There was a Saturday around this time probably when we had an argument. She stayed in the living room and I went into the bedroom and I thought, 'I'm going to make use of this time on my own. It's not going to be lost time spent staring resentfully at the wall, my mind going round and round in circles, staging the argument over and over again, coming up with what I should have said, how I was right and how I could explain that to her, knowing deep down that I was probably wrong, at least partly.'
So I got some writing done. Twelve pages? And felt like I wasn't being controlled by the failing relationship.
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