Yesterday was rough on me, really rough. I was in that nasty snotty weepy icky place and had to work hard to get it together before WAW returned from work. S had a session with a counselor, and the story the counselor told me after the seesion was pretty much what you'd expect. He doesn't want it, etc.
Now The Boy'd asked me why I was divorcing his mother earlier that day, and I did exactly what I told WAW I would do -- I told the truth. I said that only 1 person has to want to get a divorce, and his mother feels that she'll be happier being his mom but not my wife, etc. -- exactly the stuff I told WAW I would say. [Hold that one in high RAM, if you will.] Now -- and this is clearly My Bad -- I didn't tell WAW he and I had had this convo, but to be perfectly honest I was such a wreck yesterday that by the time I'd gotten myself together near the end of the afternoon I'd just plain forgot about it.
D was weepy all day. And I had to sort of pack up some of WAW's stuff from the "family" room (he said, sardonically). So it was rough.
And of course there were a half-dozen $$$$ emails and texts from WAW. Finally she agreed to just set the $$$$ question aside until the end of July -- she's got a vacation coming up, the kids and I do, this weekend sucks, etc. Fine. We'll set the $$$$ question aside. She'll just do the bills for July the way she's been, we'll start all the support crap in August -- is that okay with me? Yes, sure, it's fine; let's just get through tomorrow. [Now please keep that bit about August in mind, dear friends, for later.]
Okay, so I'm lying on the floor with my dog, breathing, repeating some mantras and affirmations, get up, and get back to business.
I bought the kids and me a new home theater system -- our first -- surround sound, flat panel, blueray thing, Wii, the whole 9 yards. So I'm installing. To do this, I have to move the old teevee and cabinet and TiVo and whatnot out to the front room, where WAW's movers can take them away. So in the process I'm unloading said cabinet and set WAW's DVDs aside (we have very different taste in the cinematic arts - she, for example, doesn't think "Caddyshack" is funny).
And I set those DVDs with the rest of "her" AV equipment. [Save that sentence for later as well, please.]
In the "family" room and adjacent kitchen there are 3 things that are very very very very important to WAW, as they were her (deceased) mother's. 2 wall-hangings and a teapot. So I gently take the wall-hangings off the wall -- I am, after, all, spackling and repainting this coming week -- and set them and the teapot in the front room where WAW has been staging all of her things. I put the hanging hardware in zip-lock bags, labeled, etc. [And please keep this one handy also.]
So the "day" part of the day ends. I take the boy-child to see the counselor. WAW texts -- can she join us for dinner? Sure, of course; so we meet at the local, and she has both kids insisting on sitting to either side of her, and they are pressed right up against her. Okay, you don't need a Ph.D., right?
She and I say almost nothing.
That evening, the boy-child and I run over to Worst Buy -- not my usual stopping-off point, but near to the local -- for some HDMI cables -- I hadn't realized I needed as many as I did. We return, WAW is in the midst of bath-and-story-time with D, then it's S's turn.
By this time I'd all done in. SP goes to bed really early because he gets up at 0300 to write -- or to "used-to" write, now to self-help (and someone please start with the 2x4s to get back to my book -- the one I was working on on D-Day. PLEASE.).
Comes The Night.
An hour later, there is a huge racket. Banging banging banging banging. WAW is acting out. I don't go check -- it's her thing, whatever.
Two hours later -- BAM! -- in she comes to the guest room, flipping on the lights, and we're off to the races. Again.
40 minutes of abuse. Who the f*ck do I think I am telling S that this is her idea? [Recall Item 1, please.]
I'm a mass of contradictions! How can I keep up this stupid f*cking game of being nice to her and offering to help her when really I'm just out for all of her money!?! I refuse to give her a figure! I'm going for the jugular! I'm going to soak her for life! She ought to quit her job tomorrow! Then let me figure it out! She's got other income! That'll show me! Let me explain to the children why they're starving! [Remember that second thing I asked you to set aside for later? Take it out again and have a look, please.]
Why did I tell S this was all her fault? Didn't I think that was something she deserved to know? Yes, that's right. Though I didn't say it was WAW's "fault," it's clearly the case that I should have remembered to let her know about the convo. No argument from me.
And what am I trying to "tell her" by putting her DVDs by the door! What is that little stunt supposed to mean? I'm so f*cking petty I can't even stand to have her movies around? God almighty why did she wait so long to get rid of my a**? [And that's item 3, if you please.]
How dare I take her stuff off the wall and just throw it anywhere? [The last recall item, ladies and gentlemen.]
I'm a piece of sh*t! The last time she checked this was half her house! She'll put it on the market tomorrow! Kick my a** to the curb! I can explain to the kids why they're starving and homeless! Why don't I take that job I was offered in Afghanistan and get killed? She'll take 100% custody! I'm the biggest mistake she ever made in her life! I'm no class! I have no class! Like my white trash family! Just a mass of f*cking contradictions and inconsistencies!
Hey? Where are you in all this, SP? I'm lying on the guest bed, wearing naught but a thin pair of pyjama bottoms and a sheet, being very quiet. Looking her in the eyes.
