Hindsight

  I've been on my own for a year and a half now. It's given me a lot of time to think. I am about to turn 31 as well and nothing makes a woman think like hurtling another decade. The strangest thing has happened. I feel no attachment to my children's father anymore. Usually I look back on a previous relationship and can remember key things about what he and I had together. I remember nothing of him. There are no feelings that we ever even existed. I can't imagine why we ever did. That's not to say I regret it. I have 2 amazing children that I would go through all of my hardships for all over again just to ensure my life worked out in the same way and I could still have them. I think the answer lies in the fact that we never belonged together and we both knew it.

  I was raised in a house of fate, not faith. We believe everything happens for a reason. Everything is meant to be. At no instance did I ever feel that we were "meant to be". In fact, we told several people that we knew we weren't and we would make it work anyway. I have no idea why though. My mother is an amazing person who has always instilled in me that life unfolds as it should. I always thought I would find a soulmate. I thought it would be love at first sight. I knew it existed before, but not during, and I know again now that it does. But that's later.

   I met him after a string of unsuccessful relationships (if they can be so called). I was in college and for that entire year, I lived pretty carelessly, I admit. I made the mistake of becoming friends with the few men I slept with and then slipping away before they could reject me. I was tired of that. We frequently had parties and at any time there could be 60 people in our apartment. He came to one of those parties. And although he had a girlfriend, he couldn't take his eyes off me. Now, this is a time in my life when I felt on top of the world. And the thing that fed me was attention. I'm old enough now that I can admit that. He gave me plenty of attention and it was even more alluring to me because he was taken. But I still had my morals, even then, and I refused to make moves on men who were taken. However, one night, he kissed me in the driveway. This empowered me. I felt as though he must really be hung up on me and that made me feel good. When I was younger I noticed a trend of falling for boys who fell for me first. Boys that I never would have looked at twice could get my full attention if they seemed to like me enough.  A few days later he dumped his current girlfriend for me. It was all very complimenting. How could I turn him down after that? So I began seeing him even though we had absolutely nothing in common. He wasn't my type at all. Everyone knew it and seemed shocked that we were together. If nothing else, he was clearly all about me and he was kind to me. I also had myself convinced that dating someone like that would make me feel in control and thereby happy. What more could I want? Six months in, we nearly broke up. My roommate and I had gotten very drunk and I tried to get into my car. She proceeded to stop me and we drunkenly shoved each other in the garage. He shoved her away in my defense and now things were all very awkward between us. I had to move out. So, of course, I moved in with him. 

  Within 6 months, he proposed to me. It was the morning after my 21st birthday (Christmas Eve). I was so hungover I nearly threw up on him. And rather than a joyous and tearful "Yes!" I looked away from him and said "Does it have to be right away?" THAT should have been a big red flag. Someone put in my head that weddings can take a couple years to plan though, so I started planning anyway. Planning a wedding can really sweep a woman and her rational thoughts away. I believe that women are hardwired to believe that if a man really believes he can put up with your shit for the rest of his life, you'd better accept because no one else will ever feel that way about you. It's almost as if people have to make the choice to get married or break up and if you're not ready to break up, you'd better just get married. It's like a dance to keep from hurting each other's feelings. I beg anyone who reads this, if you have a shred of doubt, do not say yes. I know turning down a marriage proposal is completely unheard of, but you could be ruining your life as well as theirs, not to mention, wasting everyone's time on a cosmic level. A month before the wedding I found out I was pregnant. I lost that baby just as I was truly feeling excited about having a child. The whole "get married, have children" life had me swept away. I had settled in. I became pregnant again a few months after the wedding. We were already fighting by then. By the time our second child came, the attention he fed to me that worked so well in keeping me around had long gone. I was furniture. I only existed to take care of our children. I was an appliance. 

  Now, in hindsight, I can see that it never should have happened. And I knew before we were married that we had no business being together. However, my children are my reason for living. My only reason. There's no need to regret anything leading up to my children. And now? Now my life is good, not perfect, but I'm working on that. 

  The point is that I continue to understand myself and the way I am more and more everyday.  I've repaired my once partially severed relationship from my mother and friends. I'm happy. We're happy. Life is good for now. 

