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

We Interrupt this Broadcast

He's leaving.

He was scheduled to depart on August 31st. Instead, he's decided to leave early. He says it's because this limbo thing is too hard on both of us, but especially me. And it's true. We're living separate lives but in an exceptionally weird way now, because we both know it's just a matter of time before we split for good. Before, we lived our separate lives, but were content(?) in knowing that we wanted it that way. Did we really? I don't know.

So, tonight my daughter said something about Dad moving out in a few days and I said, "What?" I didn't know because he didn't tell me. Is this the last (and very lame) surprise he'll ever give me? What do I feel? Excited! I can hardly wait. I have plans. I'm going to rekindle friendships. I'm going to become healthy and cook more. I'm going to redecorate (on serious budget) the house and make it feel like Mine instead of Ours.

But for now...I have to wait. More waiting. ~ME

Stalking My Neighbor

Contemplating divorce has made me a creepy neighbor. Seriously! I've been haunting my neighbor lately. She is a 60+ woman who has been single ever since we moved here more than 20-years ago. Since I live in a two-story house, I can secretly watch her. Creepy, I know! Hahaha

She is so independent, and I admire that. I watched her get out the lawn mower, power it up, and then mow her lawn. I have never mowed a lawn. Seriously. How embarrassing is that? I hate to even admit it. My father never allowed me to mow the lawn when I was young. In fact, he scared me half to death of it. It could mutilate, maim, and otherwise dismember. And then there was the story of the child of a friend. My father's friend was mowing the lawn, when he mowed over a long nail. His son was nearby and the nail was driven straight through his heart. The child died. Anyway...lawn mowing is not something I'm comfortable with. Yikes! But as I watch my neighbor, who has nobody else to depend on, it looks so powerful! She wanders around her yard, picking things up and pulling a weed here and there. I watch her on her patio drinking wine by herself or with a friend or two.


If I was creepy enough to peer inside her windows, I'm sure I'd see her puttering around the house too, fixing things and being independent. But truth be told, I never even thought of these things when I was part of a couple. I didn't have to. I just wondered if she was lonely all by herself.

Anyway, I'll try to back of off the creepy neighbor routine now. ~ME

Divorce Limbo: No Cooking!

Yesterday I took out some lovely chicken breasts and thought about the mashed potatoes and gravy I'd make, plus some local corn on the cob. But I didn't make it. And I realize why now. If I make it, the wasband will eat it too. If the wasband eats it, then he's benefiting from this ridiculous arrangement. Funny how the mind works. In so many ways, I'm distancing myself from the wasband. I have to. I need to. Thanks to the chicken breasts, I now know why. ~ME

Weird thing about being in divorce limbo is that you start doing things without realizing why you're doing them. Take cooking, for example. I normally cook what I'd call a real meal, about three times a week. The other days, we eat leftovers or I make myself a salad for dinner or whatever. But since we decided to split (it feels so 60's when I say that), I haven't cooked a family meal.

Divorce: From Elation to Melancholy

From the Divorce Diary

First the definitions:
Elation: (noun) great happiness and exhilaration
Melancholy: (adj) sad, gloomy, or depressed

I'm a word person. So, of course, I'm trying desperately to find a word for my feelings. For the first few days after we finally talked, and finally made a decision, I was elated*. I felt like a hiker on a hilly walk toward a viewpoint that overlooks the ocean; but my backpack, full of experiences far heavier than bricks or rocks was too unmanageable to make any progress. Days come and go - the sun rises and sets, but the forest is too thick; I can only imagine what I'm missing. But then the muck in my brain clears for a moment and I can see a solution. Why didn't I think of this before? I edge the straps from my shoulders and let the backpack fall with a thud. I'm free. That's how I felt when I finally decided to leave my rotting marriage.

After less than a week, something else settled in. Melancholy**. It's an old word and just the way it rolls of your tongue sounds sad. Not quite depression, but just a blah feeling (not a good description for a self-proclaimed word person). Maybe it's because I'm in major limbo. My wasband is still in my house...with me and our teenage son. He moves out at the end of the month. So, what am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to feel? I feel like I'm playing house with someone I don't like. I don't have any freedom in my own house.18 days until he moves out. I'm counting. ~ME

I don't care

My mom wrote me a sweet email. She talked about how difficult this will be "for all of us" and that "we" will have to deal with it in our own way. "We" will have to grieve for what is lost. Don't get me wrong -- I love my mother to pieces. She's an 80-year old ray of sunshine to everyone she meets. I couldn't ask for a better mother. That said, do you know what I thought when I read her email?

