Monthly Archives: August 2012

Diary of a Divorce–August 30th


An Eagle in a Sparrow’s Nest

     That was how someone I didn’t really know until yesterday described me. As we talked, he said he sees people as images. That was the image that came to him from my persona.I love it! I was outside my AA meeting chatting with him, someone I’ve seen in the rooms but didn’t know well. I was sitting next to him during the meeting, and his infectious laugh really cheered me up after my counseling session the previous day.

      I told him I feel lost right now in my life. I have no direction, no plans, no goals. It is time to surrender on trying to wrest control of where I’m going, what I’m doing, how I’m feeling. I told my therapist about the “pre-existing condition” guy who abruptly stopped contacting me. As I wrote in a reply to a comment about my last post, I have no idea what happened with him. Did he lose interest? Has his life suddenly become too complicated now that he’s involved with placing his mother with Alzheimers in an assisted living home? Wast that just an excuse to get him off the hook from having any further contact with me? What the hell is going on???

       The truth is that, if my head is spinning out after going on exactly ONE actual date with this guy, this does not bode well for the future. Best to let go of this guy NOW before I get any more consumed with the “why’s.”

        My therapist said that. in Buddhism, crisis and opportunity are the same words. I can either look at what is happening now in my life as a crisis or I can get excited about the opportunities ahead. Sadly, I don’t feel excited. I feel lost and in crisis.

        I never thought I’d be where I am at this stage of my life. I’m without a spouse, no kids at home, and retired. I have the whole world to explore if I want and endless time on my hands in which to do it. What happens is that I become frozen in indecision, immobilized by all the choices. It’s easier to stay home and mess around on my computer or work in the garden, isolated, with thoughts swirling like mad fireflies in my brain.

        I have got a homework assignment from the therapist: I am to come up with some plans for my life–what I want to do, what I don’t, what I want to give and what I want to receive. Honestly, I can’t even make plans for the next week or two weeks of my life, much less the whole damn thing.

        I’m a little peeved about being asked to come up with this Game Plan. How come those who are married don’t need these assignments? They can simply assume they’ll be doing things with their loved ones, going to events, planning trips together, being involved in family activities. How come those of us who are alone must make all these huge decisions?

      So I went to my meeting yesterday with the “I don’t knows.” How are you doing, Marilyn? I don’t know. What’s going on? I don’t know. Are you okay? I REALLY don’t know.

       OTOH, in the old days, I had my whole life mapped out in front of me. I would go to college, pursue a career, get married, have kids, buy the house, get the dogs, and it would all work out in the All American Dream.

        That was, alas, but a fantasy. My life never unfolded that way. I was divorced at age 23 with a 6 month old baby. I bought my house a few years afterwards as a single mother. The only thing that went according to plan was that I stuck to the career. In retrospect, it was the most stable part of my life. It enabled me to retire young with a pension for the rest of my life.

        When at age 30 I married “The One,” the Love of My Life, with whom I was constantly in turmoil but whom I loved and will love forever, I didn’t plan on his dying of brain cancer. That was NOT supposed to happen to us.

       The cancer threw everything into turmoil. I had to learn to do things around the house that HE had always done. I had to depend on myself for everything, and he depended on me for everything too. Life became dark, and I felt I died with him. After three years of caregiving full time and working full time, I sent him to live with his family in Utah temporarily to give me some relief.

      During that separation, I allowed myself to do some “light dating.” Almost immediately, I met a New Man who swept me off my feet and made me feel alive again. In typical rebound fashion, I allowed myself to be overwhelmed with what I perceived as TRUE happiness. The New Guy proposed to me in a romantic setting in Peru. He had already purchased the ring to slip on my finger. Who could say no to that???

      Only trouble was that I was still married to the Love of my Life, who, although he had cancer, was expected to go on living for maybe twenty or thirty years in a nearly vegetative state. Against that little voice inside me, the one who knows what is best for me, I divorced the Love of my Life and married the New Guy. Soon after that, the Love of my Life died in Utah, leaving me with shitloads of unresolved grief and guilt.

      Reality set in soon thereafter with the New Guy. We tried to make it work but realized we were not really suited for one another. After the initial infatuation, reality is always a bitch. I wanted him gone. Then I wanted him back. Then I wanted him gone again.

      I’d date when we split up, compare him to some of the losers I met, and figure I was making a big mistake in ending it with the New Guy. So I’d take him back again and again. Each time when he came back home, he showed up as….well…himself–the same New Guy.