Why I am a Bitch.

Today someone told me that I should smile more. This is common. Super common. I would say I hear it at least once a day. It's no secret that I'm not....bubbly. I find that pushing fake smiles out is incredibly uncomfortable for me. However, I am not an unhappy person. I am indifferent, but not unhappy. My persona is best described as "dead pan", "bored", "bitchy", "unimpressed". That isn't exactly my aim though. My aim is to look uninviting. Here is the reason why:

Between the seventh and eighth grade my boobs grew quickly and overbearingly. And you can ask my mother (who still believes I might be a lesbian because of these teen year fashions) and she'll tell you I immediately began wearing baggy, anti-feminine clothing and I developed a tremendous slouch in my posture. I was already a shy person and this new flashing billboard attached to my chest was completely stifling and unwelcome. I got teased. Most girls invented rumors that I stuffed my bra while most boys dared each other to accidentally bump into them or try to get paper wads to land between them. I didn't like this attention. Even good attention felt invasive to me. By the time I got to college I had moved away and made friends with girls who were very pretty and liked that they were pretty. I envied them so much. They let me borrow their clothes frequently and for a short time I began to feel proud of my figure. A SHORT time. I had a job at a gas station for a few years. In that gas station I met a thousand people a day, most of which never ever looked me in the eyes. I commonly refer to my boobs as being "comically big" because they don't even look they belong on my body. Being that I feel like a freak of nature, I equated people looking at them to people making fun of me in their heads. I began to avoid eye contact. I got a lot of unwanted attention from men during those years and I discovered that being polite was a no no.

So, I stopped smiling. I developed a habit of never looking at people and keeping an uninterested and vacant glare at all times. There aren't many things in this world that make me as uncomfortable as knowing that a stranger is staring at me. But please don't read this as "I'm so attractive and awesome that if I smile I'll have to fight off all the men!" That couldn't be further from how I really feel about myself. I've just been instilled with this painfully insecure shyness. I can feel myself blushing if someone even looks at me for too long. It's not always a good kind of blushing either. Sometimes it's a panic. Now I'm older and not as attractive as I once was, but it's too late. My personality is ingrained. So although I don't believe I should have to worry about people looking at me like they're starving and I'm a steak, I cannot act differently than I always have. I can only smile with people I am very close with and trust on some level.  If I seem uninviting to you, it doesn't mean that I dislike you. I just don't know you yet.

Anonymity

I have got to check this damn thing more often. I went to look through it tonight and found that someone has been having a hay day insulting me. Judging by the colorful vocabulary (sarcasm, these things might as well have been written in crayon) I would say it was my ex or a friend of his. Don't you just love it when you're important enough to be stalked? Well, I'm sick of it. It's old and played out. Also, it's mildly entertaining. Mostly because all of these insults come anonymously. Getting worked up over shit people say to you on the internet is a pointless endeavor anyway, but when the troll chooses to stay anonymous, it's just a joke. What is the point of telling someone what you think of them if they don't fucking know it's you who thinks this of them? Oh.....people are stupid. I have NEVER said anything to anyone anonymously. Many websites come with this option and I just ignore it. If I'm going to say it, I A)Believe it MUST be said and B)Want you to know that IIIIII said it! So to whoever called me a "slut" on one post, "trash" on another, and remarked "who got the kids, the ex?" on another, my reply to you is GET A FUCKING LIFE. I don't need you to check in on mine. Mine is awesome right now. I'm happy and my kids are happy. THIS is all that matters to me. Have a nice day and die.

Creepshow.

When someone asked me to write about a horror flick, there was only one that came to mind. CREEPSHOW. If you've never seen this movie, we cannot be friends ... until you see it … and love it. This movie is my absolute favorite film ever. EVER. It's fucking perfect. George A. Romero directing, Stephen King writing, Tom Savini for special effects, and a slew of amazing actors including (well known in the world of horror) Tom Atkins and Adrienne Barbeau. Not to mention one of the best cinematic scores in all of creation. All that fantastic shit tied together with kick ass comic book style animated transitions illustrated by Bernie Wrightson makes it the most perfect goddamned horror flick on Earth. If you disagree, may you die a horrible death. Kidding. ::Winky Face:: Not kidding.

