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.