Feb. 8 — three years after divorce
My divorce was finalized Feb. 8, 2018, about two months after it was supposed to be finalized, but things always take longer in this town. I recall the day. It was cold, of course. I handed her a packet of papers that said it was all over, but it was over before that. As it was said about F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife, Zelda, we leaned on each other and both fell down. I probably blamed my ex for too much. She is actually one of the finer people I've known, but with problems that impacted us negatively. I could talk about her good qualities at length, but this blog's purpose was to help me move on. Anyway, people do what they do for good reasons, and regardless of the consequences. It was my fault for accepting the situation and for so long. I should have walked away earlier, but that is easier said than done when you care about someone. I didn't dwell much on her psychology or try to explain why she did what she did, but her past is similar to mine, and those childhood wounds have long-lasting consequences. I wish her the best and harbor no ill will. I wish things could have been different, and I was angry for a long time, but I am no longer.
There are different kinds of divorce. Mine was the official kind. Sometimes people drift long before they realize they have lost each other, sometimes for years, and sometimes without getting an official divorce. But it's a divorce, nonetheless. They may still live in the same house and may still be married but are effectively divorced in their hearts.
You may wonder if I would do the divorce again if I could go back. Honestly, that's not a fair question because I am not the same person I was before or during my divorce. Safe to say I'm a new animal, for better or worse. I understand the reasons why I did what I did, but I cannot say one way or another what I would do if I went back in time and could change the outcome. If I had to do it again and decided to pursue divorce, I would have changed HOW I proceeded. That's all I know. And I would not have stood still afterward; I would have moved on quickly in some direction. But that's not how it worked out. If I was happy with her, I would have stayed, and maybe that's my answer.
My heart has hurt so long, and so dreadfully, I never thought it would mend. And maybe it never will, as it seems the sadness sunk into me. But I want to laugh again and be silly and stupid and make decisions that don't cost me anything. I want to live without the cloak of defeat, make love and dumb jokes again, and sing whenever I like, the world and its troubles be damned. I want to be happy. I don't want to be sad or lonely anymore. I was sad for too long. It got the better of me. But no more!
Just a note on rejection. When we are rejected romantically, sometimes we think it means something about us, as in, I must suck. Sometimes we think it means something about them, as in, they suck. But, really, it's just a necessary mechanism. When a woman rejects a man, for instance, she does not mean to hurt him. She just can't give him what he wants. It's like asking someone for money they don't have. Sorry, but I don't have anything for you. It is necessary to say no. It puts a man in a different reality for a short time (and doesn't necessarily hurt, but does sometimes), and then he's okay. If a man doesn't accept the answer of no, that's when problems begin. That refusal to accept the answer is what prevents him from transitioning back to reality. I did that in previous relationships; that's why I mention it here. So, not only do I need a clear no answer, but I also need to take myself to task and transition back to reality after that answer. Not being able to accept rejection not only hampered my relationships in the past, but also my prospects for the future. It's like it paralyzes me. So strange. That's my bit of therapy for this post. Onward. 
We always struggled with money, as a couple. Shortly after we moved in together, we opened a joint checking account, which I quickly found was a bad idea and insisted our finances become separate again. But now I have money in the bank. I save a lot. I don't like spending money. I don't make a whole lot, about $35K last year. Money doesn't mean a whole lot to me, but it is a resource God gives me, so I try not to waste it. I do like fruitcake, though, and enjoy the best, which comes from a bakery in Beatrice, Neb. (I also love the pies from The Village Piemaker in Eustice, Neb. Do all good sweet things come from Nebraska?) Here is an actual video of me eating said fruitcake. No, don't care for fruitcake? (You probably had the supermarket stuff. I don't blame you.) How about chocolate-covered fruitcake? Holy guacamole, I am in love. You may ask yourself, who are these people buying and selling fruitcake at all times of the year. My only answer is, man, it is a big, beautiful world out there. Go get you some.
I don't know if this is a good thing or not, but I never could gain much weight before my divorce. Now I'm a chonky chonk. A lot of my pants don't fit anymore. My shirts are tighter. I actually split my jeans in the seat recently going over a fence. Apparently, my butt is too big, too. I am a fat, little seal sausage, like this guy. Probably all that fruitcake.
I pretty much do as I please. If I don't want to clean up, I won't. If I'm too tired to do something, it remains undone. And, you know what, lots of things went undone and no one suffered. Right now, I should be cleaning, but haha, no. No cleaning today. The bare minimum is my friend now. Except for the fruitcake. I eat the maximum. I'll just keep buying larger clothes like the rest of America. Selah.
I have two people to take care of, and that's it. I always had to shepherd my ex around and help her think through things. Pretty sure if I hadn't been there, she would have walked off a cliff a few times. She needed a lot of direction, even about little things. Maybe that's why I was kind of controlling, but that is counter to my personality, which is laid-back. I felt I had to tend to details in her life I shouldn't have had to, nor want to, eventually resenting her lack of self-control and good judgment. What we had was more of a father-child relationship. What I needed was a partner I could count on. A man should help his wife, sure, but it was ridiculous the help she needed with basic thought processes. (Still, I repented of all that behavior.) She isn't a stupid person, and I know we all have our blinders, but holy shinola. She wasn't a helpmeet (helpmate). She was a "help me." Anyway, water under the bridge. I don't have to do the thinking for two people anymore. I just have to look after my son and myself. That's enough for now.