The wrap-around story is about a boy (Stephen King's actual son! ::GASP!::) who gets caught with a CREEPSHOW comic book by his father, Tom Atkins (an apparent smut ogler). Poor Billy loses his comic to the trash. A great injustice. Enter The Creep, a lovable skeleton in a cloak who visits Billy's window like a magical terrifying godmother to grant him the wish of offing his father for him. BUT, not before sharing with the audience just what the CREEPSHOW comic contains that is so very sinful and disgusting that it belongs in the garbage. “The freakin' garbage!” to be exact.

The first tale is titled “Father's Day.” This story features a snob family having a Father's Day dinner together....sans father. A young couple, a brother, and a aunt await the arrival of Great Aunt Bedelia. The brother sets it up: Aunt Bedelia is well know for being tormented all her life by her father, Nathan. At some point after he turns 184, Bedelia bashes his head in to halt his constant bitching. “Where's my Father's Day cake?!” Aw....that's nice. And although Nathan was clearly a mean old bastard from Hell, Bedelia is consumed with greed. Offing Daddy will do that to a girl. Bedelia visits his grave which is inexplicably close to the home, only to get strangled by a newly awakened, less than fresh, Nathan. All this happens while the family sits comfortably in the house and Ron Howard does possibly the most awkward on screen dancing to disco music ever. Don't worry, Nathan will kill him too. In fact, it's implied that Nathan gets the entire family on this evening and even makes Aunt Sylvia's head into his Father's Day cake, complete with candles. Hooray!

The second tale is titled “The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill.” Do you have goosebumps yet?! Jordy Verrill is a simpleton living in a shitty farm house in the middle of no where. Also he is played by Stephen Fucking King. Ah, yes...there are the goosebumps. On this night a bright glowing ball falls from the sky to which Jordy exclaims “Holy ol' Jesus!” Jordy'll be dipped in shit if that ain't a meteor. He proceeds to “cool the sumbitch off” with a bucket of water which causes it to break in half spilling a mysterious ooze that Jordy names “Meteor Shit.” The dialog alone makes this segment fantastic. Poor Jordy Verill spends the evening with hallucinations and what appears to be a plant like substance growing in places that come in contact with the meteor shit. ALL places. Yes, even there. At the end of the evening his land, home, belongings, and body are completely covered in moss and grass. This proves to be unbearable and Jordy opts for washing his mouth out with buckshot. A moment of silence...

The third tale is titled “Something to Tide You Over.” This story is about a man and another man and also a woman. Oh, there's the conflict: A woman. One man, Leslie Nielsen, wants to kill the other, Ted Danson, for sleeping with his wife, some broad. The chosen method for killing him and the broad? Burying them up to their necks in the sand and waiting for the tide to come in and drown them. He doesn't wait for the tide though. He has fancy-ass equipment to record it all so he can watch from his hoity-toity beach house, the rich bastard. The tide comes in and all is well! Whore wife and boyfriend, both dead. Good times are to be had in the shower. Or not. Instead, the whore wife and boyfriend come back from the dead and raid Leslie's beach house. What assholes! Bullets don't stop them either. In the end, we find poor Leslie buried on the beach. No worries, though. He can hold his breath “for a loooooong time.” No, not really. He gon' die.

The fourth tale is titled “The Crate.” This is my favorite. Henry is a man, barely. His mouthy, alcoholic wife, Wilma (call her “Billie”, everyone does) has made his life a living Hell. Henry regularly envisions killing Billie. Ah, the bliss of killing Billie. Henry works at a college which is in its off season. A janitor there has found a mysterious (say it with me) CRATE under the stairway. This crate has been nailed shut, surely for no important reason. The janitor is hot to see what's inside so he calls Henry's intellectual friend, Dexter, to help him investigate it. They find Fluffy inside. Fluffy is some sort of man-eating beast made of nightmares, teeth and the terrified tears of children. He eats the janitor, you know, because he's not important. Dexter runs to get help. He finds a wandering student, we'll call him “Meal #2”. Dexter then runs home to find Henry. And Henry figures “Janitor, random student, well....someone important to this plot has to be eaten at some point. Que Billie. Henry invites Billie to the college via hand-written note left next to her bourbon and milk. Ew. Billie falls right into Henry's trap. We rejoice and cheer for Fluffy. As Fluffy retreats to his crate for the evening, Henry manages to chain the crate shut and take Fluffy for a drive. He drops Fluffy at the bottom of a water filled quarry. Don't worry, he's fine. Not sure how, but he is.

