Human beings are truly the amazing species. We have free will and choice, we laugh, we love, we love, we learn. We make mistakes over and over. Some of us keep all our mistakes original - some keep making the same ones over and over again, never to figure out what exactly we are doing wrong that prevents us from fixing these mistakes. Some of us are bound by the invisible threads of our childhoods - threads that either bound families tightly together with love, loyalty and devotion - or threads that strangled us and cut off those very same emotions, leaving us with nothing upon which to build the foundation for a future.
Some, like myself, who fell into the latter category, somehow managed to pour something akin to a solid foundation but never failed to see the cracks - invisible to most, but clearly visible to me. Throughout my life, I kept tripping over those cracks, getting caught in them, because there were gaps and spaces in my life for which I had no information or tools or knowledge to fill. Thus the cracks, thus the constant tripping. I always thought I just had big pterodactyl feet. My Tuesday morning meetings with someone has made me see otherwise. I suppose I've always known, though, it wasn't my big feet. But when success seems just an arm's length away, there comes with great clarity the realization that everything in your life - my life - has always been an arm's length away. So close, but yet so far away.
Humans are blessed with the ability to love, to generate emotions so powerful, so replete with energy and passion and devotion it is mind-boggling to comprehend. As an individual, I always thought I knew what I wanted in a mate. I knew my needs, my wants, my passions and I figured out that a mirror image of myself - not outwardly but inwardly - would be my true soul mate, the person for whom I could generate all that energy that intertwines love and passion and devotion so well.
I thought I had found that person - finally. I was not searching, I was not looking - he just happened. And I fell in love with this person, quite unexpectedly only to be told time and time and time again over the past four years that he did not feel the same way.
To love without being loved in return is an indescribable pain. You think you can love enough for both of you but it does not work that way. Humans are not meant to love one-sidedly. Love can be equated to a garden - it can grow but only with sustenance - warmth, sunlight and nurturing. With those simple components, it will flourish.
Without them, the beauty and brilliance of that garden will go unseen to the beholder and that very same garden will one day die.
Something inside of me has died. I cannot put my finger on it but I looked inside of me tonight and saw the dull, withered remains of emotions that were once brilliant and beautiful.
I do not believe that love truly dies in the sense of the word. It is more like a flame that simply winks out and all that's left are the wisps of smoke - memories of what may or may not have been.
I equate love to a garden because there is always the possibility that someone else will come along and bring it back to life, but plant different flowers, find new spaces and places upon which to coax new brilliance, new beauty with his warmth, his sunlight, his love.
Sometimes I step back and shake my head because it's hard for me to imagine that my human body - the tangibleness of it - is designed and engineered to generate intangibles: love, passion, loyalty, devotion, happiness, sadness, rage, elation. I cannot "see" my emotions but I feel them as deeply as if they wrap themselves around us like colorful ribbons.
And when those emotions are crushed and scattered with a few simple words by someone who has taken and never once given, it is difficult to believe that I as a human being can ever generate those emotions again.
But I know me very well.
And this knowledge is the most amazing thing about human beings, about me: We live, we love, we lose. But we can live and we can love again. The past is concrete - it is etched in stone, it is permanent. Nothing can change what has already occurred. Words cannot be taken back, and certainly, love can't be taken back like a dress that is too big or too small.
Love does not come with a receipt or a warranty and certainly, as I have learned, love does not come with a guarantee. But love changes, it shifts, it blends like paint colors on an artist's palette. And there is always the possibility that someone else may paint those colors of love into something more brilliant and beautiful than before.
So here I am, I live on, I change, I shift, I blend. I am resilient. I have reservoirs of strength that I have yet to test. The cracks in my foundation are still there but I intend to fill them in, smooth them over and walk without tripping or faltering.
