The Terrible Tragedy That Time Forgot

Do you know what today is? It’s June 11th. That means yesterday was June 10th. It went by without notice by me. I mean, obviously I knew the date. I wrote several reports that day at work citing the date, but it did not give me a single pause.

I went back to see what I wrote about the date last year. Apparently I forgot about it last year as well. The year before I didn’t realize the significance until the day was almost over.

When my world came crashing down on me on that date back in 2016 I thought for sure I would never forget that day. That was the beginning of a very dark period in my life.

These last two years it’s gone back to being just another day and I am so thankful for that. Life does indeed go on. 

If there is one thing I could burn into the brains of those people who are just now going through what I went through it would be that it gets better. It really does. You may not believe it now but the pain will go away. You will gain a life. You will smile and laugh again. You may or may not find love again. You will find happiness. And you will forget those horrible dates.

It’s That Day Again

There were so many different things I thought I was going to write about.  I started off thinking I would write about the fact that no matter how much I try to train my brain that today is just another day there’s always a little part of me that recognizes today is the day I made the biggest mistake of my life, aka my now defunct anniversary.

Then I tried to find a new pair of jeans. I was going to write about that. Shopping in the age of a pandemic is not easy. All of my old jeans are too big; I really need some new ones. Truth be told I can usually wear the old jeans for about 30 minutes to an hour and then they begin drooping and falling off my ass. It’s a good problem to have, I suppose. Much better than the old problem which is where I couldn’t zip my jeans up because I was getting too fat. Nonetheless, I’d really like to find a few pairs that fit. After nearly two hours of trying to find a new pair of jeans, ones that would fit just right- not too tight, not too loose- I gave up and headed to the Chick-Fil-A in the food court at the mall. I was already there and my hope was that it would be less crowded than the other one.

As I waited in line for my food I got a notification on my phone. It was Jerry Lee. 

No, he did not text to commemorate our former anniversary. He was letting me know I should check my Venmo. Mississippi finally sent the money back and he was finally sending it back to me.

I find a certain poetic justice in that. Turning over a big chunk of change to me on what would have been our 26th wedding anniversary. I always find it humorous when he pays me alimony on our anniversary. I wonder if he realizes that? Do you think he’s connected the dots and ever thinks, “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary! If I’d just kept my dick in my pants and stayed married I could keep all of this money,”? Probably not. I’m sure if he even remembers the past significance of this date he feels it was a good deal. 

It won’t happen again though because it’s automatically deducted out of his paycheck now but you have to admit as far as anti-versary gifts go this one is a doozy. I got a nice big pay day and the saga with Mississippi is finally over. Plus, he has to pay me again on Tuesday. To cap off this fantastic day I’m getting on a plane tomorrow afternoon and flying down to see my love. Happy former anniversary to me!

August and Anti-versaries

Holy moly! I can’t believe it’s August already. This year has been such a shit year. It seems like all we do is tick days, then weeks, then months off of the calendar, hoping against hope that our lives might return to something resembling normal. I’m not sure there’s anybody out there actually enjoying this year. Most are enduring. I know I am. Between checking off the weeks that I’ve been downtown and away from our regular spot, and weighing in on Fridays, hoping to see the scale go down, it’s been an entire year of getting from week to week.

Summer is always a little tricky for me. I do my best to not let Jerry Lee and his past behavior influence how I see an entire season but it can sometimes be difficult. I found out about his first affair Mother’s Day weekend in 2013. I spent the entire summer pick me dancing and holding my breath, not knowing whether or not our marriage would survive. All that culminated in me getting a message from The Saint the day of Rock Star’s birthday party.

It was August 14th, 2013. My stepfather had just died. I was in the middle of buying drinks and ice, picking up the big 6 foot sub from Walmart, grabbing cupcakes, picking up chips and cookies and candy, and getting things set up down at the reservoir for her party after gymnastics practice. It appeared out of nowhere: Did you get a good lawyer yet? That was the way I found out Jerry Lee was a bald faced liar and had been in communication with Harley the entire summer, despite swearing up and down he would end it with her.