The fifth and final tale is titled “They're Creeping Up On You.” It's about a mean old codger who subsides in a $3200 a month penthouse apartment that is supposedly germ proof. However, we needn't worry about germs. Upson Pratt hates bugs. Especially cockroaches. So, what should happen to suddenly and overwhelmingly inhabit his apartment? Fucking cockroaches. Thousands of them. Mr. Pratt is wonderful at being a total asshole to his employees via intercom phone calls and even goes so far as to make fun of a grief-stricken widow who's husband blew his brains out when Pratt bought his company. He also establishes himself as a racist dick. It's safe to say that by the time the bugs have inexplicably filled his apartment, we're ready to see the bastard croak. And he does. Quite graphically. Huzzah!

We return to the wrap-around story of Billy and his asshole father. As the garbage men show up to take the freakin' garbage, one of them (Tom Goddamned Savini) notices that an ad for a voo-doll has been clipped and mailed away from the comic book. Billy's father didn't sleep worth a damn and as he's bitching about his neck, his wife notices a piece of his pajamas missing. It cuts to Billy holding a voodoo doll clad in Dad's PJ's. Billy has a grand time repeatedly stabbing his father in the throat while his father writhes in pain downstairs in the kitchen.

I'll end this with a note on all the things that are not perfect about this film. …..............

Enjoy.

Adaptation is Difficult

    Ah, yes, September. This month hits me like a goddamn train every year. For one, this is just a month before BOTH of my kids' birthdays. Also, I ALWAYS get sick. Allergies kick in and a massive sinus infection kicks my ass this time of year. Being sick is a pain anyway. Being sick when you're alone is just depressing. Literally depressing. I don't think anyone's really taken care of me when I was sick since I lived at home with my mommy, but still...having people around to *try to make you feel better is at least something. Breathing through my mouth constantly has caused my lips to become severely chapped. There's not enough Carmex in the whole goddamn world! Sitting around sniffling and feeling like you have a bag of fucking sand on your face just blows. So...I'm trying to take my mind off of the downward spiral. Hence writing in the bloggage. (Google does not recognize "bloggage" as a word. Meh.)

    Let's take a review of my life at the moment. I have been living on my own for 3 and a half months now. I have days when I'm tickled to be alone and days that I'm, well, lonely. The deciding factor is, of course, my mood. Yay! Ugh.... My mood. My mood is a little anime girl who can be a cute innocent playful thing and just as easily be a giant, snake-tongued monster; eating neighborhood cats. I've learned some things about myself. I've learned who I am. What I like and don't liked. What my problems are. What I need to work on. I have a lot to work on, trust me.

    I've taken to a strange habit. Coming home from work, stripping, and getting into bed. Of course I only do this when alone. Once into bed, I don't leave. Hmm... I have no motivation to do anything ever. I know I should. I should care. But I just don't. Same happens on the weekends except before 5 pm. I've become a lazy fuck. I have nothing to make me get out of bed though. When my kids are here, it's completely different. I hang out with them and do kid stuff. Kids are just the coolest thing ever. But, yeah when I'm alone like right fucking now, I sit around in my underwear. What's it to ya?

    I have not been on a date. Or even tried to go on one. Let's just say I'm not ready to dive right back into picking up someone else's socks. The life of a wife sucks. ...Probably should have made that rhyme. Ah, well. In fact, the only man I've been speaking to is a man who lives very very very far away. This is the perfect situation for me. I can speak to a man, learn his outlook and opinion, get "Good morning, gorgeous." messages (which every goddamn girl wants everyday for the rest of her life, so take note), but not worry about being alone in a room and feeling terribly awkward with him. I'm not above admitting that I like this guy because he is sort of perfect for me and if he showed up someday, I would most likely fall for him but I'm not looking that far into the future yet. So, for now, just talking about anything and everything will do. Like I said, it's perfect.

