He’ll Be Married, I’ll Be Free
I am the most bitter of bitter, clinically depressed and all around down in the dumps – – most of the time. But something strange happened, something occurred to me that made me . . . . smile. I think I just heard a collective gasp from my readers, it’s shocking I know, really shocking. But I smiled . . . I smiled . . . regarding the impending nuptials of my ex-husband, a man I had been with since the tender age of 16, a man with whom I share the only children I’ll ever have, a man who, after many years of marriage, suddenly told me, simply, “I have to go,” on one snowy night after we had put our children to bed.
Now, a mere four months after our prolonged and contentious divorce became final, he has announced plans to remarry (well, he left me a voice mail). Though I do think it sets a better example for our tween and teen children, I have many concerns, many scowls and curses about the whole idea of it and the manner in which it has unfolded. All fodder for another post for another day . . . maybe, . . . or maybe not.
But the story today is not so vile
The story today is about my Grinch-like smile,
which started out small and then started to grow . . .
it started, of course, when I realized and thought . . .
I thought and I realized that them tying the knot
means a knot will be tied and . . . he’s all knotted up!
In other words, minus the bad Seuss inspired prose.
He’ll be married while I– am– free!
My ex-everything will be on lock down, committed, his relationship and his ownership of property will be governed by our state’s laws, he will be bound in matrimony. His dating and new relationship days are over. Even now, he’s running around getting stuff for the wedding and speaking in the royal “we” while I am, in a word — free.
This is all new for me. I was married young and for many years. For most of my life, I was someone’s girlfriend, someone’s wife; hell, I was his girlfriend, his wife. Now, I’m not. Did you hear it? Did you feel it? There has been a small shift somewhere in the universe and everything has changed . Next month, he’ll be somebody’s husband and I’ll be NOBODY’S wife. (smile) In a strange way, this has set me free in a way that separation and divorce and even other men did not. This is a statement to the world that our epic romance, and crippling break-up — is — over. And the fact that I’m okay with that part of it, even though I was royally dumped, will be so much more obvious when he makes his vows to another woman and . . .
I . . .DON’T . . . LAY . . . DOWN . . . AND . . . DIE.
Oh, I’m still pissed about a lot of things, don’t get me wrong. Sure there will be more announcements, more crap to deal with; it’s another chapter in a book I didn’t want to read. And I’m not even addressing here my larger concerns about difficulty dealing with them both where the kids are concerned, his lingering hostility toward, pity and disrespect of me, the fact that I never got a chance to be single while younger and without children, the opportunities I may have missed because I married young, and that he is getting a do-over in a way, as a woman and mother, I cannot. But . . . still . . . I’m free.
Soon, we will no longer just be living separately. He’ll be living married and I’ll be living single. If you’ve read my other posts, you know I haven’t jumped into the dating waters with both feet. I stick my toes in, maybe up to my knees, then get out where it’s warm, apply my sun (man) screen and enjoy the fresh air. However, whenever I do get in — whether I jump, inch in slowly, get pushed or perhaps pulled in, it’ll be my thing. I’ll make stories to tell, stories that for once, don’t include him.
“Oh the places [I’ll] go . . .”
And you know what? I don’t have to settle for the random landscaper dude. I can do better. I deserve better.
Just Me With . . . a smile. heh heh heh
Related Posts: How Do I Feel About My Ex-Husband Getting Married?
Do Not Congratulate Me On My Divorce — Not Today, Anyway
Please don’t congratulate me on my divorce becoming final . . . not today. I got that sheet of paper from my attorney back in February. I’m released from the bonds of matrimony. So . . . what?!!! I’m self-employed. To me, then, my divorce becoming final means that I now have to pick up the tab for my health insurance. It’s a pretty substantial monthly payment. So I’m not woo-hoo–ing on my new-found legal freedom. Perhaps in the long run, in the future, or in a galaxy far, far away, it will be good for me to break these financial ties . . . but now? . . . Now it means I’ve got to do the “find” dance. Find the money, find a way to earn more money, find a way to bring in more money by any means, find a way to spend less money — dance. Tired of that dance. And the damn kids continue to eat — every freakin’ day!!! Can I revert back to breastfeeding to free up some money so that I can keep going to the doctor? Guess not. Gotta find another way.
Part of me really wanted to have a woo-hoo, throw my hat up in the air like Mary Tyler Moore, Sex and the City Girlfriends night out kind of moment when the nasty divorce was finally final. But it turns out? (as Carrie would say) I don’t feel much like celebrating. Maybe if I were Amy Irving (Ex Mrs. Spielberg), or Linda Hamilton (Ex Mrs. James “Titanic” Cameron) or one of the Trump wives or Mrs. Tiger Woods . . . maybe then I’d be happy and could celebrate on my way to Rodeo Drive. But my divorce settlement only brings me freedom to pay another monthly bill, retroactively, to the date the Ex ran to his HR department to inform them of the final divorce decree that allowed him to cut off my benefits.
I delayed it, but today I log-on to transfer my car fund money (money I was saving to replace the 13-year-old car I currently drive) to my checking account so that I can make a huge payment just to bring my health insurance up to date. (I’m not even dealing with how I’m going to pay the monthly bill going forward.) Consequently, . . . I just don’t feel like woo-hoo-ing, and please don’t congratulate me on my divorce . . . not today, anyway.
Just Me With . . . my freedom and my checkbook.