Two years later the kids and I took off for Queen Bee’s graduation and then headed out to Utah for 2 weeks. Not long after we got back we took off to Florida. Jerry Lee couldn’t come with us because of a work obligation. While in Florida I saw a purchase made in Whore Town. That was also the summer of him wiring his “mom” money for groceries and buying “her” and his “stepdad” phones and paying their cell phone bill. Needless to say there was no work obligation and he wasn’t sending shit to his mom. It was all Harley.

August 10th, 2015 I got another message from The Saint: I thought you should know Jerry Lee has been spending his weekends in Whore Town with Harley. Just like that my entire life crumbled.

This summer has been interesting. It marks five years since my life as I knew it ended. I’m pretty okay with it this year. I forgot June 10th this year. That’s the day, four years ago, he informed me with a brief text message that he had lost his job and wouldn’t be sending me anymore money. Period. Nothing else to be said. Completely forgot the date this year.

I also didn’t notice the day, six years ago, that we moved into our new house in Virginia. Oh sure, I saw Facebook memories. There were pictures of us going to some of our favorite places one last time before we left. Pictures of us going out to lunch and dinner with friends. Pictures of me with people who were saying goodbye. Pictures of the moving truck the day they came to load everything up. But I forgot the day we moved in. Ironically, it was pretty much a year to the day that Jerry Lee was fucking Harley instead of going on vacation with his family. Good times, good times.

Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll even make the connection this year. I was in the shower this morning after my four mile run and I suddenly thought, “Oh shit! It’s August. Some serious bullshit went down this month in 2013 and 2015. I almost forgot about that.” That was the extent of my thoughts.

Earlier this year I was trying to remember a date. I was thinking to myself, “Was it the 10th or the 14th?” Then I suddenly realized it was neither of those two dates. Those were my D-Days! This thing I was thinking about was a good memory and it happened about a week later. Those dates were stuck in my head but I no longer associated them with trauma. Maybe this is what getting to Meh feels like. Maybe it’s a way to see that I’m healing. Whatever it is those dates don’t hold much significance anymore.

Wanna know something really funny? We’ll see if Jerry Lee is going to follow the court order this month. He gets paid on the 15th and the last day of the month. This month though the 15th falls on a Saturday. So I should be getting my first direct deposit from his company on August 14th- 7 years to the exact day since my first D-Day. That’s even better than all the times he ended up paying spousal support on our anniversary. Maybe another celebration cake will be in order.

I Didn’t Remember

Have I mentioned before what an amazing memory I have? I’m not bragging when I say this. People talk about it. Friends comment on it. My best friend will sometimes say, “I don’t remember this but I’ll ask Sam because I know she’ll remember it.” The mobster will sometimes comment, “I keep forgetting that you remember every little detail.”

I do forget things. I’m not like Marilou Henner who can remember every day of her life. I have indeed forgotten some things. Like the fact that I used to strip off my clothes when I got drunk. That one escaped me until I was having dinner with a group of friends. You’d think something like that would stick with you, but it didn’t.

My memory also is not a surefire thing. I have forgotten to pick up my kids before. I forget to make phone calls. Things slip my mind. But in general I have an amazing memory and it retains a lot of information. My brain retains significant dates as well. It has been really difficult to train my mind to no longer associate December 10th with my anniversary or October 18th with his birthday. I’m doing better but there is still that little voice that tries to pipe up.

Do you know what today is? It’s June 13th. Doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. It’s somebody’s birthday. Nobody I know. It’s somebody’s anniversary. Again, no one I know.

Do you know what Wednesday was? It was June 10th. That was the day Jerry Lee texted me to let me know he had lost his job and wouldn’t be sending anymore money my way. That was the day I knew I was going to have to leave my home, move my children again, and move back to Indiana and in with my mother. That’s the day that things started to get really, really bad for me. All the plans I had made- up in smoke. My daughter’s chance to graduate from her high school- crushed. I would end up leaving almost everything behind and starting over 600 miles away.