But I have discovered that I am the beauty and brilliance of my own garden - and that will never die.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
The Chronicles of Momya - Part 7
I was going to pick up where I left off at Part 6 and write about the events that transpired during the first five months of my newly found "relationship" back in 2006. But instead, I will write about what happened last night, September 13, 2009, nearly four years LATER. I did find out from this person that he does not see us in the future, or as he stated doesn't see us in the future "right now," whatever the hell that means, that I am simply a warm, comfortable body to him and that there is no emotion toward me other than the physical feelings I have always elicited from him whenever we have been together. Simply put for him: it has always been about sex and that's it. I guess I needed to hear this straight from his lips and now I have something concrete upon which I can make a decision: do I simply let him go and hope that someone else comes along (not likely); or do I remain in the place that I with him because it's safe, it's comfortable, it's familiar and it is at least a part of him which is better than having no part of him at all.
Before he came over last night, I wrote something that I translated to another language - his native language - and it said "No matter what happens tonight, you will always have my heart and I will always be in love with you." I read it to him in his language and apparently, it came out perfectly pronounced and he was taken aback at my ability to do same, and then said, "Can I have that?" I started to cry and asked him "why, why do you want this" (after he had told me that he and I were just "physical") but when he left, he had that piece of paper gripped tightly in his hand. For whatever reason, those words became important to him and in the grand scheme of things, I really meant what I said. I am not vindictive by nature, I am not a vengeful woman and I am not one to "get back" at people who hurt me. I have never wavered in how I have felt for him (ok, so I've wanted to push him in front of a bus a few times, eyed my steak knives when he was standing in my kitchen not too long ago telling me I was scrambling the eggs "wrong") and wanted to kick the living shit out of him for not calling, emailing or texting me for six freaking weeks at one point during this relationship). But never once did I ever feel like I wasn't in love with him. That has always remained - much like a tattoo
This has always been a one-sided relationship - I fell in love with him, and he adamantly stated he did not feel the same. I asked him once a year and the answer was always the same. I did not ask him this year because I already knew the answer and I think, having been armed with that knowledge, that all the questions I put upon him last night were already answered by me, I already knew how it would play out, I already knew that he stays with me because I give him what he wants, and not what he needs. And perhaps it is the same way with me. I don't want to "need" someone, I'd rather simply "want" someone because isn't great sex like a super bonus in a relationship? If you have the solid foundation, if you have all the elements of a solid relationship, isn't making love or having mind boggling sex truly just one big giant present at Christmas? That's how I have always looked at it. He and I just have the bonus part without the foundation. Our foundation was not solid it was crooked and wrong and could not support us because we started it all wrong. And he believes, as a result, that it can never be right.
Maybe he is right. Maybe you can never start over right when you begin wrong.
I do know one thing, however: I gave him my heart and he handed it back to me and pretty much said "no thanks right now" but when I woke up this morning, it was still securely in its place, beating strongly and I was still breathing, still writing and largely unchanged.
The human spirit truly is indomitable and we are tested on our strength and courage all the time. In matters of the heart, many of us simply lay down and wait for the emotional landslide to bury us, others like myself have built a secure wall to hold back those landslides when they happen. Sure, that wall may develop cracks and not be as strong as it was when it was built but cracks can be fixed. But the wall remains solid, and it stands strong against the onslaught of falling in and out of love - or simply not falling in love at all.
I recently wrote that I wanted to be a vampire because love sucks.
It may, but it's how we deal with that that makes us amazing as human beings truly are. And frankly, I wouldn't trade my "humanness" for all the Edward Cullens in the world.