       The last time, I don’t know what happened, but I felt DONE. I mean really DONE. So done that the idea of having him touch me repulsed me and gave me chills of disgust. Maybe that’s what I have to do and go through to be really, really, really done.

       He sent me an email today. In it, he wanted to say “thank you,” that there are no hard feelings or resentments, that he learned a lot from me during our marriage. He offered me his hand if ever anything happened where I’d need his help some day in the distant future. I sent him a reply…and then I cried.

       For some reason, others see me as an “eagle,” strong and determined. But have I been sitting on the wrong nest my whole life? Soon, this eagle will have to fly from this sparrow’s nest. But where will I go?

        I honestly don’t know.


Diary of a Divorce: August 25th


Going bonkers, baby

      Oh yeah, now I remember what it is about dating that drives me crazy: the moodiness I feel when I don’t know how he feels. Will he call? Why isn’t he calling? Is he interested in me? Has he found someone else? And on and on and on…My head spins with doubts.

       Things are so much less complicated when I’m on my own. I make plans with friends, I take care of the dogs, I go where I’m supposed to go, and I have a set schedule. A guy throws all of that out the window. I should say I throw all of that out the window when I’m thinking about what he’s thinking.

       Why do I fall right back into adolescent behavior and thinking when a man enters the scene? I try so hard NOT to, but I do it every time. I tell myself I don’t care. I tell myself I will go on as if he’s not a possibility in my life, but he’s everywhere. I go with a friend to a street fair and see some clothing. I wonder if he’d like it and should I buy it to wear for him. As the weekend approaches, I’m wary about making plans with friends–just in case he should call and want to get together.

        I swore I’d wait for this New Guy to make the next move. I certainly would not call him, but these days we have texting. I re-read his past texts and keep wondering what it meant when he wrote (after our first date), I hope we can get together again really soon. What’s really soon?? Wouldn’t the average woman assume that means the following weekend? And, if not, shouldn’t he have made some sort of contact in a week’s time just to let me know he’s still interested but something has come up?

       So I let my head go for a nice jog–all over the places, over hills and valleys. I got into a rotten mood and felt angry at him for ME tying up my OWN plans even though he hadn’t asked. Worse, I couldn’t stand all the questions in my head anymore. I sent him a short text saying I hadn’t heard from him in a few days and wanted to know if everything was okay.

       No, it hasn’t been okay. He has a mother with dementia and he recently helped his father put her in assisted living. There have been all kinds of complications, and this weekend he has to help his father relocate her.

       A good excuse, no? In another text, I wish him lots of luck and wish him all the best during this difficult time. BE a sympathetic human being, for godsakes, I tell myself. This is not a relationship issue, this is a human issue.

       Okay, so do I feel better now? He’s not out running around with another woman. He’s not blowing me off. He’s dealing with his sick mother, for godsakes…

        No, I don’t. My head tells me he could at least have said something personal to me. He could’ve indicated he is still interested and that maybe we can plan something for NEXT weekend. Nope. Not a peep from him about that.

        And all this craziness after just meeting this guy ONE time!!!!

        What does this say about me? Perhaps I’m not ready for this dating business? Perhaps I should process the divorce before I go getting involved with someone new? Perhaps I should concentrate on getting my head straight and healthy for awhile?

         I don’t care how old I get, how burnt out I get. I fall so quickly back into the old patterns that it’s scary even to myself.

       What’s the cruel joke in all this: I liked this guy. If only he’d been a jerk…

       So I’m going to walk the dogs, come home and make dinner, and then soak in a nice jacuzzi to get the kinks out of my aching body. I’ve made plans for tomorrow with a new friend. Ahhh…peace.  Until?

       Next week, will it all start over again?


Diary of a Divorce–August 21st


A Pre-Existing Condition

    Alright, so here’s the place where I come to write about the ups and downs of relationships–past and present. I know I swore off the dating site and removed my profile. I was done with the games, the endless searching, the expectations, and the letdowns.

     Then I got a call from one of the guys I’d actually spoken to a couple times before I made the commitment to leave the dating scene. He hadn’t called in awhile, so I figured he’d found someone new or had lost interest or…you know how it goes…blah blah blah.

     I actually liked this guy from his phone calls. For one thing, he shares my liberal political views in a VERY conservative County. That’s a rarity in itself. For another, he seemed sincere and fairly humble.

