One more thing.

No longer will I allow you to control my feelings. I can't blame you for them, because I choose to feel them.

But know this:

I will do whatever it takes to make sure my boy has the best life possible - that he is well-fed, well-educated,  as happy as he can be, and safe.

Should you think that you call the shots as far as he is concerned, you are fucking mistaken. I will go Mama Bear and have your dysfunctional ass in court so fast your head will spin.

You want to talk child support? How have you financially supported him in the last two months? Oh, that's right! YOU HAVEN'T. You haven't given him a dime, and we're still married!

You are a fucking JOKE. Or maybe I'm the joke for marrying you and falling into your bullshit. But if I hadn't made that stupid mistake, I wouldn't have the one thing that I can't live without. Not YOU, motherfucker - my amazing boy.

So thank you. Thank you for finally showing your true self. Autistic or not, our son will NEVER live by your piss poor example of what a man is. And you can thank ME for that.

FFS.

Stop pretending to care.

Stop taking every opportunity possible to piss me off.

I'd like to go through 24 hours without hearing from you in some fashion.

I'd disconnect my phones, but you'd send a letter or telegram or fucking smoke signals.

Just leave me alone.

Putting a price tag on your child is disgusting.

Child support. How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.

Well, none, because it's necessary.

Then why am I sitting here with a tear-stained face hating life? Because someone doesn't think we need to let the court decide child support. "It will just be easier if we come to a decision." Yeah, easier for YOU. And you almost had me talked into it. Almost.

How do you determine what is fair? I am the most non-confrontational person alive. He thinks $500/month is fair to take care of Quinn. I noted that $500 won't even cover my car payment - which is OUR car payment, dick - and he says "It's not about paying your car note." No shit? REAAAAAAAAAALLY?

If I didn't need his goddamned money to live, I wouldn't ask for a fucking dime.

And (oh, this is rich), he thinks he's going to come here in March and take Quinn for a week. HAHAHAHAHAA... fuck you, motherfucker. In your DREAMS will I let you take my son from me. And by the way, if you're wanting a pat on the back for finally wanting to be his father, well fuck you again.

What happens if Quinn's behaviors get to the point where I have to give up my job? Is your $500 going to keep a roof over his head and food in his belly and clothes on his back? While you're playing your fucking xbox and driving around in your convertible with your flavor of the week? FUCK YOU.

My God! What have I done that karma is tromping all over my ass!? And really, you can NEVER say you didn't leave Quinn. YOU DID. YOU LEFT HIM WHEN YOU LEFT ME. DON'T YOU DARE MAKE YOURSELF LOOK LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING HERO DAD OF THE YEAR YOU SON OF A BITCH.

Blargh.

There's just some days where I have so much inside I want to say and no real way to say it. Today is one of those days.

So I'm going to finish this glass of wine, read a little, and hope sleep doesn't allude me like usual.

Oh, also? I'm going to pray like mad that the snow drifts like a motherfucker and I don't have to go to work tomorrow.

I have no catchy or witty title for this post.

Today is my first Saturday in the house. Quinn is minding his own business, watching Meet The Robinsons and pulling all of the wipes out of the box, which I'm conveniently ignoring because they're just wipes, right? It's really quiet here. Fortunately, it's the good kind of quiet. A comfortable silence. Not a "OMG I NEED TO TURN ON MUSIC OR SING OR LISTEN TO THE NEWS BECAUSE I CAN'T HANDLE IT!" silence.

Made a couple pancakes, drinking some coffee, making a list of things I need to do that I will purposefully not do today. The house is 90% clean, this week sucked a caveman's taint, and I think I've earned the right to stay in my pajamas and just revel in the fact that this is my life, and I could really learn to like this.

Of course, that's right now. I think if I only move enough to type, read, and breathe, I won't disturb this space-time continuum that's really working for me. But wait, if I step on a butterfly, would my bathroom instantly become sparkling clean?

*adds butterfly hunting to to-do list*

Good thing I've already peed.

...Or not.

Dammit! Today sucked too! I swear, the world is overrun with catty bitches, and morons, and douchebags, and ugh. Anyway. This isn't even relevant to anything except I really need to get out of this funk.

