Kidding ourselves

The phone rings at 10 p.m. on a Sunday night. 

“Did you hear the news?” 

 From the low, ominous tone in your voice I immediately think of lives lost, so with my heart pounding in my chest I respond, “I don’t have the news on.”

You begin, “Bears Stern.”  I immediately finish, “Potential of $2 share buyout.”

You’re quiet, and then you say, “So you do know.”

“Aren’t you impressed?”

“Not really.  I expect no less from you.”

I snort and say goodnight, but I think about your comment.

Perhaps because of your PhD I want your approval.  It’s that student-teacher thing, and as a student, I craved accolades from those whom I deemed intellectually superior.

We’re not lovers anymore, so my mind is the only trick left to intrigue you.

The journey’s been difficult, and the last twenty months have been more tumultuous than any relationship I’ve ever experienced.

The funny thing was we weren’t really in a relationship, or at least by any dictionary definition.

I text you that we’re dysfunctional; you respond “Nonsense.”

Maybe we're not a textbook case, but really, who are we kidding?