Before he came over last night, I wrote something that I translated to another language - his native language - and it said "No matter what happens tonight, you will always have my heart and I will always be in love with you." I read it to him in his language and apparently, it came out perfectly pronounced and he was taken aback at my ability to do same, and then said, "Can I have that?" I started to cry and asked him "why, why do you want this" (after he had told me that he and I were just "physical") but when he left, he had that piece of paper gripped tightly in his hand. For whatever reason, those words became important to him and in the grand scheme of things, I really meant what I said. I am not vindictive by nature, I am not a vengeful woman and I am not one to "get back" at people who hurt me. I have never wavered in how I have felt for him (ok, so I've wanted to push him in front of a bus a few times, eyed my steak knives when he was standing in my kitchen not too long ago telling me I was scrambling the eggs "wrong") and wanted to kick the living shit out of him for not calling, emailing or texting me for six freaking weeks at one point during this relationship). But never once did I ever feel like I wasn't in love with him. That has always remained - much like a tattoo
This has always been a one-sided relationship - I fell in love with him, and he adamantly stated he did not feel the same. I asked him once a year and the answer was always the same. I did not ask him this year because I already knew the answer and I think, having been armed with that knowledge, that all the questions I put upon him last night were already answered by me, I already knew how it would play out, I already knew that he stays with me because I give him what he wants, and not what he needs. And perhaps it is the same way with me. I don't want to "need" someone, I'd rather simply "want" someone because isn't great sex like a super bonus in a relationship? If you have the solid foundation, if you have all the elements of a solid relationship, isn't making love or having mind boggling sex truly just one big giant present at Christmas? That's how I have always looked at it. He and I just have the bonus part without the foundation. Our foundation was not solid it was crooked and wrong and could not support us because we started it all wrong. And he believes, as a result, that it can never be right.
Maybe he is right. Maybe you can never start over right when you begin wrong.
I do know one thing, however: I gave him my heart and he handed it back to me and pretty much said "no thanks right now" but when I woke up this morning, it was still securely in its place, beating strongly and I was still breathing, still writing and largely unchanged.
The human spirit truly is indomitable and we are tested on our strength and courage all the time. In matters of the heart, many of us simply lay down and wait for the emotional landslide to bury us, others like myself have built a secure wall to hold back those landslides when they happen. Sure, that wall may develop cracks and not be as strong as it was when it was built but cracks can be fixed. But the wall remains solid, and it stands strong against the onslaught of falling in and out of love - or simply not falling in love at all.
I recently wrote that I wanted to be a vampire because love sucks.
It may, but it's how we deal with that that makes us amazing as human beings truly are. And frankly, I wouldn't trade my "humanness" for all the Edward Cullens in the world.
Friday, September 11, 2009
The Chronicles of Single Momya - Part 6
Trying to stop yourself from falling in love is like trying to stand on the shore in front of the vast ocean, waving your arms frantically and shouting "Stop, Stop" at the waves - trying to actually prevent them from coming ashore. You can't do it. And unless you are completely and utterly emotionally challenged or just plain devoid of emotion, period, it's really, really difficult to stop yourself from falling in love. In 2006, I fell really hard, right on my head. And it was unexpected, shockingly shocking and with pretty much the last person on earth that I would ever considered (even the remotest possibility) to fall in love with. And four years later, I am still "with" him - whatever the term "with" has as a full meaning.
My high school reunion (our 26th) had been planned for July, 2006. From August of 2005, my old classmates and I gathered emails, names, addresses, etc. and sent out announcements of our pending reunion. One classmate had emailed me to let me know other classmates were here and there and one in particular was "here" (work location remaining undisclosed) and he had forwarded my email to this person. Well, thus began an innocuous communication: what have you been doing the last 25 years, are you married, divorced, kids, job, blah blah blah blah. The usual civilities and trading of information that comes when you "catch up" and secretly think how your life just might suck compared to someone else. This particular guy who will remain unnamed because of circumstances that are, unfortunately, unchanged after four years, was someone I knew only fleetingly in high school and with whom I walked the halls and just "knew" because he was in my graduating class. For fear of revealing his identity now, I will simply call him BD - short for Bad Dog because that has been his nickname - one I dubbed - since the night we met. BD is and never would have been my type. I've always gone for the bad boy looks - the dark brooding eyes, just dark and brooding, period. I mixed in athletes here and there but that bad ass look always caught my eye. BD is so far from that "type" I am just not sure where he fit in to my grand scheme of things. But certainly, he wasn't then in high school my type - back to that remotely even remote description, but somehow that typecasting of my "type" evaporated on January 20, 2006, or actually, certainly, specifically, five months after that date.