I'm tired of feeling empty.

The Sun'll Come Out...Tomorrow!

It had goddamned better.

For Fuck's Sake.

The fact that my brain hasn't exploded this week is a minor miracle.

I did some hard soul searching, consulted the inner sanctum, and came to the conclusion that I didn't want to live with the regret of not trying to fix my marriage. So I called the bastard fella, and let him know. However, I also put down a few provisos - that I would NOT attempt to start where we left off, that I felt we had lost each other and why we were together in the first place, and that we should start dating again, to make it fresh and new and fall in love all over again.

His response?

"Date? We're husband and wife."

I should have known from that statement it was never going to work, that he wouldn't be willing to even discuss what our issues were, much less work on them.

A couple of days later, after hearing nothing (when he said ERMAHGERD! WE NEED TO TALK FOR AN HOUR A NIGHT TO SAVE OUR MERRERRGE!), he told me that he thought it would be for the best if I went ahead and filed.

Oh, so you love me, huh? You want your family back, huh?

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

...

On a happier note, I moved into the house this weekend. It's a little bare, since a lot of my things are in storage back east, but it's home. MY home. The home of Quinn and I. Just us. The first night he did awesome. Night two was a clusterfuck of massive proportions, resulting in him being awake from 11-6, napping until 9, and falling asleep at 545. Hence, I was at home today. On a more stressful note, nights like last night make me fear for my job. This can't become a frequent occurrence, or I'll be let go for not being able to come to work. Fortunately, my supervisor is understanding, but shit, I'd fire me too if I could never be at work because I couldn't stay awake.

Should this become common, what the fuck do I do? How will we live? This is the monster under my bed.

Speaking of bed, that's where I need to be.

Clear As Mud. Not to be confused with Puddle of Mudd, which is a shitty band.

I have no idea what I want to do.

I don't need to be married. I don't need to get sucked back in the place I previously was. My fear is not being alone, it's losing myself again. Which, I am well aware, can happen outside of a marriage.

As promised, my theories on the whole situation:

1) He doesn't love me, he loves the idea of being married. Having someone to take care of the kids, do the bills, cook, clean, etc., keep the home fires burning, and being able to take the credit for it because "that's my wife".

2) An impending deployment makes people do stupid shit. Like ask for a divorce via text message. And then tell that person a few weeks later they have changed their mind. Conveniently after dumped spouse lets them know they're ready to file paperwork.

3) See point 2, add "I need someone to take care of my shit while I'm deployed, like pay my bills."

4) It's hard to counsel soldiers on how to not be a dirtbag husband when you are a dirtbag husband.

5) It doesn't look good to be a newly promoted so and so when you're divorcing wife number 2 and special needs child.

6) He really does want us back.
...

...

...

So. There are my thoughts in a nutshell. Financially, I could use the extra income until I get some of my lingering bills from the house paid off and get back on my feet. I can be the bigger person and take care of his business for him while he is deployed (of course, I can do that not as his wife, but as his power-of-attorney also). I can agree to work my hardest at making this marriage work.

What I can NOT do is:

1) Be the only one working at this marriage.

2) Pick up where we left off.

3) Lose sight of my needs and my goals trying to make someone happy who is more than capable and is responsible for his own happiness.

4) Let his passive-aggressive/snide comments about the decrease in frequency of our sex life get to me. (Oh yeah, he said it. I told him to get bent - to try to take care of two children, fight chronic depression, be isolated, have no friends, and feel sexy when someone's idea of foreplay is 'can I get a blow job?'.

5) Give in.

I'd appreciate all sorts of thoughts and advice and hugs and nachos.

As The Worm Squirms...

Someone wants me back.

Er, he wants "his family" back.

I am stunned, and confused, and skeptical, and angry, and frustrated, and a bazillion other emotions. Interestingly enough, relieved isn't one of them.

I am not the same person I was 35 days ago.

I don't know that being together is good for either of us.

I could take this time to write out all the theories I have for this sudden change of heart, but I don't have the time or the energy right this second.