I thought I would never forget that day. It would always be a date of significance, one I couldn’t get away from.

Last year I almost missed it. I didn’t realize the significance of the date until late in the day. This year I didn’t remember the date until today. Maybe next year it won’t even cross my mind.

A Toast

Today would have been my 25th wedding anniversary. I’m not bemoaning the fact that I’m no longer married to Jerry Lee, but it does seem that 25 years would have been quite the accomplishment.

I always used to like to tell the story of how I was almost late for my own wedding. The hair stylists were in absolutely no rush to get me, Jezebel, or my maid of honor done. They keep assuring me, “Don’t worry, honey. You’re the bride; they’re not going to start without you.”

Once we were finally finished my maid of honor and I were speeding down one of our main streets at about 75 miles per hour, trying to get to the church on time. We ran past guests arriving at the church.

On the plus side I didn’t have a lot of time to get nervous or emotional. It was pretty much get there, get dressed, walk down the aisle.

Despite how it all turned out December 10, 1994 was a pretty good day. I was young and thin. My entire life was ahead of me and it was filled with endless possibilities. Everything was good that day. Everything was untouched, unvarnished, unsullied. It was a joyous occasion.

Jennifer Ball of The Happy Hausfrau has a Facebook page as well. What would have been her 26th wedding anniversary was about 2 weeks ago. She wrote a brilliant post that day.

Today would have been my 26th wedding anniversary. And for a couple of seconds I thought about writing something. Something about could have beens and what ifs.

And then I said F THAT. I poured myself a glass of wine… and decided to make a toast.

Today I’m going to follow in her footsteps (minus the wine because it’s late and it will put me to sleep) and give a toast of my own.

This year, almost two years after being officially divorced and four years after having been discarded I’m raising my glass high.

I’m raising a glass to the fact that I have survived. I spent a lot of time crying and a lot of time wishing for death but I’m still here, stronger than ever. I have hated most of what I have gone through and the things I’ve had to do, the changes I’ve had to make, but I did it and I am stronger than he will ever be. He didn’t defeat me. Stupid little me who had been out of the workforce for 15 years and was dependent upon him filed for divorce and left his ass.

I’ve survived living under the same roof as him for six months after discovering what a lying, cheating asshole he was. I survived a divorce that went on for two years. I survived him not paying any kind of support at all for 10 months. I survived him slashing child support in half. I’ve survived him cutting spousal support down on his own as well. I’ve survived his slurs against me, him hacking into my Facebook account, him trying to turn my kids against me, and him harassing the mobster.

I’m raising a glass in my honor because I have continued to do the hard work of raising two children by myself.

There are a lot of people out there who will argue that if your ex pays support you’re not a single parent and you’re not doing it on your own. I’ll be the first to tell you that the money definitely helps. I’ll also be the first to tell you to shut your fucking mouth when you bring that shit around.

He sends money, when he wants and how much he wants. But he’s never the one leaving work and running down to the ER to be with a sick kid. He’s never available to leave work to take a kid that has missed his bus to school. He’s never there to talk to his kids. He’s never there to take them to a friend’s house or run them to the mall or to take them out to eat. He doesn’t pick his son up after his various clubs get out every night of the week. He’s not running to the store and picking up lunch supplies. He’s not the one they come to with their problems, their joys, their achievements.

Rock Star is almost through her first year and a half of college. She’s driven and smart and she’s going to be an incredible nurse one day in the very near future. Picasso is once again getting a D in math and somehow does not have an A in orchestra. Nevertheless, he’s a good kid. He’s funny and kind and despite his grades he is a very smart kid. One day I have high hopes he will get his driver’s license. When that day comes I will be here to celebrate with him; his father will not.

I’m raising a glass to myself because I have finally realized how toxic Jerry Lee was and how hollow our relationship was. I realize now how small I made my needs over the years of being married to him, and have resolved to never do that again. I have the absolute best partner a woman could ask for. I’m so lucky in that regard. I think that definitely deserves a toast.