BD and I exchanged a barrage of emails over a two week period in early January. One such email he sent to me was in response to my married/divorced/children questions email. He answered me "divorced, now engaged but unsure." That statement puzzled me - it was not really the kind of thing you tell someone after 25 plus years, someone you've really never ever talking to, seen or had any kind of a relationship whatsoever. A frown etched itself in my brow that day (which, suffice to stay is now still there after four years of consternation and frustration over this one little statement) but within a few seconds of his response, I shrugged it off and plunged on. We suggested a mutual meeting, lunch, or whatever just to "catch up." He remembered me: the sports writer, my love of baseball, etc. That's how all my high school friends remember me because there was nothing else that I did in high school which required any more memories of me. Sports and Paula, particularly baseball, went naturally together like apple pie and vanilla ice cream. He remembered somehow, or why, as I asked myself.
We met on January 20, 2006, a day after my 43rd birthday. I went to meet him with no expectations whatsoever because at that point in my life, I wasn't looking for anything - no one, nothing. He got out of his truck and I greeted him with a hug. The usual display of friendliness after you haven't seen someone for 25 or more years. He didn't rock my world. He was exactly the same height as me (I like tall guys), he rocked some really cool hair and his eyes - well, I had always been drawn to eyes and his were this liquid deep brown color and they crinkled when he smiled and laughed. But what woman wouldn't notice stuff like that? But there was no "spark," no "electricity" no nothing. He was just BD.
We sat for nearly 2 and a half hours talking and talking and talking. We didn't run out of things to say to each other. Frankly, now that I look back, I should have seen this coming. You don't just meet someone after 25 plus years, sit down and be able to talk to them for that amount of time as comfortably and as, well, normally with someone you've known for that length of time. That just does not happen at all.
We laughed ourselves silly over so many things. And then it was time to go. We walked out to the parking lot and I stood next to my car, keys in hand. I think I said "well, I had a really nice time," or something inane like that and he took one step, got in my space and kissed me.
I can't sit here and say I was shocked because it went beyond that. I'm not sure if it was the kiss or the fact he was unsure about his engagement and he was just trying me on for size or the millions other things that went through my head because kissing him BACK seemed like the most normal, natural thing to do in the world.
And he fit perfectly to me, I didn't have to bend down or stand on my toes. He just fit to me. Perfectly. He stepped back, I had no words so I laughed. And so did he. I said "Look, I have to go," and he said "Maybe I should follow you home" and I laughed again and said, "You are a bad dog. Go home." And he looked at me, burst out into this amazing laughter, and said "I'll talk to you real soon" walked away, turned back and looked at me one more time and got into his truck and left.
I was still standing there, holding my keys in my hand, wondering what the fuck had just happened. I touched my fingers to my lips - I know - lame - but because he was the first, uh, different kind of guy who had kissed me (I have no choice but to say it that way because I'd end up revealing his identity with any other choice of words and I can't do that) I realized that aw hell, he kisses just the same.
But somehow that kiss was better and different. And then I squashed my thoughts, cleared my head and went home.
I did not sleep that night. All I heard was our laughter, all I could feel was his lips still on mine and then I realized what a terrible mistake he'd made.
Or was it?
Four years and four hundred breakups and make ups later, I now know it wasn't a mistake but realistically two people who really belong together - the last two pieces of a really intricate puzzle - but can't be "together" in the sense that word is meant to be used in this kind of relationship - because that "engaged but unsure" statement was and still is an invisible, two-ended, sharp serrated knife that if either of us move too close to each other, that knife will surely rip us apart.