But I will soon.

Long story short, I'm holding off for now. I have a lot to figure out. I think I know where I'm going, but I don't want to have regrets for not trying.

Well, I was born in a small town....

John Cougar Mellencamp sure could sing it. Small town is one of my favorite songs. Aptly so, considering my hometown, the one I'm about to permanently call home, is a sprawling metropolis of (according to the 2010 Census) 111. ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN. There are more people outside of the city limits who have my town as their address than live inside the city limits. But hey, we have a grocery store, a bank, a lumberyard, a gas station, and a cafe that's open a couple days per week. And a CO-OP. But that's kind of a given, I think.

The church in town is over 100 years old. Every hour, on the hour, the bells chime. During the Advent season, it rings Christmas carols. It's quiet. I can hear a dog bark from across town. I've known my "new" neighbors since birth, with the exception of a wife, and I've known her for 25 years. It's home.

People who I haven't seen since high school know where all I've moved, what schools I went to, that I did AmeriCorps and Up With People, and of course.... they all know that I'm getting divorced. When there's only 100 and change to pass the word around to, it goes super fast, as you can imagine.

I got asked out three times in a week. By three different guys. Two of which heard I was single by their mothers.

This is where I take a teeny weeny dirt nap.... for the rest of my life.

Yeaaaaaaaah.

I'm just going to let that one marinate for a while.

Sincerely,

Evidently the most eligible bachelorette in south county.



The First Open Letter of What I Presume to be Many.

Today, you took me on an emotional roller coaster ride of epic proportions. You weren't even here. I didn't hear your voice, speak your name, or read a text (most likely because my phone is dead and I'm pretty sure at the other house, but that's okay, because I have no intentions of answering it tonight anyway.).

I went through all our stuff.

Do you remember Labor Day weekend? When I came to see you and get "necessities" and things I didn't want in the storage unit to get moldy? REMEMBER WHEN I CRIED AND SAID IT FELT LIKE WE WERE GETTING A DIVORCE AND YOU LAUGHED AND TOLD ME NOT TO BE SILLY?

Remember? Fuck you.

All of this stuff I have (and it is just stuff, and if I didn't need it, I'd fucking burn it) is a reminder of our life together. I don't care if it's a stupid cup - I need cups. My couch became our couch, and it's still my couch, but it's not yours anymore. Wedding pictures - fuck you, seriously. Our wedding banner that my "friend" who favors you through all this bullshit quilted for us - fuck you. What do I do with this stuff? I can't handle it today.

I had kitten-punching, puppy-punting, HULKSMASH rage today because of you.

Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. Thanks for calling me to thank me for supporting you through the years, that you could have done it without me. Fuck you for not including us on your Facebook "shout-out".

What do I do with all this stuff you gave me? The dishes from Iraq? The vases? My bouquet I had artfully preserved and framed? 

How do you sleep in our bed every night?

Don't get it twisted - I don't want you back.

I'm just curious.

I sleep with a clear conscience.

I don't know how you do.

PS - Quinn had a great Christmas playing with the tattoo you got instead of presents.

Bawk Bawk.

So. My house is almost done. As in, they're waiting to put in the new door until I finish getting all of my shit there so I don't bang it up.

And I don't want to go.

I can see myself there, happy, enjoying life, just me and my little dude, making memories and shit, but I just. don't. wanna.

I'm scared.

I'm scared of the inevitable silence that can't be filled by the TV. I'm scared my phone will never ring. I'm scared that I'll lose myself again.

I'm just scared.

And I don't know what to do about it.

Paper Cuts and Jalapeno Juice

Yeah, baby... that's me and youuuuuuuu...

Good grief. You know, sometimes it just takes a trip back through the ol' memory lane to have things slap you in the damned face. Hindsight is 20/20, etc.

How did we make it this long?

We just did, I guess. We lived for more than ourselves. We had a child. We didn't yell at each other or scream at each other or beat the shit out of each other, but I cried more than I'd like to admit, and he shut himself off more than I'd like to admit, and I guess after a while, what I determined "comfortable" was just co-existing.

