I just feel…woken up. What have I been doing for three years? Is it culminating to something?
In six days it will be the third year anniversary of the fateful trip “-” took with the woman he married after me.
#metoo Jennifer Willoughby. Hash-fucking-tag.
It would have also been my 26th wedding anniversary. And, of course, it’s a lot of other things. Good people’s birthdays, the day after Valentine’s Day.
I hate being a cliché, but I’m pretty done. All the books said three years was it.
Am I headed to more commitment with my bf? Am I ever going to change jobs to something I won’t loathe until I’m 67? Or 70?
Will I be forever menopausally fat?
I’m engaging in EMDR soon. I hope this will help, and yet, I hope it’s not just another method I’m going to try to be comfortable in my life and skin.
I get tired. You know? I’m tired of “trying.”
And yet, what’s my alternative?
My id has a binge mentality — food, alcohol, Netflix — the more the merrier. I could moderate, but, I can’t ever think of a good reason to, so I just end up doing it.
My super-ego, on the other hand, keeps a balanced checkbook. Has a budget. A list of alternative activities to binge eating and/or drinking — take a shower, walk my cat, learn a language. She believes that one day…maybe even tomorrow…she will convince the id and the ego to take her well-researched-reasonable-practical-rational baby steps. And she also believes she can convince the other two to take the steps over and over again into oblivion. The id and the ego think she’s a super naggy constipated bore.
She is delusional, and my id and ego want to throw their beer cans at her.
My ego…I don’t know. I never seem to be the same person from day to day.
On a related note — gin is my kryptonite. I try to lay off, because it’s hard for me to just have one, and when I have more than one, I start gin-texting. Nasty texting. Or emailing. For some reason, last night I wrote out a gin-fueled email, the first in a long time, correcting the spelling and getting the jabs just right, and then I deleted it without sending it.
That may not sound like too much of a feat to you, but believe me, it is.
One for super-ego buzz kill! Way to show up just at the right time, for once.
From the daughter:
Dad bought a truck that looks just like your boyfriend’s.
Dad is taking me to Paris on an overnight train.
Dad is doing a lot of biking.
Dad bought a sailboat.
From the old neighbor:
They’re painting your house. It’s sage. Looks nice.
From the mom:
I’M FRIGGIN’ FINE! THANKS FOR NEVER ASKING…
It’s such a kitchy, catchy phrase, I wish I had a whole blog post to back it up, but sometimes, you just get hit with the title.
I imagine the syndrome would include:
paranoia that the first wife will find you and throw a pie in your face,
low self esteem, trying to make up for the first wife, which is futile, and
jealousy of the less-than-worthy, heed-no-warning-signs, juvenile, third wife
Or, you could just say she’s FREE-AS-HELL!
Why all the hyphenated word strings?
Yeah, that about sums us up.