I happened to catch a picture of James staring at a poster that has been on my wall for… almost his entire life, I want to say. Maybe it’s the slightly bright colors that the person on the poster is wearing. Maybe it’s the layout of the poster. Maybe James liked it just because. Or maybe it’s somehow slightly genetic for him to like some of the same things I do. I’m still figuring this out.

Guest post from: Constance Rodgers

Ever since we moved here things have felt different. I was hoping since we’d be closer to my family my husband and I would have more help and we wouldn’t fight as much but it almost seems worse than ever. I love my husband, don’t get me wrong, but he’s really just not understanding what I need from him right now. The first couple of months were okay because we were really busy with the move and researching Knox City electric companies and things like that, but now that we’re settled in there’s less other stuff to distract us from our issues. I love the way my husband has a drive but he’s been spending so much time at work lately I feel like a widow – every time I try to talk to him about it he gets really defensive and wants to tell me how important it is that he makes so much money. I love the man but to me, what you make isn’t everything. I think it’s far more crucial to spend time with your family and our daughter is really young so I don’t want her to grow up feeling like her dad was never around. It doesn’t help that now that I’m back closer to home my family notices it and gives me a lot of grief about how Harold’s never here. I understand they’re concerned but it really just makes things worse, you know? At the end of the day it’s up to us how we handle our marriage and it’s not like we’re on the brink of divorce or anything, just fighting more than I know either of us would like. I think I may contact a local counselor about getting a few sessions with Harold but I know he’s going to be resistant. He’s going to have to make some changes, though, because I can’t live this way no matter what our house looks like or how many pairs of shoes I have. That’s not the life I want.