Sick Day

Apparently feeling like crap and wanting to gouge out your own innards supersedes any emotions over a painful and unwanted divorced. Confirmations that I feel horrible - I slept for 7 hours during the day yesterday, 8 hours last night, I have no desire to go on the web and look at divorce blogs, I haven't fantasized about killing my husband once and the taste of my one addiction (soda) turns my stomach.

Putting (dragging) one foot in front of the other because life carries on even if you just want to curl up in a ball and hide in a cave like Gollum.

Finding Your Happiness

When I'm feeling blue, I like to imagine my husband looking for his happiness. Is it in his crappy apartment? (I actually haven't been in his apartment, I just visualize it being on par with a college frat house, beer posters and all.) Is his happiness with his skanky whore? Is it under the table that we would have thrown out but we were too lazy and now it's found space in my husband's home? Is it under the scratched up coffee table that he took with him? All likely places for happiness.

I know where his happiness wasn't - with the wife that told him 4,875 times that she just wanted him to be happy so by all means take that bike ride, visit that friend. His happiness didn't reside with his two children who can bring a tear to my eye just by slipping their hands in mine and saying I love you mommy. His happiness wasn't with the big fluffy dog that he didn't want who greets him joyfully at the door and jumps up ecstatically on him trying to shower his face with kisses as he wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her fur. (I know he likes her.) His happiness wasn't in the home that displays photos of our kids on every wall, their presence apparent in every room, a toy here, a toy there, a stray sock under the bench. His happiness didn't exist among our shared friends, our intertwined families.

Since my happiness resides in all of these places, I must accept that he really did me a favor by walking away*. Our happinesses don't align, and I bet he will always be on the eternal search for his and I'm the lucky one, I've already found my happiness.


*I still fucking hate him though. Especially since I believe I have food poisoning and had to walk around hunched over to make the kids supper. Then laying on the couch and bemoaning how sick I was, my son asked if he should get the puke bucket for me. I love my kids.

Irony At Its Finest

My husband couldn't walk across the room without asking me for directions while we were married. He's Mr Man of Action when he wants out though. Got a lawyer and filed the divorce papers behind my back. He actually filled out a change of address form too. I'm shocked he even knows what the post office is. I don't believe he ever mailed a bill the whole time we've been married. I have to admit that it stung a little to get the change of address confirmation in the mail. Was it hurt? No, I think it was bitterness that he was so fucking unmotivated when we were married, he let me do everything. Who knows what he will accomplish next? Wrapping a Christmas present? Packing one of the kid's lunches?

Let me paint a picture for you. Around 17 years ago my father in law cheated on my mother in law for years, I mean YEARS. They got a divorce and my husband hasn't seen his father for about five or six years. (You lose track after a while.) He's maybe talked to him twice during that time. My husband's sister still has a semi-relationship with her father so she told him about my husband's cheating heart. My father in law got angry and asked how could he do that, that's horrible! I can only imagine the WTF in my sister in law's voice when she said, 'Dad, you did the same thing!'

'But you kids were older,' he reasoned, 'not little! And I'm not even sure I made the right decision back then.' So I guess there's a certain age that your kids should be before you commit adultery and rip your family apart. And it doesn't always turn out happily ever after. I wish my father in law had shared the Cheaters handbook with my husband. One more reason why I'm very disappointed in my father in law.

My dad came today to mow my lawn. 68 years old and he's pushing a mower because he feels bad for me since my husband ran off to find his happiness. Hate for my husband ran high today. 'What does your husband want out of life?' my dad asked. 'He had a good wife, two great kids, a new house.' To hear my father call me a good wife is amazing. He barely could remember my name growing up. For the first few years of my life I thought I was a southerner and had a string of three names - Sally Sara Kay. My mom's, my sister's, and my name all merged together. Who knew my father would be the hero in the seriocomedy of my life right now.

My father (and my husband) are both prejudiced against African Americans. My father is a small town New Englander, old and ignorant, that's not a pass to be prejudiced, of course, but he's my Dad. My husband on the other hand is just a racist asshole. My father said to me as he was leaving, 'I hope when your husband comes over one day, your boyfriend answers the door and he's 7 feet tall and HE'S BLACK.' And then he laughed maniacally for a long time. Yup, my dad really does love me and he REALLY hates my husband.