    So, how am I spending my nights. Why, here! On the damned internet, typing away and reading about things. I've gone out a couple times, hated it, and come home. I'll cut loose at some point, but at the moment I'm still inverted. Sort of like a hermit, but I have to go to work everyday and shower regularly. Like tonight, I'm getting out of the house!......to do laundry at another friend's house while we bitch about guys and eat junk food. Shyeah.....it's that awesome in my universe. You should come some time!

I'm Too Old For This Shit

    So, in 1996, I met this girl. We were the shit, even at 12. And in 2003, we were beyond the shit. Everyone loved us because we did whatever we wanted. We had a blast no matter what and we didn't worry about boys or what they thought. And now that I'm getting divorced I've been able to spend time with this chick again. I've missed her. She still doesn't give a shit, does what she wants, always has a blast. There's something wrong for me though. I do give a shit, much more than I ever have or should. And this causes me to NOT have a blast. I went out with her last night. It was only the second time I've left the house since I separated from my soon-to-be ex-husband. And while we still had our moments when I was crying from laughter because we are fucking hilarious together (they should book us as entertainment), I did not enjoy a few parts of the night. Why? Because I am so goddamned worried about the state I am, that I absolutely do not want any attention. It was easy to be wild and care free back in 2003. I was hot! Like, really hot. Now, not so much. I've had 2 kids which have wrecked my body beyond recognition. I have been in a relationship that trained me to never ever want men's attention for nearly 10 years. I am just beat down in more ways than one and it sucks. I love this girl to death and I couldn't figure out why no matter how hard she tried to make me happy last night, I was still thinking "I want to go home." It's because of people looking. I used to not care if they looked. In fact, I counted on it. That feeling is gone now. I spent too many years afraid to move around because I would be judged. I wish I could just turn off that feeling. I can't, though. I don't know how.

    I need to apologize to my friend. She tried so very hard to give me a fun night. I ended up having one drink and returning home. I even left her there because she said she would get another ride. I feel terrible. I couldn't stand it though. The smoke, the noise, the desperate and disgusting people constantly looking. I had to get out of there. Perhaps I am just too old for this shit. I wish it didn't turn out that way though. I thought I was becoming me again, but I suppose I'm not completely there yet.

A Message To The Reader Who's Fucking With My Life

    First of all, thanks for reading. Appreciate it. *WINK* I'd like to explain that I am completely aware that I am putting my life out there for the public to read which means I have waived all of my rights and am vulnerable to scrutiny. Fine. Understood. However, I'd like to know why you have nothing better to do than to read my blog and report it to my ex-husband. Especially since my life no longer concerns him. I apparently need to clarify. In my last post, when I stated that I was "entering the dating world" that did not mean that I'm in the game as a star player. I am, in fact, on the bench....by choice. Even if the act of divorce hadn't made me bitter toward men, my ex certainly has. I NEVER want to be put through this bullshit again! I am not dating or even considering it and I don't plan on it for a long time. I also don't know why you feel the need to share my blog with him because I haven't actually said anything that should upset him. I've been incredibly generous with the way I describe him and omitted many of the details of his treachery. After all he's put me through I am still being civil. I think I need a goddamn award! But, no. Instead I write what I think is honest, accurate, and fair and what do I get? Him calling me the next day asking me a million questions about things that are, frankly, none of his goddamn business anymore. Now, of course I can't stop you from sitting by your computer and waiting for me to type up a new post so you can call him up and read it to him. I just felt like saying that I know what you're doing and you're an asshat for doing it. I hope someone fucks you over. Have a nice day.

