I pick up a piece of paper from the desk. Jenny’s artist’s statement is impressive. I’ve never seen this before. There’s so much here that I don’t know about her. I realize now that I thought I knew everything. But that, I figure, is the arrogance of marriage. I feel slightly ashamed that she has never told me that she used to volunteer for a homeless organization, distributing sandwiches and coffee in the middle of the night to poor beat-up souls huddled in lanes and squatting on bridges. I’m ashamed that I don’t really know the artists that have influenced her, that she can play the piano. I have never heard her play. She has never mentioned wanting a piano. And the eloquence of the language, her exquisite use of words. Her professionalism. And the guilt I feel now is acute. I have ruined something.

28. Work Trip

I get away from the house on an empty stomach. I wheel an overnight bag down Military Road with all the importance of a good hard-working family man out to breathe in the toxic fumes of enterprise with an enthusiasm that I do not feel. This isn’t the first time that I have been subjected to this kind of thing and I should view it as a positive sign that the company still deem it worthwhile to include me in such activities. It means that I’m still at an age where I have much to offer them as an employee. For a while I have worried that like Jenny, I might have missed the boat. I might be coming to that dangerous and unknown stage where I could be overlooked for a younger, hungrier type. Perspective is all about confidence and nothing more.

July can often come with a coolness that I always find surprising. To feel cool at a time when sallow people in other countries are enjoying the constant pleasantries of high summer is deeply unsettling. And yet I wouldn’t have it any other way. I know in my heart that it will rain and I am prepared.

Because I’m now officially on a mini-break I treat myself to a croissant and a coffee from Café Feliz at the DART station. That’s happy café in Spanish. I have my doubts as to the merit of direct language translations. The woman who runs the place refuses to add extra hot water to my coffee when I ask her to. She says that it will ruin the flavour. I let it go and head to the platform. As I am sipping the coffee I have a good mind to go back inside to tell her that the flavour as it stands is no great shakes, but I resist it. I don’t want to fall out with her, I have to walk by her every morning.