Is it wrong that I don't want to get along? That I don't want to be friends or even civil right now? I'm making myself be civil, because I know it is the responsible, adult thing to do, but it doesn't feel like it's the right thing to do. It feels like I'm giving permission to let him live as selfishly as he wants to. I certainly don't do this for me, but for Quinn, who fortunately, will never know the difference. While his daddy is out tomcatting and galavanting around, his mama is busting her ass trying to make ends meet. He'll never be able to understand to appreciate that, but I do.

I guess I can't be mad at him forever - he gave me my greatest gift, my adorable, infuriating, sweet, frustrating, amazing, difficult, autistic boy. Who loves me unconditionally. Wholeheartedly. Without bias or judgment. Completely. He's truly all I need.

Well, him, and the occasional babysitter. And some good wine. Cheap good wine. To go with my ramen.

Finding the meaning in the struggle.

The fuck. What meaning is there in my current struggle?

There is none.

Well, that I can find.

The last few days have been on the difficult side of fucking miserable, and all there is to do is ride out this wave. Not only is Shortpants on a sleep strike, he has just been unable to be content with anything for more than a couple of minutes. Hence, we're all on a tight leash at Casa de Autism to come up with ways to not keep him happy, just keep him chilled the fuck out.

How does one do that with a non-verbal child? Well, approximately 749 tries after the initial one, he'll decide the first DVD/snack/shirt/game/puzzle/whatever-the-fuck is just fine, and then I go and bounce my head off the concrete for a few minutes. You'd think I'd learn to maybe only offer, oh, something logical like three choices? No, I go balls-to-the-wall and overwhelm the kid when he's already overwhelmed/overstimulated/pissed off/whatever to begin with. I haz a smartz.

Someday, I'll get it. Maybe someday I'll also get what made me so disposable in the eyes of my soon-to-be-ex-husband. WHO, by the way, NEEDED ME today.... to pay his fucking water bill, because he "forgot". That's $27.85 on your tab, buddy.

At least he'll be unreachable by phone for the next 30 days while he's in training. No stupid texts of stupid requests or ignorant statements, just silence. No hearing the Imperial March (that's his ringtone, appropro, no?). Silver lining? Anyway.

Meaning in the struggle? To the author of that sage advice - fuck you, too. YOU find the meaning for me, because I sure as hell can't. At least not today.

Now, to go find something deep fried.

Home Not-Quite-Finished Home

While it was a productive one (well, sort of... not too many things got knocked off the to-do list, but the most time-consuming one of them all is finished - thank you, baby Jesus!), I'm still not in my house. Getting closer, though. All that's left to do is finish the quarter-round in the kitchen/utility area, install the shower curtain rod (it's AWESOME, not only is it curved, it's a double rod, so you have somewhere to hang your towel), put up a toilet paper roll holder and a hand towel ring, clean the shit out of it, and bring my meager belongings over. The plan is to sleep there for the first time Friday night.

Is it lame to say I'm scared to move in? Because I am. Knowing I don't have back up in my folks (who I can wake up as a last resort since I'm living with them STILL because my house STILL isn't done, which I guess really doesn't matter since I'm afraid to move out - what a fucking quandary) is nerve-wracking, to say the least.

Quinn has been fighting sleep like a matador, and in essence, fighting me. I finally brought him to bed with me last night, knowing he'd be all over the place, but praying he'd conk out. Well, both happened, hallelujah, and I finally got him in his bed at 1130. Due to complete exhaustion and feeling like I'm going to throw up every 30 seconds, I'm at home today. And so is he. I wasn't going to unleash that demon on preschool. (You're welcome, Rachel.)

He's finally quieting down, so I'm going to see if he'll take an early nap, and I will too. After I make a list of all the shit I still need to buy for the house that I have no money for. But alas, I also have no money to travel to Tennessee to get all of my shit, nor do I want to - it's just stuff. However, stuff like a pizza cutter is necessary for survival in this house, so it's time to count the change in the couch cushions and stock up on ramen.

Shit's getting real, yo.

Fucking fuck.