For the first time ever I’m with someone who is happy. I’m with someone who makes me happy.  I’m with someone who thinks I’m amazing and can do all things. I’m with someone who is romantic and who enjoys pleasing me and making me happy. I’m with someone who appreciates the things I do for him as well. I’m with someone who laughs at my jokes and listens to me ramble on about everything- Candy Crush, bad traffic, stupid fast food restaurants that mess up my order, that guy on the bicycle who insists upon riding into traffic on a busy road with no bike lane. I’m with someone who let’s me vent and doesn’t expect me to be happy all the time or to never get upset or disappointed. He treats me like an actual person and not just an extension of himself or as a wife appliance. I’m real and I matter.

I’m raising a glass to myself because I’m back in the workforce for the first time in 15 years. My mom retired at age 52. I will have been working again for 5 years at that point. I’m starting over when others are at the pinnacle of their careers and/or looking forward to retirement. It’s not glamorous or fulfilling. It certainly doesn’t pay well. But I’m here. I’m doing it. Who knows? Maybe one day I will actually work a job that pays me enough to live on.

I’m raising a glass to myself because I don’t ever have to keep pick me dancing anymore. Those goal posts aren’t going to continue to move. I don’t have to feel like I’m never good enough or that I’m always a disappointment.

I’m raising a glass and giving a toast because I’m getting there. I’m getting to a place of acceptance. I’m letting go of my old life. I’m no longer mourning as intensely as I once did. I’m trying to see the positives. Like how I get to regularly see my oldest friends now that I’m no longer living hundreds of miles away. Like how both of my kids will graduate from my alma mater. Like how living with my mom isn’t a death sentence. There is definitely an upside to living with her and having three generations under one roof.

I’m raising a glass because I can finally look back on the many experiences I have had throughout my life and be grateful for them, even if they did end. I loved my life and friends in Olive Branch. I loved my life and friends in Utah. I even enjoyed my life in Michigan and Virginia. But those were just chapters, not the whole story. There will be more chapters. More adventures. Hopefully more friends.

I’m raising a glass to my dogs- Beau, Laila, and Milo. All three of them helped me get through those first few months when I found out my life was tumbling down. They slept with me in that big king size bed, making it seem a little cozier. They were all by side. Many a nights I would fall asleep in the recliner of our sectional with Milo on my lap, Beau right beside me, and Laila on the couch. I didn’t sleep a lot in those first few months- a few hours here, a nap there.

They watched me as I stomped on my cake topper and my wine glasses, as I smashed things to smithereens.They comforted me while I cried and calmed me down when I thought I was losing my mind. My sweet Beau Beau is no longer with us but I’m toasting him anyway.

I’m raising a glass to all my friends who supported me throughout this ordeal. So many people called and texted to check on me. I returned the favor and called and checked on those who were also going through the same hell. I’m forever grateful to those who cared and who to this day continue to check on me. I’m grateful for their anger on my behalf. I’m grateful to them for lifting me up and telling me how wonderful I am and how awful he is. I’m grateful to my favorite backyard neighbor who has faithfully done my taxes every year since I’ve been divorced (or at least trying to get divorced). I’m grateful for the two friends who sent me birthday flowers on my birthday from hell the year after I was forced to leave my house and move back to Indiana. I’m grateful for the friend who sent me a huge wine basket filled with wine and various snacks on my first single Valentine’s Day in 20 years. Those are the people in my tribe. Cheers to you!

I’m raising a glass to this blog as well. I love that I get to tell my story. I have a forum to say whatever I want. I can cut through all the bullshit that accompanies cheating and divorce and reconciliation. I actually have people who read this thing. Hell, this blog is how I met the mobster. Let’s do a double shot for that! Thank you to all of you who are reading.

Finally, I’m raising a glass to myself because I got rid of a lying cheater. I don’t have to wonder anymore if he’s still in contact with her. I don’t have to worry about triggers related to them. I don’t feel bad anymore about our relationship because it’s over. I don’t ever feel like I’m settling anymore. I don’t cry about our relationship. I am never hurt over his treatment of me. I never have to sit there and think, “How can he say he loves me and then turn around and do that?” I never have to feel like I’m wasting my life or wonder if it ever gets better. I’m free. I know it gets better. I know there is more out there. I have it now.