How To Understand Women: Volume 1 of 489,328,901 (squared)

    Women are crazy. No shit. Here's the thing though. And I'm not saying you should forgive all the fucked up things women can and will do, but....just understand that most of it cannot be helped. Women are wired this way. I'm sure there's some sort of evolutionary reason, but who gives a shit. The point is our brains do not think rationally. Women have an uncanny knack for over-thinking the hell out of everything. EVERYTHING. A woman thinks about the way she walks: "Is my ass jiggling? Watch how you place that weak ankle. Stand up straighter. Stick your tits out. Look busy for Christ's sake." Women think about how they eat: "Is there anything in my teeth? How about now? Is my lipstick ok? Did I eat too much? I'm a fat ass. I really think there's something in my teeth." If we think this much about the completely fucking mundane shit that WE are doing, imagine how much we are dissecting every little thing YOU do and say.

    I'm nearly 30 now and just about to be divorced. As a married woman I used this pile of sparking wires tied to a rabid dog which I call my brain to make myself really goddamn angry. I would think and think until I was ready to commit murder, or rather, break some shit. Now that I'm entering the dating world again, I'm allowed to see men in a light that had been dimmed, almost suffocated after college. I'm old enough now that I can recognize when my "female thought process" is kicking in and sometimes shut it down. Not very often, but sometimes. When something doesn't go the way I want it to my brain starts throwing wild flaming shit at the front door that is my inner monologue. I over-think myself into a bad mood. That's a red flag for me. I have to stop and think to myself "Is this really going down the way I think it is? Or am I just being a goddamned girl about it?" For instance when I talk to a man who shows interest in me, I somehow expect that man to continue his interest at a steady, consistent level (which is not fucking possible). Just because a guy talks to me a little less does not mean he's over me, mad at me, doesn't want to talk to me ever again! He is just busy. Simple as that. However, even with that rational piece of knowledge living in my mind I cannot hear it. It is being choked by the "female thought process" and she is screaming over it "What the fuck is his problem?! Why doesn't he call me like he said he would?! I want to kick a puppy!!!" Now, I've tried to take thoughts like this and lock them up where they can't be heard in the back of my mind. It can't be done. Those thoughts can fit through bars! Turn into fucking vapor and sneak into brain cells that are heavily guarded by the need to reproduce! I'm telling you, the shit's like a bar of soap.  So what does the average woman do? She tries to come up with a way of telling you what you're doing wrong without it sounding like it's crazy even though she knows it probably is super crazy.

    So what should you as a man do to keep a woman happy?  Jesus.....there's nothing. There. Is. Nothing. You can be madly in love with a woman and the second you forget her birthday she is POSITIVE that you don't love and never did. That's just the way our minds work. If there were, for the sake of argument, a man who could keep a woman happy he would have to be tall, handsome, goddamn perfect, smart but not smarter than her, and he would have to pay every ounce of his attention to her all day everyday forever and ever and fucking ever. No? Yeah, ok. The most important thing that I've noticed from my own experience is that women want to be chased. Always. They want to feel like someone out there can't live without them. Once that feeling is gone, they're out. Or they want to be out. When a woman says she's "fine" you should ask her again. And here's a really awesome trick you men could use. Don't be a dick about it when you ask again. Sound polite and calm when you speak. Women hate it when your mouth says "I'm sorry" but your eyes and your tone say "Please take this offering of my dignity and shut the fuck up, you bitch." Big no no, boys.

    You might be thinking "Why try so hard just to keep her from being crazy when she's the one who's crazy?" Well, fucking because. Because woman can make your life really awesome if you're not a dick to them. It sounds like a simple thing, but actually this is the holy goddamn grail of relationship knowledge. If you do and say what she wants, you can have anything you want. It's really easy! I've only ever dated one guy who understood this. He paid attention to me. He did what I asked. He worshiped me. All along he was cheating on my with "too many women to count" (his words). And I never suspected a thing. I was blissfully in love with him because he pretended to be perfect. That's the other thing though. Should you find the holy grail and be perfect to a woman, be prepared for her to looooooove you. I'm talking obsessed, never want to hang up the phone, text you 100 times a day in love. And when you get her to fall so hard, don't act like it annoys the fuck out of you that she's in love. That's a dick move.