OK so five months later I moved way too close to that knife and it ripped me open, bearing my heart and soul and I realized I had fallen in love with the goddamned bad dog that went home that first night but came back two weeks later and just kept coming back again and again and again.
And is still hanging around.
Tomorrow: Bringing me back to life, doubt, pain, and questioning my sanity.
My high school reunion (our 26th) had been planned for July, 2006. From August of 2005, my old classmates and I gathered emails, names, addresses, etc. and sent out announcements of our pending reunion. One classmate had emailed me to let me know other classmates were here and there and one in particular was "here" (work location remaining undisclosed) and he had forwarded my email to this person. Well, thus began an innocuous communication: what have you been doing the last 25 years, are you married, divorced, kids, job, blah blah blah blah. The usual civilities and trading of information that comes when you "catch up" and secretly think how your life just might suck compared to someone else. This particular guy who will remain unnamed because of circumstances that are, unfortunately, unchanged after four years, was someone I knew only fleetingly in high school and with whom I walked the halls and just "knew" because he was in my graduating class. For fear of revealing his identity now, I will simply call him BD - short for Bad Dog because that has been his nickname - one I dubbed - since the night we met. BD is and never would have been my type. I've always gone for the bad boy looks - the dark brooding eyes, just dark and brooding, period. I mixed in athletes here and there but that bad ass look always caught my eye. BD is so far from that "type" I am just not sure where he fit in to my grand scheme of things. But certainly, he wasn't then in high school my type - back to that remotely even remote description, but somehow that typecasting of my "type" evaporated on January 20, 2006, or actually, certainly, specifically, five months after that date.
BD and I exchanged a barrage of emails over a two week period in early January. One such email he sent to me was in response to my married/divorced/children questions email. He answered me "divorced, now engaged but unsure." That statement puzzled me - it was not really the kind of thing you tell someone after 25 plus years, someone you've really never ever talking to, seen or had any kind of a relationship whatsoever. A frown etched itself in my brow that day (which, suffice to stay is now still there after four years of consternation and frustration over this one little statement) but within a few seconds of his response, I shrugged it off and plunged on. We suggested a mutual meeting, lunch, or whatever just to "catch up." He remembered me: the sports writer, my love of baseball, etc. That's how all my high school friends remember me because there was nothing else that I did in high school which required any more memories of me. Sports and Paula, particularly baseball, went naturally together like apple pie and vanilla ice cream. He remembered somehow, or why, as I asked myself.
We met on January 20, 2006, a day after my 43rd birthday. I went to meet him with no expectations whatsoever because at that point in my life, I wasn't looking for anything - no one, nothing. He got out of his truck and I greeted him with a hug. The usual display of friendliness after you haven't seen someone for 25 or more years. He didn't rock my world. He was exactly the same height as me (I like tall guys), he rocked some really cool hair and his eyes - well, I had always been drawn to eyes and his were this liquid deep brown color and they crinkled when he smiled and laughed. But what woman wouldn't notice stuff like that? But there was no "spark," no "electricity" no nothing. He was just BD.
We sat for nearly 2 and a half hours talking and talking and talking. We didn't run out of things to say to each other. Frankly, now that I look back, I should have seen this coming. You don't just meet someone after 25 plus years, sit down and be able to talk to them for that amount of time as comfortably and as, well, normally with someone you've known for that length of time. That just does not happen at all.
We laughed ourselves silly over so many things. And then it was time to go. We walked out to the parking lot and I stood next to my car, keys in hand. I think I said "well, I had a really nice time," or something inane like that and he took one step, got in my space and kissed me.
I can't sit here and say I was shocked because it went beyond that. I'm not sure if it was the kiss or the fact he was unsure about his engagement and he was just trying me on for size or the millions other things that went through my head because kissing him BACK seemed like the most normal, natural thing to do in the world.