      Well, I told him I’d given up on him as well as the website. Long story short, we set a date for Sunday. And guess what happened? We had a GOOD time. I like this guy. He is beyond low key and he is very uncomplicated. I get that he’s been through some tough times in the past, has been married twice, and is divorced. He’s younger than I am (yummmmm). He is kinda hip in that one earring, black clothing, shaved bald head, and bearded, mustached kind of way. He rides a cool motorcycle and lives by the beach in a tiny apartment. He loves his job and his life and is grateful for everything he has. He also volunteers with the homeless and has done it for a long time.

     Someone in my writing group to whom I’d “confessed” I had this date set said it wasn’t going against my new “rule” not to date. This guy was a “pre-existing condition” from before I made that decision. I can live with that!

     Coffee lead to a casual Greek dinner in an outside cafe. We talked, we laughed, we shared who each of us is and what got us here. We both agreed we were having a really good time together.

       After about four hours, I called it a night. He walked me to my car and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. And…there was chemistry, folks! When he got home, he sent me a couple texts. I like this guy–but not in that impulsive, heavy duty, run off and get married tomorrow sort of way.

        I didn’t hear from him yesterday and could feel those familiar pangs. Hey, girl, get a grip! It’s just been one day!!! But I didn’t find myself getting too panicky. I’m okay just for today, I told myself. It’s not the end of the world if I never hear from him again.

        I sent him a text earlier tonight. Who says women must always sit back and wait? I’m sick of that tired old game. We texted back and forth a few times in a very natural way. I like this guy!

        So I’m trying hard not to imagine us falling deeply in love, moving in together, and living out a life filled with romance and love. I have imagined him in the sack, I admit. I think it would be good. Hey! It’s been a few months now of abstinence, and I’m entitled to my fantasies.

       The next move is up to him….

       And in the REAL world: I caught that rat, for anyone who wondered. I found the paper bag on the ground, clearly with something contained inside. There were blood smatterings on the bag. Yes, I felt like hell when I scooped it up without looking inside the bag and tossed it in the trash. I’m sorry to have killed a creature of this world, but I’m not co-existing with a rat! And we all know where there’s one, there’s got to be more.

      I signed the divorce docs the paralegal sent to me and slipped the envelope in the mail yesterday. I think that’s pretty much the end of this back-and-forth legal stuff until the final paperwork is received from the court. I felt sad, but I still have no regrets. What’s so nice about The New Man is that he’s not confrontational. He’s so much more low key than the ex. I didn’t have to walk on eggshells. Yes, I realize it was like that with the ex in the beginning…

      And the biggest news: I heard from my daughter last night. We have had a very strained relationship and hadn’t talked in a couple months. I let her talk, and I listened. I apologized for being overly critical with her and for thinking of her as the young girl she’d been who’d made very bad decisions. We talked for about an hour and were very comfortable again with each other. Then she dropped the bomb: She and her fiance went to City Hall in APRIL and got married!!! Four months ago. She is 28 yrs old and NOT pregnant. I guess she assumed I’d give her a lot of flack about such a premature move, even though she’s been with this guy for over a year. I probably would have, even though I really like her (now) husband (gasp).

       So one of us is getting divorced while the other is now a married woman. I feel a sense of loss, disappointment, and regret that she didn’t choose to have me present at her “wedding.” I still have hope that she’ll think about it and maybe have at least a reception for the family and a few friends. I’m still processing this news.

       What is it about us women? We want to be married. We dream of the happily ever after. We don’t ever figure we’ll be writing about our divorce. But here we all are. And here I go again, allowing myself a few dreams and hopes with yet a new man. But marriage? Nope. Never again. That’s one pre-existing condition that, for me, would be fatal. They haven’t yet invented the cure for my “relationship addiction,” but my current divorce has cured me of ever again making it legal. When you’re so in love, you don’t think about the fact that what you’re doing is signing a legal contract, one that costs a lot more to end than to begin. Nope, not me.

Diary of a Divorce–August 18th


One of those times when you really NEED a man:

    Rats! No, I’m not just using a figure of speech. I’m talking quite literally about rats. I have a rat, hopefully just one.

     It’s been miserably hot lately, even though I live close to the ocean. God help those who live inland. So I was outside yesterday, sweeping up around a fountain I have in my backyard. Just then, a very bold (and perhaps very hot) and VERY large rat climbed over the wall to get a drink from the fountain. I guess it didn’t see me nearby.

