More Anger: Bread Tags

Bread tags. You know those little plastic squares with a space and a circle in the middle? They're wrapped around the end of a loaf of bread, and are so unimportant that they don't even deserve a name. So, I'll just call them bread tags. My latest burst of anger was prompted by those bread tags.
You see, my hasband has always saved them. Why? Because he's neurotic...not about everything...just about bread tags. And he doesn't just toss them in a drawer. No, he actually takes the time to clip them to our wire, hanging basket. The basket is for fruit, for veggies...for fresh and pretty things. It's not for freakin' bread clips! He's sure that he'll use them whenever a plastic bag needs to be sealed. This is the man who will reuse anything, no matter how germ infested.

I'm Mad as Hell and... So, here I am a month out from our separation. I've had a shitty day (see previous post) and my eye catches on those f$#%ing bread tags. I started to rip them down. At first it was just a domestic chore: cleaning up. But then I whispered, "F#ck you!" With each tag, my "F-you" got more emphatic, and louder. With the last "F-you" I was screaming so loud, I looked at my open kitchen window with dread. A handful of bread tags, I considered for a milli-second, throwing them to the floor in victory. Then I realized I would have to clean them up. So instead I opened the door under the sink and tossed them into the garbage. In one swoop I grabbed the garbage bag, tied it in a knot at the top, ran through the house, down the steps, and with force, threw it in the garbage can. I felt like Rocky at the top of the steps...with a garbage bag held over my head. I looked around. A man was walking his dog past me. He didn't see me...or at least he pretended not to. Smart man!

Divorce: The Anger Stage

When I told my daughter the true story of her father's affair, she asked me if I was angry. I said, "Not really. It's been coming for a long time." I don't remember this conversation, which I'm chalking up to "Divorce Complicated Amnesia." But my daughter does. In fact, she told me this last night when I told her I seem to be getting angry about all this.
You see, I'd spent the day stomping around the house at everything that went wrong, from the rake breaking off in my hand, to the table I was trying to move downstairs, that got wedged between the railing and the wall. My thinking went something like this;

The Rake Incident: I was hot and sweaty from working in the yard, HIS yard. But I had one last thing to do - rake the dry spots in the grass so I could plant seed later. I got the rake out and with one brush across the barren island, the rake broke off the handle. "Shit!" I said, "Shit, Shit, Shit!" Anger welled up in me like a volcano that's been dormant for way too many years. And here's what I thought; If he'd redone the automatic sprinklers, like I said a million times, I wouldn't be out here sweating my ass off! I'd even gone to the extent of putting little clear plastic cups on the dry spots overnight and then showed him the next morning, after the sprinklers had run their cycles. Not a drop of water made it to those cups. Still, he argued with me - maybe the wind had blown, maybe the water from the rest of the grass runs to the dry spots. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So, I set a sprinkler on the grass and turned it on. When I came back to turn the water off, it was already off. So, I turned it back on. When I returned 20 minutes later, it was turned off again. You can see where this is going. Now he's not here, and I'm sweaty and miserable, and it's his fault - Clearly!

And then there's the table stuck two feet off the ground story...but you probably get the idea from the rake story.

Clearly, I'm not in the denial stage anymore. I don't like anger. But it's here. Hopefully it won't decorate, paint, and put shelves up for chachkies that only mean something for a short time. Eh...

Weighty Issue

OK, so maybe that should say, "Weight Issue." That's the theme of my life. It went something like this. I was married at 19-years old. I was 121 pounds and quite sure I was obese. (What a fool!) I'd already spent years (sad, huh?), dieting. My top weight in high school was 155lbs...a quite reasonable weight at 5 ft 7. Of course hindsight has perfect vision!

Our 20th anniversary (ten years ago) should have been a wake up call. I thought it would be romantic to read the love letters I wrote to the hasband just prior to our marriage in 1983. He was in the service and I was still living with my parents in a tiny town in the Pacific Northwest. So, I sat on the bedroom floor with a box of "love" letters. My intention was to read a few and choose a couple to read to him on our trip to Mexico. But there was one problem. Every single letter had a diatribe about how much weight I promised to lose. "I've lost three pounds since I started fasting." "You'd be so proud of me...I only ate an orange today." Looking back at those letters made me realize one thing; I was obsessed with my weight. But the other thing I remember quite clearly, is that he never once said I was silly for wanting to lose weight. He never once discouraged me from the crazy yo-yo dieting that ruled my life.

Is it any surprise that my therapist helped me realize that I've been unconsciously putting weight on and keeping it on, to keep my hasband away from me? Yeah, not all that hard to figure out! Funny, huh? I hardly know what or how to think of that. I mean, when threatened by another woman, wouldn't you think "one" would do the opposite? Maybe get all dolled up, lose weight, have a boob job? Something like that! But no, I couldn't possibly do anything that other women do. Instead, I put layer upon layer between me and my hasband. Why did I do that? Was it really to distance myself, or was it a challenge, as in "if you love me, prove it by loving the fat version of me"?

Oh jeez...this is all so complicated. Somebody help me!

Divorce: the new experience

OK, so I realize that not everything I'm experiencing is a result of the impending divorce. Still, a new experience is a new experience. And I had a ton of them at the grocery store today!