And he fit perfectly to me, I didn't have to bend down or stand on my toes. He just fit to me. Perfectly. He stepped back, I had no words so I laughed. And so did he. I said "Look, I have to go," and he said "Maybe I should follow you home" and I laughed again and said, "You are a bad dog. Go home." And he looked at me, burst out into this amazing laughter, and said "I'll talk to you real soon" walked away, turned back and looked at me one more time and got into his truck and left.
I was still standing there, holding my keys in my hand, wondering what the fuck had just happened. I touched my fingers to my lips - I know - lame - but because he was the first, uh, different kind of guy who had kissed me (I have no choice but to say it that way because I'd end up revealing his identity with any other choice of words and I can't do that) I realized that aw hell, he kisses just the same.
But somehow that kiss was better and different. And then I squashed my thoughts, cleared my head and went home.
I did not sleep that night. All I heard was our laughter, all I could feel was his lips still on mine and then I realized what a terrible mistake he'd made.
Or was it?
Four years and four hundred breakups and make ups later, I now know it wasn't a mistake but realistically two people who really belong together - the last two pieces of a really intricate puzzle - but can't be "together" in the sense that word is meant to be used in this kind of relationship - because that "engaged but unsure" statement was and still is an invisible, two-ended, sharp serrated knife that if either of us move too close to each other, that knife will surely rip us apart.
OK so five months later I moved way too close to that knife and it ripped me open, bearing my heart and soul and I realized I had fallen in love with the goddamned bad dog that went home that first night but came back two weeks later and just kept coming back again and again and again.
And is still hanging around.
Tomorrow: Bringing me back to life, doubt, pain, and questioning my sanity.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Keep Your Pants On
I am not one to knock other people's religions or beliefs but there are just some beliefs that are just way too whack for me to understand. In a story on AOL today, a Lubna Hussein, a female Sudanese journalist was convicted of "public indecency" because - heaven forbid - she wore a pair of pants in public. http://news.aol.com/article/sudanese-journalist-lubna-hussein She has refused to pay the $200 fine and has stated she'd rather spend a month in prison. She had faced the possibility of a public flogging (oh, lovely) but the judge ordered her to pay the fine instead. Now, hear me out on this: I can understand if she sprinted outdoors naked and ran through the streets denouncing the country's president, police force, judicial system in general - you get the picture - or some other type of indecent crime as us common-sense type folks here in the United States see it - but this reasonably attractive professional woman who was wearing a very lovely head covering and matching shirt (I believe this head covering is in accordance with the laws but forgive me if I do not name it properly) and a matching pair of brown trousers. Oh my God - she wore PANTS in PUBLIC. And worse, the judge ruled "Hussein's outfit indecent" and he imposed the $200 fine. He also was quoted as saying that "her clothes violated traditions that a woman should only "adorn themselves" for their husbands and not in public. You know what I have to say to that: Hey judge, kiss my ass. See? This is what I mean about going too far with beliefs. In this day and age, women are still treated pretty much like shit. There is a country where women's sexual organs are mutilated and removed; women are publicly beaten, flogged for insubordination to their husbands or male relatives; and perhaps the worst and most horrific act - murdered with approval of the male's family. But this woman - she wore a pair of pants in public. That is her crime. And government spokesman Rabie Abdel Attie said Monday that Hussein's defiance of paying the fine and making her case so public and her denouncement of the morality of such a ridiculous law (including the public flogging punishment) "is not a way to change the law." And Attie went on to state that "Changing the laws goes through officials, and it is a continuous matter looked into by the parliament," he said. Let's see. Public flogging of women who wear pants in public: Causes humiliation, embarrassment. horrific injuries which can result in permanent scarring of one's body and/or back, possible infections resulting from same, etc. etc. etc. Nah, no need to change the law. Is THIS the mindset of these idiotic lamebrained morons who run the government over there? I KNOW these laws have been in place for eons but do these men really believe that they are RIGHT and that the laws should STAND as is???? Yes, they do. And that's the worst part of it. Attie's last quote was ""These courts are not convened without a crime. Lubna was convicted and she should respect the law." If I was Lubna Hussein, I'd be foaming at the mouth, wishing I could PUBLICLY tell that government spokesman clown Attie "Hey, do me a favor, will ya? Just keep YOUR pants on because I would not want to see how small your balls are compared to mine."