     Of course, I did what every normal female would do when she sees a rat: I screamed bloody murder and threw the closest object at it (a pair of garden clippers). The rat fled for its life. My useless dogs, who are always on the hunt, stood there like statues enjoying the show!

      Now what? My mind was reeling. Only a few days ago, much as I’d tried to pretend I hadn’t seen it, I saw a much smaller rat scamper across my fence. Could this be the same rat, just better fed?

      Oh God, not the rat problem again. I’d gone through this already about a year ago. When Mark and I had been together before our first major separation, he’d seen the rat and set up a rat trap above the jacuzzi area.

      I researched rats on the web and was advised to trim my bushes and vines. Every once in awhile, I’d peek quickly at the trap but saw no horrific dead bodies.There! Problem solved! I figured the rat was a thing of the past.

      Then the day following a very gusty windstorm, I went outside and….right there in the middle of the path running down the side of my house, lay a very dead rat, its neck broken by the trap, sprawled across the walkway.  I screamed all the way to the side of the house, where I located a bucket and shovel, It was up to me to dispose of this thing before the dogs saw it.

        Trying not to look at it while issuing bloodcurdling screams throughout the ordeal, I shoveled the remains into the bucket.  I glanced quickly to see if I’d gotten all of it into the bucket and found….gasp…ick…the tail drooping over the edge.  I almost cried.

         I carried the bucket to the trash can and tossed it in rapidly, hoping I’d aimed right. Then I made a quick check and…oh god…oh no…the damned tail again hung over the top of the trash can. I shoved the tail in with the shovel, went into the house, and mourned the taking of a creature’s life. It felt truly awful.

         I have to tell you I’m a major animal lover, but I can’t bear rodents and snakes. Still, it made me sad to kill something–no matter how repulsive.

         I swore I’d never do it again.

         Until I saw that huge rat last night. I knew something had to be done. Where was my husband or any man when I needed one? Wasn’t that one of their preordained responsibilities: killing bugs and vermin?

         So I trudged over to the hardware store today, had a long consultation with an associate, and left there carrying two repugnant versions of rat killers in a paper bag. One was some sort of poison which claimed on the box was safe to have around animals and children. The associate assured me it killed the rat immediately after consuming the poison. Leave me in my denial!!!

       The other was the dreaded snapper variety–the one that snaps down on the rodent’s head. Ugh…gasp…The associate suggested I put the whole contraption into a paper bag so that, once the deed is done, I won’t have to look at my victim and can simply fold up the end of the bag and dispose of it.

       The traps are set tonight. I await with horror the unmistakable sound of a loud snap. Then, I dread being  forced, once again, to endure the miserable experience of clean up and disposal.

        I found myself this morning, once again, almost stamping my feet and crying out loud, “I don’t want to do this! I don’t want to be responsible for everything around here–all by myself.” It’s part of this being single thing, this being all alone thing: mowing my own lawn, taking out my own trash, and…yes…killing my own rats.

        The horror. The horror…

Diary of a Divorce–August 16th


      Got a Reality Kick in the Ass yesterday from my therapist. I copped to her about my emotional meltdown, definitely tied in with going out on that internet date. BTW, the guy wrote back to me and was still interested. I told him I thought we’d make fine FRIENDS. He didn’t get the hint..

      Alright, so why go to therapy if you’re going to lie to your therapist? What she said hit me squarely between the eyes. She said, “Okay, so you’ve decided to settle for BTN.”

      “Huh? BTN?”

       Here it is folks: Better than nothing. Ugh….

       I guess that’s what I was doing. Even a rotten date, filled with expectations and giving me the excuse to get all dolled up for the evening, was better than nothing. Better than not having anything or anyone to look forward to, better than being (gasp) alone. She’s, of course, right.

       What would it mean to be with me, myself, and I–no man in sight?

       Okay, here’s the kicker: She said I have created my own hell on earth. I’m a craving soul looking for happiness outside of myself, never content with what I have, never feeling good enough, never being satisfied or grateful.

       Yep, I guess that about describes it. If I’m honest, I have a pretty good life otherwise: good friends who love me, a cute house I own–and adore– just an eighth of a mile from the beach, two dogs I love more than well…that I love, my health (minus the back problems), the book I’m writing nearing completion, and a volunteer job that gives me deep satisfaction. I really lack for nothing, yet I continue to feel dissatisfied, lost even, because I don’t have that one THING: a loving relationship. How very sad.

