Kramer vs. Kramer

One of my favorite movies is Kramer vs. Kramer. The acting, the music. The clueless husband and the neglected wife. The only thing I want to do right now is watch that movie. Watch it closely to escape my world. I was a shell of a person today, staring aloof at my computer screen. Emails and voicemails from the dance instructor, the photographer, the bridal shop went unanswered. How do I tell them my relationship is on the rocks? No breakfast. At quarter to two, I forced myself into the company cafe before it closed. A couple slices of turkey, a slice of pepper jack cheese, and a dill pickle. $2.08. I wasn’t even hungry. Of course the money in the wedding account could be split evenly. But more importantly, where will I live? How will I get through tonight when I don’t even want to go home. As much as I love Dustin Hoffman and Meryl Streep, I loved that little boy in the movie. Defying his dad when digging into the ice-cream, falling from the play structure, getting stitches in the E.R., the picture of his mom in his dresser drawer, learning to ride his bike, and growing into a routine with his dad, making breakfast, drying the dishes. A child is the furthest thing from my mind. We’re not even married, on our way to divorce.