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
The Chronicles of Single Momya - Part 5
I moved into the "low income housing" apartment complex and settled in for the most part. I had a job that I hated and my employer made me cry many times because he was at the beginning of his own divorce and was taking out his bitterness on me. I could not quit because I desperately needed the money. The other attorney in the office was giving me work that I genuinely loved doing but still, it was a struggle to get up and go to work every single morning. My son was thriving, loved going to his day care provider's home and at least I knew he was safe, cared for and loved while I worked.
I tried not to think about myself at all. I was still so grossly overweight and disgusting that I couldn't even think about dating again. Perish the thought. I would have rather drank battery acid than get involved with anyone.
I checked out the neighborhoods around and realized I could simply start walking. I bought an IPod Shuffle, loaded it with songs, bought myself a decent pair of sneakers and got off my fat ass and started walking. I lost myself in the music and just let my legs carry me as far as I could go.
Small changes but I'd begun to take steps to make those changes.
Days flew by. It was time to go to court and get the divorce rolling, custody and support issue in place. It had been three years and my ex husband was literally non-existent in my son's life. My son didn't know any better and for that I was glad. But I knew better and each year since my son had been born, I had grown wiser and stronger.
I was warned that the judge would simply look at incomes, issue a support order and probably grant joint legal custody. My divorce would be quick and simple for the most part since I didn't have any assets (I had a big ass but no assets) and neither did my ex-husband. Court came and went, support order was in place, visitation was scheduled but nothing changed. My ex was always late with support, a few times checks bounced and he usually bailed on visitation. 2003 came and went.
In 2004 I enrolled my son in nursery school. He loved being with other children. 2004 also brought the Red Sox a World Championship, the 1st in 86 years. My son was too young to understand its meaning, but it meant a big deal for me. My ex husband was in and out of our lives, in and out of his son's life, missing important milestones, birthdays, etc. I begun not to care anymore. At some point in time, I realized I had never been in love with my ex husband. There had never been anything there at all. He wasn't even my type. I began to tell people I was temporarily insane when I had said I do.
My walking began to pay off. The pounds began to come off, slowly, but they came off. I didn't look as hideous (on the outside) anymore. I could look at myself again without the deep disgust. I realized that it had been six years since I'd had sex, the last time being when I got pregnant. I wasn't sure if I missed it or if I simply yearned for intimacy and closeness with another human being - something I never had with my ex husband.
In August, 2005, I was laid off from my job because my son was starting kindergarten and at the time it was a morning/afternoon program - not full day and my employer could not accommodate the schedule I had laid out. So the other attorney offered to take me on and let me work from home, or in the office, whatever suited me. OK, so God was listening. The transition was easy and life continued as I knew it. My son LOVED school. During the school year I got wind that a kid had been bullying my son. Apparently this went on for about three months until I found out about it, and my son had enough and punched the bully in the eye. I got a call from the principal's office about the incident. I had to choke back my laughter at the thought of my kid punching this other kid.
I taught my son not to ever start a fight, but don't back down from one. And even at that young age, he had already figured out he had taken enough of the BS from this kid. And popped him. Of course, I had to discipline him (slightly) but I told him I probably would have done the same thing.
The kid never bothered my son again.
An old classmate from high school contacted me about planning a "late" 25th high school reunion for 2006. It would actually be our "26th" reunion. That kept me busy the latter part of 2005.
