Divorce, Humanity

the middle.

the kids are flying off to Florida tomorrow for a long weekend and a swim with some manatees.

the ex is dating, has broken up with the woman he was with immediately after leaving (foggy dates there, intentional) and it’s coming back around on me.

I don’t care. I do care. ego is involved. things are not equal. they won’t be. my kids are very lucky.

and I’m going to miss the kids a lot. its only one night more than regular that they’ll be gone from me, but the fact that they’ll be having all these first-time experiences without me is a little bit peaky. and airplanes.

and i’m having stress dreams about disrespect and the way i felt when i was married and the futile feeling that i had about my life all the time.

and i’m calling my friends and they are holding my hands, and my LM is being lovelier.

and man, there is this gift in all this… that i’m not there anymore, that he isn’t in my life anymore, that i can yell and be mad and not be constantly gaslit about my own worth and sanity.

that i forget. and remember. and yell in the empty kitchen, to myself,  ‘he is not in my life ANYMORE’. and the yelling feels right, and loosens my shoulders.

here i am.

sometimes i am mad. catch me at 9:30 at night when not one.single.kid. is making any progress towards sleep and i am a fucking harpy of doom.  totally.

and i don’t have to hear anymore about what an ‘angry person’ i am.  because i am so much more than a person who gets angry sometimes. and really, i always was.

i’m not there anymore. and the fairytale fell apart and the crying in the wedding dress is done. (i’m sure i’ll have some more moments, but.)

and i’ve got amazing kids with me all the time, and i’m allright man.  right here in the middle of all this, i’m still allright.

Breakfast Table Mess UnwifedMotherExpletive

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Divorce, Humanity

Hello! Still not simple.

there is something that unravels in your chest when you are in the right spot.  shoulders let down, breath slows.. its a piece of you that you don’t even always recognize as being wound.  (this one is tricky. not a wound. but wound, the tightly wound spool of thread…)

I think, even in a good marriage, you forget to take those moments of unravel. but I don’t know, surely, as I only had a good marriage for a short while.

it is akin to surrender, this unraveling, as a vulnerability in and of relief, a certainty that you are in a safe spot.

seems so simple.

but hello. it isn’t.

all the tiny steps you take to get there. to unlearn and relearn and step out and step back… those tiny steps to move away from a gigantic broken, blistered heart? ‘tiny’ being a euphemism for ‘each and every one is a gigantic, monolithic mass of granite that you can’t see the top of when you first approach.  we’re talking rock climbing every step of the way, with our out-of-shape, middle-aged everythings. I’m talking bloody fingers every reaching hand, every single one. and then the release. that spot.

just so you know. sigh. i’m climbing.

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Humanity

Dig, deeper.

I’m trying to work it out.  this whole fear/denial of the temporary. I feel, so much, the depth of winter, and i’m not even sure that its here, but this ending, this feeling of ending, is pervasive.

i’m scared about the climate. how do i accomodate that in my system? Where does it fit? When I don’t have a leadership that even acknowledges it?

I had a substitute teacher training session yesterday in case i want to do that after winter break and they had to do the requisite ‘armed intruder’ training.  This is not a drill. What is wrong, deeply wrong with our country?

I go look at the news on the right.  There is so much certainty. I go look at the news on the left. There is so much certainty. I COMPLETELY blame the lack of truthtelling. Truth WITHOUT interpretation, and without opinion. It seems conspiracy is the only thing we believe in now.  The truth ?

No one believes in it anymore. It seems.

so maybe my depressive ‘everything is temporary’ stems from the national crisis of integrity. Our priorities are intensely out-of-whack. Its not just me, its all of us.

Those on the left with their moral superiority complex, and their inflexibility. (i mean, sometimes the fucking guy is just making jokes, for chrissakes. it is appropriate? no. but damn, its a joke!)

Those on the right with their moral superiority complex, and their inflexibility. ( lets be clear; some of what he does and says is disgusting. flat out gross and i wouldn’t want anyone like him to ever date my kid. he is not good.)

 

I’m so tired of waiting for January.

 

 

**don’t even get me started on the problems I have with bargain shopping. talk about crisis.

(see. That’s a leavening statement, comic relief, if you will. THAT is what that is.)