    Women are a labyrinth. If you find your way in (insert vagina joke here. Yeah, I said "insert.") you should stay. Because most women won't let you find your way and it's not likely to happen again or with anyone else. Consider yourself lucky. In short, women want to feel like the most important thing in the world to you. More important than your car or your video games or your friends or food or oxygen....yeah, I know...but actually it's not that she has to be more important, it's just that you need to show the effort to make her *feel* like she is. If you even pretend that she's all that matters you will have the happiest woman on the planet who will do anything you want. Probably even anal. End.

Legally Binding

    I'm not so sure that making marriage a legally binding thing is necessary. Divorce definitely requires legal terms and conditions. Otherwise, you'd never get your shit back. I spent my entire lunch break today reading my divorce papers. I can't imagine how much there is to read when you don't agree on things. I signed everything and as I sat there in that over-sized leather chair at a table that was easily 10 feet long I felt excitement well up in me. I thought I would possibly panic or suddenly feel hopeless and depressed over what was happening. I didn't. I felt like I had accomplished something that was bigger than me. Something I never thought I would accomplish. After leaving the lawyer's office, I did begin to feel some slight anxiety and fear. It was quickly replaced with relief. I did have a moment though. A moment of great familiarity. It was the blues creeping back in. I hadn't felt the blues in a few months. I had been momentarily struck down with the waves of awful emotions that came initially with this whole divorce thing, but that's not the same. Hopelessness, dreadful fear, and loneliness. That's the blues. This moment came upon me while I was in the laundromat tonight. I was on the phone and as I began to hang up I was suddenly uneasy. As if the blues were watching me from a crack in the wall or a drain in the floor. And those thoughts that only the blues can make you think crept into my brain. "You are alone now... You've finalized your divorce: No husband. You won't talk to anyone about it: No friends. He has the kids tonight: Empty house. ...And you brought it all on yourself." I nearly began to cry. Right there in the goddamn laundromat. Pathetic. This is what I wanted. I've never been so sure of anything. I suppose I just didn't think about any downsides to it. I honestly never knew how hard divorce would be on the person who wanted it. I've been handling it very well, but my walls are weakening. They need reinforcement. I am very very bad at asking for help though. I do not like people to feel sorry for me. Ever. In fact, I'm thinking of re-writing this right now due to the possibility that someone will want to reach out to me. I don't like the feeling of needing anyone else. It makes me feel weak. I'm not completely lonely though. I do have a few friends who enjoy a good rant and the cat. The cat is the best listener. I'm kidding. Or am I? I am...maybe.

Staying Together For The Kids: Miss-communicated Advice

    I spent 2 years struggling with whether or not my marriage should end. The question wasn't "Do I want to be with him anymore?" The answer to that was a astoundingly deafening "NO!" The questions were more like "Can I live with this? Can I stick it out for the kids' sake." That's what everyone tells you. "Stay together for your kids." And I believe that. I completely believed it. I thought that as long as no one was getting physically hurt, I had no reason to leave. Two years of that...constantly on my mind....knowing I was there for my kids. Then, I had an epiphany. When I was a kid my parents divorced. Before they did my mother used to hide in her bedroom from my father. I was not old enough to understand why and I distinctly remember thinking that my mother wanted nothing to do with me. That wasn't the case though. She was depressed, of course. And then I wondered what my children thought of me always hiding in my room. Luckily my kids have been with me in my room most of the time. Even as a hermit, they wanted to be near me. It was like lightning struck. And I knew I would be a better parent if I were happy. And I could not be happy until I was out. The separation has also made him a better father. He is now solely responsible for the kids when they are in his care. He has been forced to start cooking, cleaning, and taking care of them. It has been good for them and him. He was a good dad before, but not a hands on type. He was good at playing with them and keeping them happy while I did those things. If he were anything less, he wouldn't have joint custody.

    I understand the belief that happy children come from a happy home, not a broken one. It makes sense. However, I am from a broken home and I understand what I need to be happy and how to have a good life. And my home IS happy.  My mother and father were much better people when they were not together. And so are we.  I don't feel like I've let my children down by leaving their father. I'm happier, more productive, and more involved in their lives than ever. I am ultimately concerned with how my kids see this. I want them to look back and see how their lives improved after the divorce.