"I don't care."

Sorry, Mom. And if it makes you feel any better, if I had the energy to do so, I'd feel guilty about it.

I just can't deal with it. What I am dealing with is my own emotions, my own topsy-turvy life. And I'm dealing with those closest to me and most effected by all this - my children. I just don't care about how everyone else feels. I am vaguely aware that this will effect them too, my sisters for example. They've known my husband for 30+ years. I know that each of them has their own relationship with him, and will have to figure out a way to continue that...or not. But, as selfish as it sounds, I just can't even bring myself to care. Maybe that will come later. Maybe this is the new me -- but I hope not.

The D word

Divorce.

Over the years, I've heard it many, many times. When I hear someone is getting a divorce, here's what I think; nothing. I seriously don't really think or feel anything when I hear the word divorce. I mean, on some level, I think it's sad...as any end to love is. But I've never once considered what the two people are going through. Why? Ignorance. I was completely ignorant to the trauma that divorce inflicts.



Our decision to divorce wasn't some huge decision, some well-thought through thang. Instead it was a slow moving decision, like a slug on the sidewalk. The only thing I did think about was that our children would have to be told, and that would suck. Second on my mind was my elderly parents; who wants to be the bearer of bad news to an 85 year old and a 92 year old? Nobody. So, those things I'd thought about. What I didn't think about was the others; the friends, family, neighbors. Hell, even the mailman has to be told!

And I certainly didn't think through all the changes that would occur. I'd be single for the first time...well, ever. I went from my parent's home at age 19 to my husbands, where I've been ever since. Oh Dear God in Heaven! I'm going to be single for the first time. I've never even mowed my own lawn! Oh Gawd!

I also didn't think through the numerous changes I'd make and all the decisions I'd have to make. And I didn't think through how incredibly out of control everything would feel. That's where I am now ... ... out of control.

It will get better, right? ~ME

Swing Me To Sleep

I was once again trying to get to sleep, in my sons' old room. I heard thunder in the distance, and then flashes of lightening lit up the room. Then the wind picked up, blowing freely through the windows. From where I lay, I could see the trees sway with each gust. I wasn't sleeping anyway, so I grabbed the sheet off the bed, wrapped it around me and ran downstairs and out on the porch. A few pillows and my sheet, and it felt an awful lot like a cozy bed. I lay there, on my porch swing, watching the show; lightening and thunder, coming from the Blue Mountains several miles away. I counted the seconds between the clap of thunder and the lightening. The closer they are together, the closer the lightening is...so "they" say.  

One Mississippi...two Mississippi...three Mississippi...

Storms have always been strangely soothing to me. When we bought our 1907 Craftsman style home, the large, covered front porch was the thing that first drew me to it. The porch swing sealed the deal.

I lay on the porch swing, the storm surrounding the house. I was alone. Not a soul was outside as I was...sitting outside at 11:30 at night. I snuggled in, lulled to sleep by the storm. I slowly became aware that I'd fallen asleep. Unwrapping the sheet, I tossed it on the swing. The digital clock inside read 2:00am. It was the best sleep I'd had in two weeks.

Maybe there IS hope. If I can just remember that sweet sleep is possible even in the middle of the storm, maybe I can make it through this afterall. ~ME

Sleep is Elusive

I have problems sleeping periodically. But right now, there's a good reason for it. I mean, seriously! I'm living with the husband who cheated on me, who probably had a baby with the OTHER WOMAN, who hid it from me for five years, and who went to a total of three counseling sessions (while I went for a year!). I spent the last two weeks breaking the heart of my children, parents, and anyone else who was invested in my marriage. My future is uncertain. I work from home as a writer, but barely make enough to buy a dress at Kmart. I have no clue how to split things as far as the divorce goes. And the list goes on...and on.

