He is doing the Sunday night trip, taking the kids back to their mother. I am getting gas for his car, buying milk for tomorrow's coffee. Coming home, I am maneuvering around the garbage cans I have lined up at the curb, noticing the grape vines come down from the fence, reminded of the old mattress that need to be deaccessioned. I know my life has not really gotten this small, it's just that the battles don't feel so epic and uncertain. That's what I tell myself.