Friends.

Friends.

Lets just visit this topic real quick.

First: I am not a good friend. I am bad at calling and texting back. I like my alone time. I also have a kid. That makes on the fly socializing impossible. I am a scatter brain, I forget and I am flaky as fuck.

Second: I avoid confrontation. So if I sense there is a rumble of dissent, I do this thing I call “The dip”. I dip out. Radio silence.

I don’t have a best friend. Continue reading “Friends.”

Home.

Home.

Cliches annoy me. They roll too easy off the tongue and involve little thought. But they exist because they are mostly true.

They say that:

Home is where the heart is.

It’s like a stupid sign I would hang in the living room as a decoration. I had certainly bought into that idea without putting thought into. Like, yes my address where I live is also where my family lives.  And until the divorce the idea of “Home” was simply a structure with walls and roof. A home was a thing you paint and fill. Something you pay for and something you can sell. Continue reading “Home.”

The House. His House. Our House?

The House. His House. Our House?

I went to the house to help label things to keep and things to junk. The floors need a good cleaning and the walls need a fresh coat of paint but otherwise its a nice simple home.

There was a few times I felt so rigid, stiff and uncomfortable I wanted to crawl out of my body and run away. But I didn’t. Life is hard. Things are hard. Running solves nothing.

But this house isn’t about me. It’s his victory. And I will let him have it. He’s a homeowner and he has a place that is HIS. To do what he wants with it.That’s awesome. I had my turn years ago with that. (And now it’s gone.) Continue reading “The House. His House. Our House?”

Good. Great. Bad. Better.

Good. Great. Bad. Better.

Life has been busy. Consuming. Good. Great. Bad. Better. My new standard roller coaster. Wayyyyyy better than the “Flat Line” of Shitty. Shittier. Wish I was Dead. Ok I’m Alive. I came to know that way of life far too well.

Little guy is in a big boy bed as of this week. I have to take apart the crib tonight. While I cry. My baby is a boy. I miss my baby. Realizing how much he is growing reminds me that I always saw myself as having two. Continue reading “Good. Great. Bad. Better.”

My Worst Divorce Memory

My Worst Divorce Memory

Lately I’ve been thinking.

Thoughts I’ve buried. Thoughts I’ve deemed too difficult to process.

And mix it with thoughts that counteract the trauma. The “Look how far I’ve come now” kind of thoughts.

I remember driving in the car. We dropped the boy off with mom and dad and making our way home to pack for a quick weekend trip to Chicago. It was my “Hail Mary” to save our marriage. Continue reading “My Worst Divorce Memory”