Time Flies When You Forget Stuff

Today is August 10th.

As I’ve said before I work at a bank. I have to know what day it is all the time. I’ve got holds to place. Forms to fill out. Service requests to fulfill. These all require dates.

So, I knew when August rolled around. “Oh wow! I can’t believe it’s August already!” I got a little hung up on the 7th, 8th, and 9th. Kept mixing them up. Never sure if I was a day behind or a day ahead. Not a good thing to admit. But I have a calendar- a huge calendar- on my desk so it worked out okay. Then today, the 10th, rolls around. I’m not at work; I’m home, checking out Facebook while I cook breakfast. More specifically I’m looking back at my memories on Facebook.

The most recent memory? This little ditty: Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. Oh crap! Today is D-Day #2, the D-Day that ended my marriage and completely changed the trajectory of my life. Our lives really, because that jackass deeply affected my children as well.

Another momentous occasion that I have forgotten. Had I not checked my memories on Facebook I doubt I would have made the connection.

It’s strange though because only six days ago I came across the memory of our pool finally being filled. There was a picture of Rock Star and Picasso shivering in the cold water, so happy our pool was finally finished. A few days later came the picture of the deck jets working. I’m quite familiar with that timeline and how my enjoyment was so short lived.

Yet, somehow this date completely slipped my mind. Sitting here typing this I feel nothing. I’m not happy. I’m not sad. I still feel like I haven’t made proper progress in four years but that has nothing to do with him.

Hey, come to think of it I forgot my three year anniversary of moving from Virginia to Indiana, as well. Wow- I’m losing it.

Or maybe the significance of all of those dates are simply losing their power over me. They don’t really mean anything anymore. I’d rather concentrate on dates like August 15th, which is the date my son begins his junior year. Or, August 13th which is the date Rock Star has to return for her sophomore year. Or May 23rd and 24th, which are the two anniversary days of the mobster coming into my life.

So fuck you, horrible anti-versary dates. You mean nothing to me anymore. I barely even recognize you. Four years ago today my life fell apart. I had no idea what was going to happen to me and to my children. Today, I am with the love of my life, my kids are doing well despite whatever hurdles are thrown our way, I have a job no matter how little it pays, and I no longer have to worry about a fuckwit and his whore. Tonight I am going out dancing with two of my friends from high school. We’re listening to a band that someone we know plays in. I’m going to have a few drinks, maybe enjoy some appetizers, and dance the night away. Even if I don’t dance I’ll be with friends. Maybe I’ll mention the date’s former significance to them. Maybe I won’t. It’s possible that between now and then I’ll have forgotten about it once again.

Guess What Day This Is?

Freedom Day! It’s been one year since I got the wonderful news that my legal bond to that pompous, entitled cousinfucker I was married to had been severed. I wish I could say there has been no more drama since that day but that would be a lie. I’m looking forward to getting this child support modified, having his wages garnished, and then never having to speak to (or text) him again.

In a not so surprising turn of events I have not received the $25,000 he owes me for legal fees. I’m debating texting him and reminding him of the momentous occasion (our divorce) and asking him if he plans on Venmo-ing it to me later tonight (ha ha ha- not a chance, I know), or just paying yet more money to my attorney and letting her take care of it.

I should have bought a cake to celebrate. I didn’t. There has been no fanfare, aside from writing this post to commemorate the anniversary. It’s been a pretty good year since I’ve been free of him. Hopefully it will only get better.

On this day one year ago I really did get my name changed back! There were still some hurdles to climb to make it official everywhere but according to the judge I was who I was before twenty wasted years. Definitely should have bought a cake. And champagne.

4th And 1

On this day 24 years ago I was heading towards the church at about 80 mph.  Despite my hair stylist’s assurance that “you’re the bride; they’ll wait for you!” I felt it would be rude to be late for my own wedding and I really didn’t want my groom to think I was standing him up at the altar.

