still a rather jarring key in lock moment. I can still remember it right now, typing this. And actually, our divorce was pretty civil all-in, considering we had no kids and were renting at the time. But the only savage move she pulled on me was that she took a bunch of framed photos of us together, and…