Feet in a Waiting Room. Unwifedmotherexpletive

Humanity

Foxy, foxy.

Dia de la Muerta figures UnwifedMotherExpletive

There’s been a fox in my yard lately, sniffing around my chicken ladies.  They are safe, particularly at night, if, in fact, they are in their coop. But. and there is a large BUT, they don’t know enough to stay there. And I’m torn. Do I tell them? Do I cage them? Am I responsible for derailing their one wild life?

Its hard out there, for sure. Being solo in the wilderness is not a long story. Predators are, in fact, designed to defeat your precious freedom.

(I’m not an idiot. I’ve made a pen for my ladies, as they are the meagre survivors of a brutal season of bird, fox, automobile that affected their ability to safely free range. I’ve never seen anything like it. I buried a lot of chicken hit in the road. WTF. )

(and, far far too many jokes.)

but as i consider my life as a grown woman, and what freedom i have to choose… the gross amount of privilege i enjoy, the way in which i am forever tied to my family of brood, i am highly aware of the foxes out there.

Some of it is as simple as feeling shame for living on alimony and child support.  Its an entirely social construct, a pen, if you will, and i can live in it while throwing myself against the walls, or not.

some of it is as complicated as a new man in my life. LM still. but how much do i rely, how much do i allow, how much of merging is a loss? i’m going slow, slow, but these are things and thoughts that are real real.

sigh.  Fox medicine says that

If Fox has chosen to share its medicine with you, it is a sign that you are to become like the wind, which is unseen yet is about to weave into and through any location or situation. You would be wise to observe the acts of others rather than their words at this time. Use your cunning nature in a positive way; keep silent about who and what and why you are observing.

If i’m to be like the wind, cunning and clever, (and silence is, frankly, already out the door… ) i’m just going to keep on keeping on, watching and waiting and letting it ride.

Divorce, Humanity

lost and found, but lost.

hi. I’m at the end of my recovery day, from yesterday’s full 24 hours of hell, from both ends. the kids were at school for the bulk of it, but after school were play auditions for two kids, and a soccer game so I needed to ask for help. and it came, with trumpets. kids were taken to tryouts, soccer was watched and that kid got to go out to dinner with his dad…dinner was served to other kids, homework was done.  a small crew of 3 adults did what I do on a normal Wednesday.

I’m not going to tell you I’m not proud of my life.

and I’m going to tell you that you are lucky if you have family and love like I do. so lucky.

today is recovery. fair amounts of water, boredom in bed, sickness at the thought of food, but hungry.  by the time the bus rolled around today, I had moved myself to the kitchen cozy. spent an hour just chatting with my girl because I missed her yesterday. an hour. the bliss of it. just cozied up. I learned about the lady who did all the math for the moon. (Katherine Johnson) Everything stays the same, yes? but these tiny differences? that my girl sits on my lap and tells me all about the LADY that did all the math to save the men who traveled to the moon? oh, it’s rich with possibility. if this were a comic, we would turn the page to the next ms. marvel.

but since I’ve been in bed all day, I now can’t sleep, as weak and ridiculous as I feel. and so I’m here, apologetic.

one thing: I paid to print out the whole of my old blog, wifemotherexpletive.com  

1016190912I thought it would be so cool to go through it and pick out the things that I loved, that I have written, those bits of beauty that slipped through and away during those years.

and I can’t. I read the first post, and the second, and did some flipping. and it is just unbearably sad. I was so sad, all the time, and mad, and lost. like the perfect puppy who lives under the bridge while the happy family walks by, unseeing. I hate ‘near miss’ movies, and I’m pretty sure I lived one for a long time. Maybe the hate comes from the experience.

It was ten years of my life, that writing. and makes two volumes, when divided chronologically. the first is so fat, rich with hope and trying. and the second volume thin, with so much less of everything.

I don’t want to look into the memories, or remember what the code was in my stories, as I was trying so hard to communicate with my husband my devastation at what i was, what we were.

Its been crushing me a little, into sickness maybe? and this is the season when I feel devastation the deepest. if one has any choice in that, at all.

so there it is. my late-night blog. what the hell do i do with all that?