On this day 5 years ago in 2013 and then again the next year in 2014 I so desperately wanted to shout out, “Happy Anniversary to my better half.  Looking forward to the next x years!”  But I couldn’t.

Five years ago on Aug. 14, 2013 I found out my upstanding husband was engaged in a long distance emotional affair with another woman.  A woman who, it turned out, was his cousin.  We made the decision to reconcile but even so whenever our anniversary rolled around I would be overcome with sadness.  I couldn’t tell everyone it was my anniversary and have well wishers wishing me a happy anniversary when it was a farce.  My wedding vows had been broken.  There had been another woman- a woman he at one point claimed to love, discussed a future with, sexted with.  A woman who sent him naked pictures and claimed to be able to “envision a future with him.”  How could I ever celebrate our anniversary again?  I would fall into a funk which would last for several days.

I thought 2015 would finally be the year I was able to face our anniversary and be able to look at our entire history instead of a 3 1/2 month period.  I thought that would be the year I could really celebrate our anniversary and focus on our future instead of lamenting the past.  I had high hopes for December 10, 2015.  Unfortunately on August 10th of that year I found out my husband was involved yet again with this woman he had once claimed was his biggest mistake, a midlife crisis. He told me he should have bought a motorcycle instead. He was certainly riding something. This time it transitioned into a physical affair. Pretty much one year to the day that our furniture was being delivered to our new house from across the country my husband chose to meet up with his cousin, Harley, instead of going on vacation with his family.

December 10, 2015 was the first “anniversary” I spent in limbo. My marriage was over. My life was blown apart. There would never be an anniversary to celebrate, to ignore, or to grin and bear and get through. I celebrated with my children. They were the best things to come out of that disaster of a marriage so I decided to do something to celebrate them. We went to Olive Garden which was, ironically, in the city with the same name as the whore’s city. My daughter gave me a gift, thinking it was up to her to make that day special for me now that her dad had relieved himself of such responsibility.

December 10, 2016, the second one post D-Day, I was working two jobs. I probably worked 14-16 hours that day. First at Target, going in at 2 am, and then moving on to Kohl’s and working 12-8. I just remember my feet throbbing from being on them all day, and me hobbling around the store, trying to do some Christmas shopping with my employee discount.

Last year, the third one post D-Day, still in limbo, I was in Louisville at a cheer competition. The mobster was supposed to be with us but thanks to CF snooping around on my Facebook page we were both wary of what he was up to so we canceled our plans. Instead of spending a fun filled weekend together, cheering on Rock Star, I navigated a huge competition hall by myself (first cheer competition ever as well!) and sat alone as I watched my daughter compete.

Today marks the first time I have officially been divorced on what used to be my anniversary. This year I went to work. After work I stopped at a store to buy lunch meat, cheese, and bread for Picasso, and picked out some ornaments. I have a holiday dinner tomorrow and we’re exchanging ornaments. I also picked out one to add to my polar bear Christmas tree which is in hibernation, one for my niece, and one for the mobster’s son and his wife.

I did my best to treat it like any other day. In fact, every time I had to type out the date instead of thinking, “Oh, that’s my anniversary,” I would tell myself, “It’s just another day.” And it is. I have a knack for remembering dates so they don’t ever really go away, but the significance is definitely fading. Even though this is the fourth one since I’ve found out my husband is a lying, cheating liar and cheater, it is the first one since my divorce. I think that next year it will be even more insignificant. It will be but a small blip on the radar, if it even registers. As always I’m hoping that the mobster will be up here and we can spend it together.

Here’s to more insignificant days.

Anniversaries and Milestones

It’s been a big week. Eh, actually a little more than a week. By the time this is published it will probably be a big 9 days.

August 10th marked the 3 year “anniversary” of finding out my life was collapsing around my feet. I’ve already written about that.