And I'm not prejudiced by the way. I work in Human Resources at a college. Doesn't get more diverse than that. And I'd love to date a black man. I have my eye on one right now. Donny Marshall (announcer for the Celtics). I used to teasingly call him my boyfriend and it would drive my husband crazy. Must be he was the only one allowed to have an alternative significant other while we were married. Donny, call me when my divorce is final. If you're married, skip it though, because I don't roll that way. I'll just keep drooling over my tv.

A Playlist For The Betrayed

Also known as the soundtrack for your fucked up life

Shattered - O.A.R.
A Little Bit Stronger - Sara Evans
Jar of Hearts - Christina Perri
A Thousand Years (just to torture yourself) - Christina Perri
Mama's Broken Heart - Miranda Lambert
Not Over You (haha just kidding to see if any one was paying attention) - Gavin DeGraw
Drive By - Train
Because of You - Kelly Clarkson & Reba McEntire
Forget You (clean version. I have kids.) - Cee Lo Green
Just Give Me A Reason - Pink
You Oughta Know - Alanis Morissette
I Fucking Hate You - Godsmack (thanks for the recommendation happy haus)
I'm Moving On - Rascal Flatts
You Give Love A Bad Name - Bon Jovi

Put them on your iPod and play them repeatedly, in your car, vacuuming, taking a crap, in the shower. You will heal in about 5 years. I promise.

Any other suggestions?

M-Day

Nope, M-Day isn't Monday. It's an even worse day. Moving Out Day. Not wanting to go home day. Not wanting to talk to the kids about missing furniture day. So yesterday my husband pulled up to the house in a u-Haul with his sister who would be helping him move out pieces of my life. Thankfully that was the only woman to arrive with him. The girlfriend didn't want to see his previous residence I guess. Or maybe she envisioned me jumping out of a closet with a knife and stabbing her. (I actually don’t believe my husband is that much of an asshole to bring his girlfriend to his old neighborhood but I also didn't think he was the kind of person to take a photo of his man parts and send them to various women so I might be thinking of the man that I previously knew.)

I wonder if my husband had a happy skip in his walk to be vacating the home where his children live. He’s, after all, on his course to find happiness so why wouldn't he be joyful about taking another step in that journey? Maybe he had some nostalgia as he walked through the rooms that he used to live in. The rooms that were littered with his children’s things. He didn't take much with him. A dresser, an end table. He texted me (I was at work) if he could have the ‘love’ seat. The ‘love’ seat. The irony kills me. I imagine the kids walking into the living room and seeing the empty space where the love seat was and I want to send some poison along with my response. ‘Yes, you can have the ‘out of love’ seat,’ I wanted to respond, but instead I just said, ‘Fine, take it.’ He took some stuff from the basement, mostly odds and ends. Tired old furniture that we just hadn't had a chance to sell or bring to the dump.

He took the tall toolbox with all of the tools. I have a 2,300 sq ft house and he’s got a 2-bedroom apartment but I guess if you have a penis you get custody of the tools. I dreaded telling the kids all day that they would see that some things were missing when they got home. I picked them up after school and we went to my daughter’s softball game. My husband showed up and my son casually waved and walked by him to play with a friend. Awkwardly I stood on the sidelines keeping score while my husband awkwardly sat in his chair removed from the rest of the crowd. My daughter struck out and had a fit. Refused to go back on the field. My husband tried to reason with her to no avail. Finally after delaying the game for a little while, she slowly crept back onto the field as everyone stared at her and us trying to cajole her to play. Good times.

After the game, my husband walked us back to the car. He kissed the kids goodbye and that was it. Off we went to our separate residences. I dreaded telling the kids that Daddy had officially moved out but I forced myself to do it. What did he take, they asked? I listed a few things. And then I said, ‘If you’re feeling sad or angry or confused about any of this, you can talk to Mommy.’ My daughter said, ‘You’re feeling sad, you’re already crying.’ (Yes, I was.) I said, ‘It’s okay to cry, it’s a big change.’ Then I said again, ‘If you’re feeling sad or angry, I want you to tell Mommy. If you’re thinking about it, I want you to talk to Mommy.’ My son says, ‘I don’t think about it.’ Okay, you’re 6, I’ll give you a pass on any deep thoughts about what it means when your father moves out.