I can watch anything I want on TV (or nothing at all)! Of course, God tells me some things are off-limits, but, still. I can watch the crappiest man shows in the world. And there are so many of them. FailArmy, anyone? I can watch scary stuff. I can watch gross stuff. I can watch hours of Baby Shark if I want. A super-long series entirely in Russian? Yes! Endless war movies? Of course! No sighs of disgust to contend with. No passive-aggressive maneuverings over the remote. I watch what I want to watch, or sometimes curl up in the corner with a book if silence is preferable. I make the rules! I can read while I watch TV. I can watch TV while I thumb through Tumblr. I can fire up the Roku, yet watch nothing at all (something I do for some strange reason). Whatever. The sky is the limit. I'm a maniac! (Also, when did I start drooling a lot? What is that?)
Cleaning. Okay, I clean maybe once a month. The shower stall gets cleaned maybe once every six months. Once I ask myself really hard whether the floor of the shower should be that yellow color, that's about when I get out the bleach. I really should vacuum because I fear the crumbs on the floor are attracting bugs, but we like bugs, don't we? Bugs are good. My son has a jar of western conifer seed bugs, commonly known as stink bugs or pine bugs here. But they are not stink bugs nor pine bugs. They are western conifer seed bugs. They don't stink. They don't eat gardens. They eat pine and only pine. They come inside in the winter so they can survive the cold, much like ladybugs in other parts of the country. They are harmless. He loves them. He needs a pet, sure, but I can't have pets in my apartment, and I don't have room for one, either. And that brings me to my next point.
No cats! The cats went to a new home after the divorce. One has passed since then. He was the big one that got stuck in the trestles near our old home one time. I risked my life to climb up there, over the railings 30-40 feet over the ground and pried that fat cat out of the trestles. He was fat and stupid, but my son loved playing with him, maybe because he was fat and stupid. But he croaked by his food bowl more than a year ago. I guess you could say he died doing what he loved, which was eating. I'll remember that the next time I'm gorging on fruitcake. But, cats. I don't have to clean up their messes anymore. Do you have any idea how much cats like to get sick on the carpet? It was a full-time job to clean up after them. I recall stepping in cat vomit on my way to the bathroom one night, which is not a good memory. Cold and wet on the carpet, and me suddenly furious and hopping on one foot. At one point, we had five cats! I recall burying three of them, too (as well as some neighborhood feral cats), which is another thing I don't miss. When they die, it is sad. And I don't want to be sad. Let someone else be sad. And let someone else clean up cat messes. Don't even get me started on how gross dogs are, either. At least cats don't roll in dead stuff or eat putrid piles of their own vomit. And cats can at least crap in one place, but dogs like to spread it out over the whole neighborhood. Dealing with crap is not on my daily to-do list anymore.
I can dress like a complete fool, no questions asked. I mean, I have some bad wardrobe choices in my repertoire. No one says jack. It's not like my ex was the most fashionable person, but she did have to occasionally rein me in. Well, no more! I can dress like a vagrant, and no one says anything. Also, I can shave my eyebrows off and no one cares! No one even looks at me! Hell, I don't even look at me. I avoid eye contact in the mirror as I brush my teeth and comb my hair in the morning, and that's as close as I get. Trust me, that mug has seen better days. And, now I have a big scar on my brow because I'm stupid, so now I have a big, stupid scar that says I'm stupid. No one cares! It's wonderful! I can go anywhere, looking like a doofus, and nothing is said. Do you have any idea how guys dress when they don't have a woman in their life? Yes, that's how I look. At least I have a very nice lady who shears my woolly mammoth mane every six weeks and keeps me somewhat presentable, otherwise, I'd be wholly without female care. Zit on my nose? No one tells me. I'm pretty sure some people think I live in a van down by the river, where I "rest my neck meat," whatever that means. Actually, that's pretty close to how I live. Pretty sure my apartment is under 500 sq. ft. I should be on Tiny House Nation.
I can go to bed when I want. 7:00 and exhausted? Go to bed. Want to stay up to 10:00 and live dangerously? Sure thing. Want to scroll mindlessly through Tumblr for an hour? Go ahead. Want to chuckle to yourself for no reason and without explanation? Yes, do that. Want to laugh out loud at your own stupid joke that no one heard and with no need to explain it? Got it covered. I do what I want, and without dealing with a woman's disapproval. It's fun; you should try it. I'm pretty much a wild animal now. I even pee in the bushes when I'm out for hikes. Sometimes I wear my fuzzy pants and fuzzy socks all day. Sometimes I just put a hat on my hair and don't bother to comb it. Sometimes I forget to brush my teeth, but who cares. I can burp as loud as I like. I can fart. I can walk around in my underwear, dad bod in full effect, or beat-box in the shower. I'm untamed. Rock on, wild man. No one around to even roll their eyes. And no one to skewer me with anger or give me the silent treatment. I'm a wild animal.
And, I don't have to deal with her running into things all the time with her car. Before we divorced, I got her a really nice car that was only two years old. It is bulletproof reliable, too. She'll be fine. But I don't have to cringe anymore when she drives, or fear for my life. I don't have to do anything! Her bad decisions are her own.
Speaking of taking care of things, that's another thing I don't have to do. I own very few things, having given away or sold most of my possessions. My son has more things than me, I think. Having fewer things to take care of is a load off, as many years were spent fixing things and looking after material possessions, to the point where I often wondered if I owned them or if they owned me. I was dutiful in taking care of things, so I know if I ever go back to owning a house, for instance, I can do it, but right now it's just nice not having that extra burden. That leaves more time for munching on fruitcake. Admit it, you like it.
I think when you are in love with someone, the things like what I mentioned above become very small, and then they disappear. Love doesn't see things like that. It just sees the person it loves, not the dumb stuff they do.
So, not being married means I'm a free man, I guess. Whatever that means. That's hard for me, though, because I like having someone to come home to. I like sharing my life with someone. Maybe the right girl at the right time, it will happen (everyone knows who I'm talking about). I can't be a neanderthal forever. And maybe it's time to rethink the dog thing.
Thank you for reading, and God bless.
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