August 14th marked the 5 year “anniversary” of finding out my darling husband was still fucking around with his cunt face cum dumpster of a cousin. I know this because Facebook was so kind as to remind me of the big surprise I had for my daughter that day.

If you recall the story I found the message from The Saint the day of Rock Star’s birthday party. The only thing that I had managed to keep a secret from her was how we were getting to the reservoir that day. Up pulls a 14 passenger white Hummer limousine. I have her reaction on video.

August 15th I took my daughter to college. I helped her set up her room. I bought yet more crap for the dorm room. I ate lunch with her in the dining hall. And then I drove away, leaving a little piece of my heart on campus.

I didn’t cry. I had a few tears in my eyes as I was pulling out of the parking garage, but I quickly wiped them away. This is what is supposed to happen. I told myself that this is ultimately my job as a parent.

August 16th Picasso began his sophomore year. It was quite the adventure because there were a “few wrinkles” to iron out, as the transportation department likes to say. Basically, that translated into, “We’re sorry the bus didn’t come for your kid anywhere close to on time.”

I’m not sure when it did arrive because by 8 am he had texted my nephew to see if he could get a ride. The bus was supposed to arrive at 7:39 so I think he gave the driver ample opportunity to get to him.

The next day it was only about 10 minutes late picking him up, but at least it arrived and he wasn’t late for school.

Bonus- on the ride back he encountered one of his friends from middle school. I think I may have told you that he washed his phone in June so he’s lost all of his contacts. He was very happy to run into this person. It turns out she is part of an after school club at a different school but they allow students from all the area high schools to participate. They get together and play various board games, according to Picasso; he’s slightly interested in participating so that makes me happy.

Finally today, August 19th, is an anniversary of sorts for me and the mobster. Yet another one. We like anniversaries. He sent me beautiful flowers at work on Friday. He is always so sweet and thoughtful.

We were supposed to get together this weekend but he’s at a family wedding. He was going to look into flying me out there so I could attend with him, but it didn’t pan out. Plus, it has already been a crazy week, what with taking Rock Star down to college, Picasso starting school, and my mom taking off for Hawaii. I didn’t want to take off and leave him all by himself with all these changes happening.

That has been my crazy week plus a few days. How has yours been?




August 10th

It’s been three years since my life as I knew it was destroyed. Or, more specifically, it’s been three years today since I got the message from The Saint letting me know that my husband had not, in fact, been spending weekends with his dear sweet mommy, but rather was spending them with Harley.

I will admit the date has not clubbed me over the head like it did the first year. I actually had to keep track this time around. Oh hey, August 10th! That’s kinda significant. When is it again? I know, right after the 9th and right before the 11th, but I keep losing track of time.

Last year I brought a cake into work to celebrate my freedom. The date still had a place of prominence in my life; I didn’t have to think hard at all to remember it. It was front and center although I put a positive spin on it.

Maybe next year it will pass right on by without me noticing at all. It seems kinda strange to think that a date that has affected my life so greatly would pass by without a second glance from me but it seems that’s about where I am.

Has it really been three years? Wow! In that time I have started writing this blog, sold off what I could of my possessions and left the other 95% behind, moved out of my home, moved back to my old city, saw my house foreclosed on, started working full-time, met the mobster, was able to quit my second job, got my daughter through her last two years of high school, kicked the ex’s ass in court, and will soon be taking my daughter down to college. My life is still not where I would like it to be financially. I HATE depending upon CF for money. I’m still in a much better place than I was three years ago.

I think Janis Joplin had a point when she sang: Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose….

I emerged from my divorce with my two kids, my three dogs, and my car. Almost everything else was lost. I make a fraction of what I used to live on. But, I AM free. Free to start a new life. Free to make my own plans. Free to do what *I* want to do. Free of him and all his baggage, all his lies, all his shit. Free to finally be with someone who genuinely loves me.

I won’t thank him, but I am thankful that he left me. I would have never left; I would have stayed until the very end, convincing myself that life in the gilded cage was perfectly fine and all that I desired. So here’s to three years of freedom. Three years since I got my second chance at life. Now that is worth celebrating!