When we got home, the kids thought it was great fun running from room to room, excitedly yelling what was missing. Taking inventory of what was left. A scavenger hunt for children of the divorcing. (The house didn't look much different at all so it was kind of anti-climactic. I was relieved but a little disappointed. Why isn't this harder?) The kids go into the basement and yell out, Daddy took this, Daddy took that. I start to get upset as I hear them talking about Daddy’s guitars being gone. Then I hear my daughter yell, “It looks so much better down here!” God, I love my practical kids.

The only really hard moment was when my daughter remembers that she had made my husband a picture to give to him when he moves out. “I will miss you a lot. I love you,” it said. My heart bleeds a little at lost innocence. My kids seem to be doing fine (unless they are bottling it up inside). Why am I the one struggling here? Because I’m the betrayed spouse? Because my pride is hurt? Because I feel like I’m the one left to figure everything out and be the nurturer to ensure that our children are okay? After thinking about this for a while, I checked my email. My mom had sent me a message asking ‘Has what’s his name moved out yet?’ My mom is a borderline saint and to think of her being so worked up in a tizzy and angrily typing those words almost makes me giggle. I’m thinking about calling my husband Voldemort now. “The One Who Must Not Be Named”.

Ignorance Is Bliss...Only It's Really Not

I was reading an article on a news site about a woman whose husband blindsided her with divorce. Someone commented, ‘for some people ignorance is bliss.... they live their lives oblivious to what is happening to their marriage.’

Why the hell are people so freaking callous when it comes to divorce? If someone dies, do they say 'well, you knew it would happen sometime?' Divorce is the death of all your hopes, dreams and happiness at that point in your life (well, unless you’re the cheater and then you’re fine with moving on to your Plan B hopes, dream and happiness.)

My response to this person was -

Ignorance is not bliss. Ignorance is trusting your husband and viewing him through your own moral compass. If I couldn't imagine myself cheating, then I didn't think he was capable of it either. Ignorance is trying to make your seemingly depressed husband happy for two years after he returned from Afghanistan only to discover that he started an affair shortly after he returned. Ignorance is taking care of your children and working a full time job while your husband gallivants off to his 'friend's house' or away on his motorcycle and you wave to him as he drives away because you just want him to be happy. Ignorance is going out to supper with your husband and then having him say "we have to talk" and he drops his bomb that explodes your whole family. You see your whole life and the lives of your children pass before your eyes. Yes, I probably should have seen the signs if I had been looking or if I had done research. But who researches an affliction that you never thought you had? Ignorance is most definitely not bliss.

I Wish I Knew How To Quit You

Naming this post what I did gave me a certain juvenile giggle. (Any Brokeback Mountain fans out there?) My husband is a big homophobe. I think that's almost a requirement if you're in the military. Are they worried passion will overtake a gay guy in the midsts of battle and he's going to crawl into their sleeping bags? I don't know, but most military men that I've met are quite fierce in their distaste for homosexuality.

Going through a divorce fills you with melancholy. Holy shit, that stuff is deadly. Tonight as I was climbing the stairs I swore I could smell my husband's aftershave. This was really striking to me because he never really wore any. What the hell am I missing? The smell of him? And then it occurred to me that I will never hear him snoring again and I got a little sad. Seriously, you know you're romanticizing your previous relationship if you think you're going to miss your husband's snoring.

Okay, what other crazy crap am I going to dream up that I will miss? Watching Fox News or The Military Channel every night? I rarely got the remote and if I did, my husband would disappear upstairs to his computer or the other tv. God forbid, we watch a show I was actually interested in.

Will I miss an extra towel hanging in the bathroom? His shoes next to mine in the mudroom? How about his dirty coffee cup on the counter? His clothes in the closet? His car in the garage?

How do you force yourself to stop brooding with melancholy? Snap a rubber band on your wrist? Squirt yourself with a spray bottle? Incessantly think about each one until you're rolled into a fetal position on the floor? What I've done is create a new normal. Fill up the voids. The empty towel hook now holds a hand towel. The mudroom is overflowing with the kids' shoes which previously had been tucked away. My clothes have taken over the whole closet. The kids' bikes are now in his bay of the garage.

Any spot or space that I had been subconsciously saving for him is now filled. There's no room for him here now. Maybe there's still a little space for melancholy but I might go and buy myself some perfume and fill the house with the scent of me because what I'm missing is a figment of my imagination, just like the phantom cologne.