Even though we've slept in the same bed for 30-years, despite our problems, it doesn't feel right to sleep together now. I tried it for a few nights since we decided to split. But I just couldn't do it. I can't really explain why...yet....maybe that will come. So, my hasband, being the real man that he is (inject sarcastic voice here), did nothing. So, I slept on the sofa. I slept there for a few nights. Then I moved to my half-finished guest room. That's where I've been since. It's a tiny room that we used as a nursery when #2 was a baby. Later, when #3 was a little boy, I painted it yellow, with a midnight blue ceiling, and stuck those glow-in-the-dark stars on it. It's on the second floor, and the view outside the windows is the sky. It's a good feeling room, with a simple single bed, a small three-drawered night table, and a small bookshelf that I've filled with hopeful books. There are windows on three sides. In the olden days, it was a sun porch, or a sleeping porch. It's lovely. But. But I still can't sleep. I can't put my finger on it, but my mind just won't relax. I know that sounds stupid. I've got a lot to worry about and think about; it's logical that I can't sleep. But it's not like that. I don't even necessarily ruminate over all those things. I just can't sleep. I've tried counting sheep, counting backwards, focusing on the wind outside the windows. I've tried relaxing music.

My new solution is a website I found while looking for white noise for my baby grand daughter. I love the site and it certainly works during the day, to help me relax. I'm curious to see if it will work, or at least help me to relax. I don't know. We'll see. Will I be able to sleep once he's out of the house? Is that what's so unsettling? This just sucks. My days suck and now my nights do too. Will I ever sleep that sweet sleep again? It sure doesn't seem like it. ~ME

What's Happening Now?

We've decided to split. We don't know how to do this. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. I feel like everything I feel is wrong. I'm almost giddy with joy one moment and then down in the dumps another. When I'm down, I lay in bed for hours, trying to sleep because sleep is impossible at night. I'm tired. I'm bone-tired, as my mother calls it. Weary.

Our children know we're divorcing. Child 1 is our eldest daughter. She's 28 and mature. She also just had our first grandchild - a baby girl that has brought more joy than anything in my life. Child 2 is our middle child, a son. He's sensitive and feels like we rushed into this. I don't have the heart to tell him that we had only 8 or 9 good years of marriage. Child 3 is our youngest, another son. He's happy-go-lucky and took the news really hard. He cried and it broke my heart.

Wasband will be moving in with a friend at the end of the month. It isn't soon enough. It's too weird living in the same house, knowing what we do. I can't watch TV with him with my heart bleeding. I can't bake a cake or make a meal. It makes no sense. Child 3 is still at home and will stay here when his father leaves.

We own our house and I am staying in it. We bought our house 20-years ago. I loved it from the moment I saw it. Can I ever get that love back, or has too much happened here. I don't know. But somehow I've got to take it back. Somehow.

I've told the people closest to me. Others I just haven't. There are friends and even family, who don't know. Our neighbors don't know. Will they notice when he leaves with boxes? Will they notice that his truck isn't in the driveway every night?  Will I feel safe here without him?

As always, I have more questions than answers. ~ME

My Sad and Stupid Story

As I sit in limbo, waiting for my husband (aka wasband) to move out later this month, I've gone through all the emotions. From elation to melancholy, it's all washed over me at some point. Like every woman, my life is complicated and will take some explaining. So for now, the crib notes version.

I was married in 1985. In 2000, a mentally ill relative told me that my wasband had had an affair. I didn't believe her. She was mentally ill, afterall. But when I laughed as I told my wasband about it, he was silent. It was true.

He had an affair that lasted a year, with a woman from work (Oh Gawd, how I hate the cliche' in this!). I was pregnant with our youngest child at the time. She got pregnant too. They broke it off shortly after I had our son. The day after I learned of my husband f$%#ing another woman for a year, I ruptured a disc in my back. Suddenly, I was in a position where I needed him. How crappy is that? Pretty damned crappy!

I never made one big decision to stay. I just stayed. I don't even know why. ~ME

What this blog is about

Hi. My name is ME. Well, that's not my real name. But ya know! I intend to keep my identity private, because I'm every woman who has gone through this, or who is going through it. Read on.

I am a woman in her late (very late) 40's, who is in the very beginning of a divorce. I was married for 30 years, of which 9 were happy. My husband had a long term affair. When I learned about it, years after it was over, I still stayed with him. We had three young children, and it seemed the most comfortable thing to do.

Our children are grown now and there's nothing left to fight for. So, we've decided to split. He will move out on August 31st...in 20 days...but who's counting. I'm in a constant state of limbo.

The reason for this blog is twofold; 1) I want to document this new and terrifying experience in my life. And 2) I hope that writing it down will help me to process things and maybe gather some cyber support along the way.

I will post often. Some posts will be short and others will be far too long, I'm sure. Whatever it takes, I'll do it. Somewhere within me is a woman full of potential. I just have to discard the layers, so I can see her. ~ME