I swear to God, if you ask me to do something, knowing that my life is full to the brim with my own shit and trying to parent and trying to work and trying to figure out what I DID SO GODDAMNED WRONG for you to leave me, I am willing to bet you can SCHEDULE YOUR OWN FUCKING CAR PAYMENT and then when I forget because SWEET JESUS I AM FUCKING BROKEN AND REMEMBERING TO EAT IS HARD ENOUGH you feel it is appropriate for you to YELL AT ME BECAUSE YOU GOT A PHONECALL FROM THE BANK?

FUCK YOU.

FUCK YOU.

FUCK YOU.

Oh, one more thing.

FUCK YOU.

Dear Lord, make the next 2+ months fly by so I can have a piece of paper in my hands that says I don't have to take his shit anymore.

Amen.

Living.

Is that what I had actually been doing? I don't think so. I think I had so much to do, so much I thought I had to do, that I convinced myself that I would be just fine.

Bullshit.

You can't raise healthy kids or foster healthy relationships if you don't take care of yourself.

Self-care is important, dammit! Bla..bla..bla...

As cliched as it sounds, it's true. I was taking care of everyone, whether they needed it or not - well, everyone but me. I let myself go, and not in the good way like that George Strait song where she goes to the beach and shit.

Mmmm... George Strait.... oh. Shit. Where was I?

Anyway, it's been only a few days that I've reframed my life to include making myself a priority, and I already feel better. I think that it really the idea that I am worth doing the things that I love in combination with the day-to-day requirements of being a responsible adult. I don't know how I transitioned into that person who didn't think that was possible.

I want to live. I mean, LIVE. I want to be able to sit on the front porch in my old age and think back to this time in my life and be able to recall fondly and proudly of the choices I made to enhance my own quality of life. I want memories of experiences, not memories of regret. I want to give everything I have got to Quinn and then some - his disability will no longer keep us from doing things I once thought impossible because of MY insecurities.

Now, that does not mean I'm going to bungee jump or skydive, I may not even leave the comfort of my living room. But it does mean that I am going to make thoughtful choices about what is good for him and I and us.

I truly can't wait.

Strengthening the ol' faith.

Just when I think I have things figured out, it becomes more evident that I don't. Case in point - Husband wants a divorce. Yet, Husband continues to text and shit like he's down the road and our marriage didn't just go down the shitter. Whatever. I have more important things to think about rather than what's going on in his seemingly addled brain.

A positive to this whole mess is that I have been having quite lengthy conversations with the man upstairs. One of my resolutions this year is to strengthen my faith through Bible studies and getting back to church more frequently. With Quinn, it makes life a little difficult, as he can't sit through a service, but I'll figure something out.

I've spent too many years of my life being mad at God for "allowing" things to happen rather than give up the control and realize that He is the one who has written my plan. It's hard for me to let go and just be like water, adapting to life in that way, but it really is for the best. And putting it in His hands has been such a relief. Knowing and believing that He gave me this life because He knew I was strong enough to live it is a phenomenal feeling - someone definitely thinks I'm stronger than I do.

Now... if He would just allow Quinn to sleep more than five hours a night, I'd be set.

I think this might be what clarity feels like.

Over this weekend, I had some time to sit and think and reflect on the past year. Of course I had time, the one time I plan something, we get 8 inches of snow. Not that there's anything wrong with ringing in the new year in your jammies, but I do that every night, so I was really looking forward to seeing everyone. Being safe at home over being on treacherous roads wins every time, right?

I just had this overwhelming sense of excitement about what is to come for me and Shortpants. To only be responsible for his well-being and my own is pretty darned liberating. I've got projects planned and get togethers planned, lots of wine planned, and lots of doing whatever the fuck I want planned... it's going to be glorious.

Well, as glorious as the life of a single mom of a three year old can be.

It just hit me that I'd been stifling myself. Losing myself. Forgetting who I was and what I loved to do and that's just not okay, no matter how you spin it. The roles I play do not define me - I DEFINE ME. I am more than that, and I really think rediscovering this evolved version of who I used to be is going to be well worth the work.

The only permission I need is my own. How delicious is that?