      Well, I have been given an assignment: Every few minutes, or whenever those thoughts drift through my head, I am to ask myself if I’m okay. Just okay. Right now, as I’m writing this, I’m okay. In fact, I’m feeling kind of good tonight. And what has changed??? Say it with me: my ATTITUDE! Nothing else is different.

       Here’s another little gem. The event (my being single again) is neutral. It’s my thoughts ABOUT being single that create the feelings that something is wrong with me. Then, from those feelings, I react with an action: in this case, looking on the computer or wherever I am for my KNIGHT. Pretty simple to see in others, not so simple to see in myself.

       All I can really “control” are my thoughts about the event. When I start thinking, I need to ask myself first if I’m okay. Yes, thank you, I’m okay again right at this minute. How simple!

      I can’t say I left my therapist’s office feeling good about myself. In fact, I left there feeling like crap. Didn’t want to do anything today and didn’t want to go anywhere, but I knew I had to clean up, dress up and show up. I decided to do what I have now established as my usual Wednesday routine.

       I drove to my AA meeting (a half hour late) and copped to them that I had had a very “busy head” all morning.  I started to cry a little and got really serious about what I needed to share with the group. And you know what happened? We laughed about it together. Yeah, real funny!  Har har, I’m alone. Har har, I went out with a man who drove a…RUST, that’s what some man I know called the indescribable car my date was driving. Some people drive Hondas, some drive Fords, but this guy drives a Rust!

      The tears on my face dried and were replaced with laughter and smiles. I walked out of the meeting with a woman I just met whom I think I might become an activity friend, someone with whom I can plan things in the future. She loves to travel and is on her way to spend a week in Paris all by herself. She is getting together with her former sponsor but will be staying on her own in a hotel. My kind of gal! Maybe, after she gets back, we can do dinner or go to the movies? She says she’s up for it and gave me her phone number. She has a wonderful laugh..

       Feeling better, I went to the VA nursing home, as I do every Wednesday, to spend time with the veterans. It was bingo night, great excitement for the vets! I sat with my little group of guys, each of them flirting or commenting on how “pretty” I am, and I loved every minute of it. They seem to enjoy me too. Gee, guess I’m not such a useless piece of doo doo as I would have described myself just two nights ago. I may even brighten some of these guys’ days when I go there and goof around with them.

       And then I came home and deleted my personals profile–not totally because the damn computer wouldn’t let me do so. But I put in the “About Me” section that I want OFF the personals website, that I can’t stand the games, and that it messes with my head. It’s a free dating site, so I changed my title to “You get what you pay for!”  To prevent even the jerks from looking at my pix (which I couldn’t delete), I changed the ages of men I want to date to between 18 and 19!!! Cool!

        And you know what? I’m still feeling okay. It’s time to get into bed with the dogs, read my book, and go to sleep. Then, tomorrow, I’ll ask myself again, first thing in the morning, if I’m okay. I suspect the answer will be yes.

Diary of a Divorce–August 13th


MELTDOWN. Shit, I’m having more regrets tonight. Can’t believe the timing on this one. I went out on an internet date with a guy I’d never met before. He seemed like a good guy and had even lost his own wife to cancer years ago. On top of everything, he’d written a “how to” book for other guys whose wives get diagnosed with cancer.

 So he’s a writer. I’m a writer. He’s a widower. I’m a still-in-my-heart widow. How bad could it be?

I met the guy, and he was nice enough looking. Had a ponytail (rare for someone who lives in Irvine) and seemed a little older than his stated years on the website. He was tall but had a pretty good-sized beer gut. No way that body was touching mine in an intimate setting. C’mon, girls, we all know who’s gonna get lucky one day–and I promise you he won’t!

Then, to make matters worse, the guy doesn’t have a pot to piss in. Almost literally! Nice enough, and all that. Spent most of the dinner talking about himself. Okay, I know that particular drill. Seemed pleased to meet me and even impressed with how I looked. If I may say so, I was indeed looking pretty good tonight. Wore a new sundress which I’d never worn before. Seemed an appropriate enough time to wear it because it’s been hot as hell lately and, let’s face it, summer’s almost over. Did my hair and makeup and spritzed on my favorite perfume. A hot date, I don’t mind saying.