I began to receive emails from old classmates, and information for classmates who had scattered around the country. And then something happened. I met up with an old classmate - someone who I knew simply as a guy in high school with whom I walked the same halls but someone who I had any kind of a friendship with. I was too much into sports writing and baseball and he was simply trying to fit in. He came to high school late - he was 2 years old than all of us. And there were other issues that I choose not to name in this blog because it would name him, and for the past four years, I've protected his identity for a very specific reason.
In January, 2006, my life changed as I knew it then.
Tomorrow: the bad dog who would not go home, feeling alive again, falling in and out of love.
I tried not to think about myself at all. I was still so grossly overweight and disgusting that I couldn't even think about dating again. Perish the thought. I would have rather drank battery acid than get involved with anyone.
I checked out the neighborhoods around and realized I could simply start walking. I bought an IPod Shuffle, loaded it with songs, bought myself a decent pair of sneakers and got off my fat ass and started walking. I lost myself in the music and just let my legs carry me as far as I could go.
Small changes but I'd begun to take steps to make those changes.
Days flew by. It was time to go to court and get the divorce rolling, custody and support issue in place. It had been three years and my ex husband was literally non-existent in my son's life. My son didn't know any better and for that I was glad. But I knew better and each year since my son had been born, I had grown wiser and stronger.
I was warned that the judge would simply look at incomes, issue a support order and probably grant joint legal custody. My divorce would be quick and simple for the most part since I didn't have any assets (I had a big ass but no assets) and neither did my ex-husband. Court came and went, support order was in place, visitation was scheduled but nothing changed. My ex was always late with support, a few times checks bounced and he usually bailed on visitation. 2003 came and went.
In 2004 I enrolled my son in nursery school. He loved being with other children. 2004 also brought the Red Sox a World Championship, the 1st in 86 years. My son was too young to understand its meaning, but it meant a big deal for me. My ex husband was in and out of our lives, in and out of his son's life, missing important milestones, birthdays, etc. I begun not to care anymore. At some point in time, I realized I had never been in love with my ex husband. There had never been anything there at all. He wasn't even my type. I began to tell people I was temporarily insane when I had said I do.
My walking began to pay off. The pounds began to come off, slowly, but they came off. I didn't look as hideous (on the outside) anymore. I could look at myself again without the deep disgust. I realized that it had been six years since I'd had sex, the last time being when I got pregnant. I wasn't sure if I missed it or if I simply yearned for intimacy and closeness with another human being - something I never had with my ex husband.
In August, 2005, I was laid off from my job because my son was starting kindergarten and at the time it was a morning/afternoon program - not full day and my employer could not accommodate the schedule I had laid out. So the other attorney offered to take me on and let me work from home, or in the office, whatever suited me. OK, so God was listening. The transition was easy and life continued as I knew it. My son LOVED school. During the school year I got wind that a kid had been bullying my son. Apparently this went on for about three months until I found out about it, and my son had enough and punched the bully in the eye. I got a call from the principal's office about the incident. I had to choke back my laughter at the thought of my kid punching this other kid.
I taught my son not to ever start a fight, but don't back down from one. And even at that young age, he had already figured out he had taken enough of the BS from this kid. And popped him. Of course, I had to discipline him (slightly) but I told him I probably would have done the same thing.
The kid never bothered my son again.
An old classmate from high school contacted me about planning a "late" 25th high school reunion for 2006. It would actually be our "26th" reunion. That kept me busy the latter part of 2005.
I began to receive emails from old classmates, and information for classmates who had scattered around the country. And then something happened. I met up with an old classmate - someone who I knew simply as a guy in high school with whom I walked the same halls but someone who I had any kind of a friendship with. I was too much into sports writing and baseball and he was simply trying to fit in. He came to high school late - he was 2 years old than all of us. And there were other issues that I choose not to name in this blog because it would name him, and for the past four years, I've protected his identity for a very specific reason.
In January, 2006, my life changed as I knew it then.
Tomorrow: the bad dog who would not go home, feeling alive again, falling in and out of love.
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