Shootout at the OK Corral

thG2FFYD6LHe’s such a PITA.

I know this because for some reason everyone is copying everyone on all the emails flying back and forth.

But, we did agree …

On a date:  4/20/16

On a place:  My lawyer’s office.  Her paralegal suggested I come a half an hour early, I don’t need to spend any time with him during the negotiation, and she would tell me when he leaves the parking lot at the end.  That woman gets me!

And, got his proposal.  As usual, it doesn’t contain what he said it would, but my lawyer’s on top of it.



Not replaced…but replaced

My daughter is going to “dad’s” tonight.  That includes dad, girlfriend, and her three kids.  To my knowledge this is the first time.  She has resisted doing it in the past, and has made it very clear she does not wish to meet my bf.

I get it.

I respect it.


I wonder if she feels like I do, that she’s validating her dad’s choices by going to his “home” (it’s his girlfriend’s home), and making nice with the woman and children he’s chosen to replace us with.  The woman whose children she used to babysit.


I know, I know…We’re not replaced.

But, we’re replaced.

That’s just how it feels.

Sometimes my daughter says hurtful things to me, like, people ask me if I’m upset that my parents are getting divorced.  I say, no, financial aid for college might get better.  She also talks about how much more guilt money she’s offered by both parents.

She did say, in her defense, that she tells people she’s not sad her parents are getting divorced because no one yells in the house anymore and her mother is happy now.

I clung onto that tossed-off sentence last night like it was a canteen of water in the desert.  Does that mean she clings to things I say and then forget I said?

I try HARD not to imagine some kind of hybrid family Christmas scene at their house.  But, I spent more money on Christmas this year, as a single income woman, than I did any year I was married with two incomes.  I wanted to ensure, and therefore “buy” the fact, that MY home is my kids’ home.  MY address has not changed.  Christmas HAS NOT CHANGED because their dad is living out his affair.

Of course, it just makes me anxious to think about paying all that money back, and I realize it was, and is, for me, not my children.  I want Christmas to stay the same.  I want traditions to stay the same.  I don’t want my daughter to have some fake, uncomfortable Christmas tonight without me, and with her dad’s new cast of characters.

Makes my face is hot and my eyes extra wet to contemplate, but you know what?  That doesn’t prevent me from

Moving on


Purple passion – crimes of

Purple is supposed to be royal, or womanly.  It actually used to be my favorite color.

Have you noticed that lots of beauty products come in purple packaging?  Other feminine products, too — pads, tampons, pregnancy tests.


This is not that purple.  This is the dark kind.  The crusted, black around the edges, kind.  A color of a passion so overwhelming it ends up fueling a crime.

I had those passions when this started.  They scared me, but empowered me, too, further confusing the confusion.  I could see why in a moment of violence, some people don’t feel pain.  The passion takes over everything.  It’s adrenaline, I guess.

I can’t make myself read some of my earliest posts because it makes me physically cringe.  I feel like I’m reading about someone else.  I have a confidant at work who, I can tell, holds a totally different, irreparably worse, image of me.  I can’t even write some of the things I told her I could do, hoping they would relieve my pain.

Thank goodness those days are behind me.   The dark purple passion still lingers, though, and I wish I could tame it to a spring lavender.  I keep reading about forgiveness, and getting over shit, but I’m not over it.

I actually read a different take today.  It said if you are divorcing a narcissist, throw all normal advice out.  It will never be “amicable” and you should avoid direct communication, because you and he know you are easily manipulated.

That rang a mammoth gong in me.

I don’t want to project the image that somehow divorce is harder for me than everyone else, but if you have ever had dealings with a narcissist, you may understand my journey a little more than “normal.”

On this Thanksgiving Eve, I am thankful that, by the grace of God, I didn’t harm him.  Or her.  Or me.  (Came close).  Or someone innocent, who might have easily been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I am WAY thankful for that.

Moving on…



Seeing red

thLVNIJ0Q9I like it when colors are used to describe emotions.  That really resonates with me…

Let’s start with angry… 

That moment when stupid “-” comes by to take his daughter to dinner and he texts from the driveway, can we talk for a minute?

  • We’ve proven that we can’t “talk” without it ending in shouting and threats
  • We can’t control our anger, even in front of our daughter
  • We can’t do anything in a minute


Moving on


F-ing paperwork

In my haste to go through documents and pictures, tearing me out of the ones I let him have, sometimes, I think I gave him all the tax records.


Why did I do that?

Now I need them for my financial affidavit and I FOR SURE don’t want to ask him for anything.  I have a few more places to look, but spending all this time and not getting what I need, is making me cranky.

I’m one of those people who saves things.


I used to work with someone who said a prayer to St. Anthony when she lost something.  She would always, then, find it.  No shit.  She would offer to say it for you, if you wanted her to.

That’s an option I guess.

Moving crankily on