Te-he-he…I have a secret

thUYV1DT6EI was going to write about something else, but I can’t get beyond this juicy secret I was just told that I can’t spill yet.

It is potentially not only good for me, but may be bad for me, too, but it’s just so juicy, I don’t care about the potential bad today…

I hope I can get beyond it and write about other things, or I can write it down soon, but for now, if you need a hint, Karma went my way today, that badass bitch!  Love it when her eye is not on me!

So today, I’m not writing it down, nor letting it go…

Savoring not moving on…

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Package Scheduled for Delivery Tomorrow

“That’ll be the new agreement paperwork.  I realize you probably won’t be there to sign, but if you can let me know if there’s a pickup slip or something that would be helpful.”

My ex-husband.

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“Yes, I suppose it would be helpful, but I’m not in the business of being helpful to you anymore.”

Me, the ex-wife

I could write about this; instead I’ll write about that

I could write about how I went to my online pharmacy and saw that -‘s medication is being sent to his gf’s address.

I could write about how it dawned on me that the books he ordered for my daughter from Amazon in late August had his gf’s address (and name) as the addressee.

I could write about how when I refused, upon legal advice, to move from the house so he could rent it, he said, “And how do you propose to make up for the shortfall?”  I said that he created this mess and he could figure that out.  I guess he did, by moving in with her and her three children under 12.

I could write about that.

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Instead I’ll write about how one of my best friends is coming for dinner Friday night.

She lives quite a way away so she’s staying over.  Why not?

I’ll write about how we added a newer friend of ours to the pj party and she said she’d love to come!

I’ll write about how I keep falling in slow motion toward a warm pool of love with one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.

That’s what I’ll write about.

Because if you want the example to be to your son and daughter that you can leave their mother without ending it like a man, starting up with another woman before divorce proceedings have even started, and move into another man’s house, fuck his wife, discipline his children, and benefit from his hard-earned life, that is now being enjoyed by his ex-wife and her new broken man, I’m not the parent to look to.

If you want to be the example that rare people can bring you to your knees, where you take the opportunity to puke out your nausea while you’re closer to the ground, and you somehow pull your way back to standing, connect with your friends and enjoy time together, and not get involved until you are sure the person is caring, loyal, loving, and faithful, you can look to me.

I am that parent.

How long will it take each family member to sort out the truth?

Moving on

Better Coping Through Chemicals

thWRJTVX1EMy daughter changed her Facebook cover photo to a picture of her cuddling up on her daddy during a hike this past parents’ weekend at college.  The girlfriend must have taken the picture.  I haven’t talked to my daughter yet.  Obviously, as I mistakenly thought might happen, she was not upset, didn’t need to call or text me, and I am still under instructions to not interact with her on Facebook, or friend any of her friends, or “like” any of their or her posts, but dad is now front and center —  Mr. Do-You-Know-Who-I-Am?  I-Can’t-Have-A-Presence-On-The-Internet.

Oh the plight of the unsung custodial mom, the “nice” parent, the one you take advantage of and manipulate. The one who gets taken for granted.

So, the plan to put a pause my maintenance drugs in the hope of stronger sexual desire shit the bed after just a couple of days.  This morning I made a little salad of a multivitamin, a Prozac, and an Ativan.  Yummy!  Better coping through chemicals.

Moving on

Divorce and Dreams

My 23rd anniversary was 2/15/15.  We celebrated the 13th, and he left on a business trip with some colleagues on the 14th, one of which he had worked with before at a different place, and we have known for eight or so years.  Maybe longer.  My daughter baby sat her kids.  My daughter also attended a summer theater camp that her husband ran.

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There was a whopper of a snowstorm on the 14th and they had to keep making alternate arrangements to get to their destination.  I got the details text by text.   That is something I would HATE.  Better them than me, I said.   He said they were “just trying to laugh a lot.”  One night, I can’t remember which, the texts stopped.

Sometime between 2/14 and 2/19 they declared their love for each other.  I picked them up at the airport.  He teased her about something gooey she ate on their layover and she cocked her head and smiled like a middle school girl.  I had the sense she wanted to sit in the front seat on the way to pick up her car.  I got there first without having to actually call shotgun.  Why did I feel that that might be necessary?

Let’s say the betrayal was on 2/16.  He told me on 3/16 – that’s 28 days later.  I guess she had had a bout of cold feet, but came to her senses.  My birthday was during that timeframe.  Phone records show he called her four times on my birthday for a total of just about three hours.  Are you cringing yet?

It has been 162 days now.  On Sunday night, the 160th day, she wormed her way into my dreams.  I’m surprised it took that long.  I asked her how her husband liked sharing his kids with my husband.  Divorce and dreams are weird.  I could tell her to get out of my dreams, but not to get into my heart.  Even though there’s plenty of room in there now, she needs to stay the hell away from it and all the other hearts close to mine.  And from my dreams, too.

I banish thee.  I banish thee.  I banish thee.

Moving on