Chapter 37: The Diary of a Spiral (or: The Subtle Art of Moral Disc Herniation)
The audience always applauds when they see a flexible woman squeezed into a box that's too small. They call it "virtuosity." I call it "the history of relationships with married men."
At 68, having already seen everything, from the beaches of Bahia to the bars of Tel Aviv, I would expect my mind to be as fortified as a nuclear bunker.
But no. Inside, a neuropsychological battle of attrition is taking place between two characters who loathe each other:
The Big Bang: The Spatial Folding Theory
To be the "ideal mistress" to a tormented married man, you must master the art of downsizing. You take your entire personality—your political opinions, your cynicism, the fact that you can explain exactly how a Volkswagen hybrid engine works—and you fold them inward.
Libi (The Heart): "Look at him! He looks like a Rolex model having a bad day. He’s tormented, he’s lonely, he’s looking for a 'soulmate'! Let’s just fold ourselves into his suitcase; let's be the quiet place where he can rest from the wife, the kids, and the electricity bill!"
Gigi (The Brakes): "Stop right there! According to the Law of Conservation of Energy, you are about to waste a massive amount of oxygen on someone using you as a temporary 'holding environment.' According to Game Theory, he’s in a Win-Win situation (sex and thrills without losing the house), while you’re an acrobat with gangrene in her legs. Do you really want to be his 'project'?"
The Scene: The First Date (Cognitive Dissonance at its Finest)
We’re sitting in a dim bar. He smells like expensive guilt. He orders red wine; I order trouble.
He: "I’m a good person, Yael. Truly. I love my wife, but... with you, I feel like I can finally breathe."
Gigi: "Bling! There it is. Classic rationalization. He’s using his suffering as a moral lubricant. According to Freud, his 'Super-Ego' is currently in a freefall, and he’s trying to convince both you and himself that this isn't 'betrayal,' it’s 'breathing.' Tell him to take up yoga if he wants to breathe."
Libi: "Shut up, you bitter old woman! Look at his hands! He’s touching my knee and my entire amygdala looks like an Independence Day fireworks display! Who cares about rationalization? I want oxytocin, now!"
The Main Event: Anatomy of the Fall
As the evening progresses, he becomes more "conflicted." He talks about his values, his morals, and how hard it is for him to lie. "I feel like I’m betraying who I am... it’s eating me up inside."
Gigi: "He’s not betraying who he is; he’s just enjoying the drama. According to the theory of Secondary Narcissism, he’s in love with his own reflection in your eyes as a 'tragic, tormented man.' He doesn’t see you, Yael. He sees a stage."
Libi: "So what? At least this stage is getting some attention! Do you know how long it’s been since someone looked at me like that? This suitcase might be cramped, but it’s warm!"
The End: Breaking Out of the Box
At the end of the show, when he goes back home to "real life" and I’m left with a stiff neck, the acrobat crawls out of the suitcase. She stretches her limbs and hears the cold truth of neurobiology: the dopamine drops, and the cynicism rises.
You cannot be the "incredibly flexible woman" and the "intelligent woman who doesn't buy her own BS" at the same time. It’s living proof of Quantum Theory: the moment you truly observe the relationship, it collapses.
I look at his text at 2:00 AM: "Thinking of you." Gigi deletes it. Libi cries a little. And me? I just order pasta. At least there, the carbs don't promise they're "conflicted."
The Final Dialogue: The Quantum Explosion (Or: Why This Suitcase No Longer Closes)
It’s 2:45 AM. The phone vibrates on the nightstand like a ticking time bomb of cheap dopamine. The classic message appears on the screen: "I can’t sleep. My conscience is killing me, but the thought of you brings me to life. I must see you tomorrow."
Inside my head, the arena is on fire.
Gigi (Logic): (Yawns with disdain) "Here we go. The Tormented Victim Theory. He wants you to be the Advil for his conscience. He 'must see you' because his ego needs a recharge, not because he intends to leave home."
Libi (Libido): (In a weak voice, almost surrendering) "But... look how he suffers... it’s almost romantic, isn't it? Like in those old movies, when the man stands in the rain, conflicted..."
Gigi: "That’s not rain, Libi. That’s a leak in your standards. Look at him through Social Exchange Theory. He invests the minimum (a late-night text) and expects the maximum (an acrobat in a suitcase). It’s time to unzip the bag."
I sit up in bed, light a cigarette (metaphorically, because health comes first), and type.
Me: "Listen. This suitcase is too small for me. I tried to fold myself in, I really did. I performed a mental split that made my entire psychology creak, but I’ve run out of baby powder."
He: (Replies instantly, his Operant Conditioning at its peak) "Yael? What happened? I thought you understood me. I thought we had a connection that goes beyond conventional morality."
Me: "The connection exists, but it’s a one-way street. According to the Theory of Entropy, this system is heading toward chaos. You’re conflicted at home, and I’m conflicted inside a box of dark chocolate at 3:00 AM. This isn't a connection; it’s bad engineering."
He: "I’d do anything for you! Just don’t say it’s over."
Me: "Anything? Great. Bring a truck. Not a suitcase—a truck. One with enough room for all my questions, my cynicism, and the fact that I’m not willing to be anyone's tormented 'secret.' Can you be an acrobat in broad daylight? Without the safety net of a wife waiting with dinner?"
He: (Long silence. His Cognitive Dissonance is currently jamming the entire system). "Yael... you know it’s complex... the kids... the mortgage... my values..."
Gigi: (In a scream of victory) "Bingo! He’s too invested in his comfortable life to jump. He wants only you to do the acrobatics."
Me: (Typing the final words, Brakes and Libido uniting for one strong kick) "Sweetie, I’m quitting the circus. This suitcase is being 'Returned to Sender' with all your torment inside. Find yourself a beginner acrobat; I’ve already moved on to a solo show. In full light. With plenty of legroom."
====
I hit 'Block.'
Inside, there is silence. Libido goes to sleep, a bit sad but full. The brakes are released. My brain returns to a calm state of data analysis. The acrobat is out of the box. And she didn't even break a sweat.
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