Not yelling. Not reacting. Getting my dander up a couple times, getting close, but bringing it back down. Responding, when a response is needed, in a level, quiet tone of voice. Validating the thing she's saying for the umpteenth time -- I didn't support her, I abandoned her by sleeping in my office, etc. -- not criticizing her feelings. I understand she's under stress. I understand this is a tough thing to do, packing herself away.
(I get my bed linens at the same place @Coach gets his spew raincoat.)
And she sits on the floor. And is quiet. And starts asking me to explain (again) my seemingly contradictory feelings. How can I still purport to have feelings for her and the M while simultaneously saying I'm prepared for her to go and have accepted the divorce?
Okay, so I say the things we're all coached (pun intended) to say. I'm working on me. In a weird way this has been a good experience for me because it's forced me to chase the snakes out of my brain. Etc. Etc. All level. All quiet. All honest.
And the Working On Me helps me see where I went wrong, what I wasn't seeing, how I wasn't hearing, and also just so happens to lead me to believe that, given Work and Honesty and Will, this M doesn't have to be over.
How can I say such things with her the way she is, asks she? I hear you, I know you're stressed, I'm keeping an open mind.
How can I be compassionate to her at this time? Look at what she's done to me. Look at what she's done to the children. Because that's How I Roll now. This is the path I've chosen to walk for my remaining 40-odd years above ground. Compassion is easy when it's easy, when it doesn't cost you. It matters most when there's an emotional price to be paid. Which is why I'm trying so hard to Live My Way.
But then today [yesterday's "today"] I was so f*cked up, so sad, and I said I didn't have confidence in my ability to sustain compassion and friendship and whatnot. See? Mass of contradictions. Yes, I did say that. But there's no contradiction there. I'm struggling. Just because I've seemed "all good" for the past 6 or 8 weeks doesn't mean I don't care, doesn't mean I like this, doesn't mean I'm not hurting inside. And today that got the better of me. So I'm going to have to hunt those snakes down and chase them out of my brain. It's a process. It's a Path. I never said I was Perfect - just Trying.
And how can I say those flirting things? How can I say I'd be happy to have sex with her? How come she doesn't repulse me? Because it's the truth. Because I've been attracted to you for 22 years. Because I want you. Because you're looking hot these days, and I'd like to see what that looks like naked. {An actual, if brief, laugh is returned.} But more than that. In spite of everything -- hell, maybe because of everything -- I feel a physical craving for you. Right now, this moment, I'd like nothing more than to have you lying on this bed -- on top of the sheet, thank you very much, let's not get crazy {another actual, though brief, laugh} -- and just put my arms around you. And have you lie still and quiet until you felt better.
"I'll never feel better," says she.
So there we are, friends. A moment of light.
And -- BAM! -- she starts on the money again. Like that. Light switch.
So I tell her "Fine. What do you want to hear? That I don't want spousal support for life? Fine. I don't want spousal support for life. Now get the f*ck out."
And she gets this shocked look on her face -- no, honest to the gods, friends, no sh*t! -- this shocked look on her face and says -- oh, how I wish I was sh*tting you but I'm not -- "How dare you speak to me that way?"
Okay. Now I'm done. This has been her gift to me. Maybe it was her Strategic Master Plan all along, who knows?
Now. I. Am. Done.
"Fine, I'll get the f*ck out." And I climb out of the bed -- after a quick visual check, mind you, to make sure my Manly Assurance is not obviously on display there in my pyjama bottoms, because despite all this nonsense I'm sorta turned on by the whole thing -- and I march upstairs and write a one-page, 3-sentence memorandum.
I am not going for the jugular. I do not expect you to support me for the rest of my natural life. I write this of my own free will under no duress or influence.
And I print, and sign, and go into the Master Bed (knocking on the door because, you know, I have no class and everything). "Here. You got what you wanted. As far as I can see, this resolves everything. Apart from issues concerning the kids, I don't see that we have a godd*m thing to talk about. Ever again. So goodbye. And good luck to you."
And I go back downstairs.
Now the dog -- and she is a Senior Citizen dog -- is pretty shaken up, because you remember all that banging I was telling you about earlier? It was over in the part of the "family" room where she has her bed.
So I pet her a bit and let her out for a refreshing pee, and when she comes back in I give her a couple treats and then, Curiosity Killing The Cat, I turn the light on to figure out what that banging was all about.
WAW had taken my nylon mallet -- the one that I used to use when I did leatherwork in high school and just keep for soft hammering jobs, but which she clearly just understood to be a "hammer" -- and smashed the cases on all her DVDs, on the floor of the "family" room, and tried to bang the hardware for her mother's wall-hangings back into place, knocking out about 12 square inches of drywall in several places.
Goodbye, stranger. It's been nice. Hope you find your Paradise. Tried to see your point of view. Hope your dreams will all come true. Goodbye, Mary; goodbye, Jane. Will we ever meet again. Feel now sorrow, feel no shame. Come tomorrow, feel no pain.
-- and I march upstairs and write a one-page, 3-sentence memorandum.
