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Tuesday, February 22

Yesterday I had to write two letters. By hand. One was my letter of resignation to the french subsidiary of my employer. It was kinda fun to write, actually, and not very long. The other was four pages of densely packed "d├ęclaration sur l'honneur" of what I remembered of the end of one of my friend's marriage. I'll spare you the details, but his soon-to-be-ex-wife is self-admittedly guilty of conduct unbecoming (they're both in the military), reviled by her own family for said sins and the callousness of her attitude towards them since, and now being greedy in the divorce proceedings. More to make sure that he gets less, than to get more for herself. Lawyers will get most of it, and taxes the rest. A very angry, confused, and sick young woman who is causing a lot of damage, not least to herself. And, at last count, three marriages not including her own. When I see this, I'm soooo grateful that, even if we fucked up our marriage, Pauline and I got our divorce right, did not fight over what money was left or over our daughter, and can now suck our gums and watch her grow up into a fine young woman who'll win an oscar for best director someday, you just watch. Anyhow, I turned in my four pages of filth, human frailty and madness, and Pierre and I had another quiet evening with one beer each, bachelor-cooked rice and salmon, and lots and lots of talk. Because only time, and talk, ever heal those wounds. Location : Beauvais, France. NB : Come get your Asuncion PostCard while they last!

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