Adultlescent

My husband has run off into the woods again. He's attempting to live out his adultlescent fantasy of living off the grid, living off the fat of the land, in nature, with dirt underneath his nails, testicles pickled in his own vinegary sweat, grown man gone wild. His office called today, they tell me that he hasn't been at work at all this week, and they are worried, that he wont get his project done on time.

Running into the woods is very similar to his adolescent fantasy of skipping school, throwing away his backpack and books in a river, and living out 12th grade in his tree-house, drinking rain water, eating apples from the tree-house that supported his house, and reading 18th century pornographic literature. He lived in that tree-house for four days his senior year, until I came climbing up his tree-house, thinking it was empty. I was running away from home because my mother had found my stash of 18th century pornographic literature between my mattress. We had a lot in common.

Today, he left a drawing addressed to me next to his bowl of cereal, now soggy and bloated, floating like tiny wheat and corn-syrup drowning victims. On the floor were several crumpled balls of construction paper, leading me to believe that the drawing next to the cereal was the final product of failed rough drafts.

The drawing employed several art styles of the early 20th Century: Cubism, Suprematism, and a slight hint of influence from Social Realism that really belongs more in the category of early 19th century art movements, then 20th Century art movements. His choice to employ cubism to show his disconnect, his discontent with his surroundings, is rather cliche. But from what I gathered from the drawing, he was in the woods, somewhere up north, being attacked by giant cubes.