He must’ve said half a dozen times how empty his bank account is, how little he’s managed to earn even though he has a Master’s degree in Finance. I let him pay for dinner anyway, two portions of appetizers at a Mexican restaurant–cheap.

At some point, I decided I’d had enough and excused myself to go to the ladies room. I suggested we leave shortly thereafter.

In the parking lot, he continued talking, mostly on the subject of publishing his book–which was the main reason I’d wanted to meet him. Soon, I’ll be trying to publish my own book. I pointed out my car and suggested he walk me to it. I laughingly said it’s 10 years old (which it is), and he remarked he wished his car looked half as good. Then he pointed to this old clunker with rust spots and dirt across the body. I don’t even know what kind of car it is!

I tried to make light of it and suggested that he could take it across the street where there’s a self-service car wash. He laughed too and said he’d do it, but the car has a bad leak–made even worse during rainy seasons. Holy cow!

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not all about material possessions. But I’m not willing to worry that someone can’t afford to go to a movie or to dinner once in awhile. Never mind what that portends for future travel plans.

I drove home feeling kind of blue. Then, I got a personal email from Mark. He wrote about the car–how right before he’d decided to sell it, some punk side-swiped it and caused $1300 damage. As he was driving down the street, some guy threw him a big thumb’s up about how cool and sharp the car was. When he went to trade it in, his salesman’s name was Dale (my middle name). He ended with “life’s an adventure, no?”

And I lost it. I sent him a response tellling him how sad I was to hear he’d traded in the car, how much it seemed to represent getting rid of me, how crappy it was that he’d traded it for a crummy Acura.

Making matters worse, he wrote me ONE last email, in which he said he’d promised himself he wouldn’t allow himself to share anything more of a personal nature. It was a heartfelt email in which he told me his bro-in-law, and another old guy who was like a member of his family, had both died. He explained how he couldn’t keep the Hyundai because people in the town where he lives keep dinging it, etc.

Then, I let it slip–how sad I was that we just couldn’t make it work, no matter how much both of us had wanted it to, how that car was the last tie we have to each other, how this love story is coming to an end. I cried, and I’m crying now.

To pretend this marriage meant nothing to me is to lie to myself. Of course, I’d wanted it to work. Of course, I’d wanted to be in a happy relationship with Mark and to spend the rest of my life with him. It’s sad, and it’s appropriate to be sad sometimes. I’ve only addressed the anger.

I suppose more tears will fall as time goes on. I’ll have more bad dates. I’ll slip into moments of regret and question my decision to end it with Mark. I’m sure it’ll hurt when that divorce decree is finalized. A divorce is like a death, and, tonight, I feel like something inside of me has died.

Diary of a Divorce: August 11th



      He emailed me today that he’d traded in the car–the fire engine red 2011 Hyundai which was the car I’d picked out, but which he’d taken with him when we split up.  I could no longer afford to make the payments. He gave me back my trusted little Honda, which he’d been driving while I”d been driving the fire engine red new Hyundai. He said he traded the Hyundai for a used Acura instead.  Say what?

      Yes, it gets me off the bank loan paperwork, so it is one more thread cut between us.

      Why do I feel so sad? It’s not like I’d had the car all that long. It’s not like I could have kept it anyway.

       I guess the car represented ME. He has traded it (ME) in for another model. Perhaps he’s already traded me in for another woman?

       Yes, I know it’s bound to happen. It’s not as if I’m sitting around waiting for him. I’ve already gotten onto an online personals site and even spoken with a few men. I’ve even got a date (!!!) set up for this Monday with what appears to be a lovely new man.

      What is it about men replacing US, though? I guess I always figured I was irreplaceable–that you couldn’t just trade me in for a new version. What was wrong with that brand spanking new and VERY hot Hyundai? It was me, that’s gotta be it.

       We’re getting down to the final count. There are only a couple more reasons to have any contact with each other for the rest of our lives. He is still working on last year’s taxes after getting an extension. Then, we’ll still file as married for this year, so he’ll have to do those taxes with my info yet again. And then? And then, we’re through forever.

        I’m not crazy enough to figure we’ll be friends some day. We weren’t friends when we were together, for godsakes. So how do you spend roughly four to five years with someone, live with them, and then just move on to the next model? Dunno, but I guess I’ll be finding out really soon.

        Another brick in the road, another nail in the coffin of a marriage.