In the last 30 years, I went from;

1. Cooking for one to cooking for two.
2. Cooking for two to cooking for (new baby #1) three.
3. Cooking for three (preschooler) to cooking for four (new baby #2)
4. Cooking for four (preschooler, grade schooler) to cooking for five (new baby #3)

At one point, I had to drop kids at at three different schools; elementary, middle, and high school! It's when the boys hit the teen years, that my cooking went from lovely little meals, to massive amounts of food piled high on their plate, and ordering pizza where each one had their own pizza! When my daughter moved out, there wasn't a huge difference in our food consumption. She had, afterall, become very health conscious and was a vegetarian. All I had to adjust was the amount of fresh fruits and veggies I bought - so they wouldn't rot in the crisper! But I still had boys who were becoming young men. I bought in the largest available size. Giant cans of soup, big bags of pasta, and 20lb bags of potatoes. "Value" packs of chicken and red meat. I put the casseroles I made in the deepest, largest lasagna pan I had. I made spaghetti in the crock pot, filled to the brim.

Now, 30 years later, it's just my 18-year old son and me. He has a job and tends to eat most of his meals out (I know...YUK!) Since my hasband has moved out, I find myself with way too much food. Shopping yesterday, I realized something - I was still shopping for very hungry teens. And since even the child still living with me isn't really eating at home, I decided to shop just for me!

I know this sounds so minor, but to me it was a major step toward my freedom and independance, and new life as a single lady. I got that song, "I'm a single lady...I'm a single lady..." in my head as I shopped. I actually had to physically put things back, like the large can of soup, and choose a smaller one. I loaded up on apples, and then stopped to think about how many I would really eat. I bought three bananas...three! I usually buy two or three bunches! What a change.

I did some fun things too. I bought a couple of small steaks. I bought some good cheeses, and specialty crackers, for sampling in the evening with a glass of wine on the front porch. It was fun to just think of me. I felt strangely empowered as I watched my small portions of foods on the conveyer belt.

I'm a single lady. And now, I'm shopping like one! Yay me! ~ME

Separation: to leave or stay...in the house

 

My hasband has moved out. I am in the house. We own it...barely. We just paid it off actually. So, there's no mortgage payment. That's the easy part - the good news. But I have really mixed feelings about staying here. While my hasband thinks he has it hard because he had to leave, I feel like it's equally hard for me -- maybe even moreso.

I'm left with a house that is full of memories. Memories of my children are the great ones! But there are also the memories of us - when I confronted him about the affair...when he said he'd had an affair...when I cried day and night. And then there are the unanswered questions; did she sleep with my hasband in my bed? Was she here in my house, when I was not? Did she put her mark here, like a dog marking it's territory with urine? Did she drive past my house? Did she know where I lived? Did she imagine me here?

What am I to do with all of these thoughts?

Can I ever feel like our house...is my house? Is there a way to reclaim it? Is there a way to make it mine? Will I ever feel like I did when I first saw this house - that excitement and anticipation for the life I'd live here?

The only thing I know for sure is that for right now, I don't have a choice. Until we settle things, until we finalize our divorce, I have to stay here. I can't afford to leave. But I may not be able to afford (the upkeep) to stay either. For now, I remain in limbo. I've got to shift my thinking somehow, or staying will be simply unbearable.

Another string of questions for which there are no answers.

Did you have to make any decisions like this? How did it turn out for you? ~ME

He's Gone

He moved out. For some reason, he decided to leave the house earlier than planned. He says it's because he saw how hard this limbo thing was on me. I don't know what to believe. When I knew he'd be moving the rest of his stuff out, I left the house. It just seemed too weird. What does one say to a hasband of 30 years when he moves out? Bye? See you later? Have a nice life? See you tomorrow...next week...next month? So, I avoided the whole thing by leaving.

If I didn't have a son still at home, I might have celebrated in some way. But truth is, celebrating the end of a marriage to his father just seemed wrong too. I don't even know if I would have celebrated if I were alone. So, what did I do with my newfound freedom? I cleaned the house. I watched a little T.V. and I went to bed. Sorry, but that's my anti-climactic story.

Have you been through this? What was your first night alone like?

Off my Game

I'm completely off my game. I have no routine. I usually thrive on routine. I love to make lists and even put little boxes next to each item, to be filled with a big check mark when it's completed. But I'm not doing it. No lists - no routine - no agenda. It seems my brain only wants to muddle around. I can't even say anything like, "Oh I spend my whole day crying" or "I'm too distraught to do anything at all." It's more grey than that. Time, like my emotions slip through my fingers undefined.

I'm not even taking the dog for a walk or taking my vitamins daily. It seems like such simple things. And yet. I like Flylady (you really should check out the website). I haven't adopted  her whole program but have picked up things along the way (that was a pun. hahaha). In more stable days, I did my Flylady Five, as I called it - every morning. That is, I put in a load of laundry, a load of dishes, made the bed, swish and swiped the bathroom, and did one more thing for good measure. During the day, if I got nothing else done, those five things got done. And that always felt good. But now, nothing gets done in an orderly or routine manner. It's all haphazard and I have a feeling, that's becoming a problem for me.

It's time to take charge.

Maybe. ~ME