There was a time before my divorce when things weren’t quite right in my head. I’d got dragged to couples counseling, from there to psychotherapy, and I’d slowly come to realize that I was a workaholic because things weren’t right at home or in fact anywhere in my life.
In one of our arguments my wife told me “Maybe you should go to Vegas for a long weekend, get it out of your system.” In the past she’d told me “If you ever cheat, I don’t want to know about it” so I put those two sentences together and figured she was telling me to go get fucked - literally.
