I try not to overshare, but as I no longer have a career to focus on, my mind zeroes in on interpersonal relationships.

Getting a Lyft up to my ex-wife’s was a last-minute thing, and this time it was only going to be for one night, which is not particularly cost-effective.

Usual delights ensue. We smoke and drink, and then, eventually, it’s time for bed. I’ve been sleeping with her since 2009, and this is the first time she was aggressive about initiating.

Like, seriously aggressive. I’m used to the growls and ear nibbles; those are par for the course. I’m not going to regale you with what happened, but it ended up with both of us exhausted and ready for a good night’s sleep.

I didn’t wake up until 11. She’d been supposed to start work at 8 but called out. So I come to, her naked body next to mine, and I have to do what I frequently have to these days: assess where the fuck I woke up.

We watched a few episodes of Young Sheldon (Wallace Shawn is an ancillary character, and he’s not missed a beat on line delivery since The Princess Bride) in the afternoon, hugged, had a brief peck for a kiss … I was so rushed to get out of my van (An 8-minute estimate turned into 2.) that I forgot my teeth, leaving deep kisses off the table.

Thankfully, she also has full dentures, so this is not a point of contention.

The driver taking me up there apparently had a side gig of proselytizing, which was not welcome and resulted in a $0 tip. I rarely do that, despite deploring tipping culture in general. You are getting me from point A to point B, and that is the extent of our interaction.

I don’t know what to do here. She’s moving soon to be closer to one of her kids, and at that point, I can’t be involved, as she successfully pawned off everything that went wrong in our marriage on me, and her boys believe I’m the devil incarnate as a result.

It is hell to be able to get along with someone both emotionally and physically and know that it has an expiration date.