Another Year Gone By

June 10th came and went yet again. It happens like clockwork, once a year.

It’s a funny day for me, June 10th. It used to be nothing special. Just an ordinary day. And then the year 2016 hit. June 10th became probably the worst day of my life. Even worse than DDay #1 and DDay #2. I can still picture myself in my car; I can still picture the road I was on. I received a text that would change the course of my life and the lives of my children.

I lost my job today. I won’t be sending you anymore money.

That was it. That was all the explanation needed in his opinion. He had upended our lives as we knew them but those two sentences had it covered.

With that he checked himself into an alcohol treatment program at the VA for three days, a fact I wouldn’t discover for another 6 months. I was only the discarded wife. I didn’t need to know what was going on. Harley, the fiancee, had it all covered. She was the important one. She was entitled to all the facts. I got conjecture. And stomach ulcers!

To this day I remember the awful feeling, knowing I needed to keep it together because Rock Star’s friend who had flown in from Utah for her birthday was still here and I didn’t want to ruin her visit. Rock Star was going away to camp for a week as well only a day or two after I got the news and I didn’t want to mar her experience. I remember her friends coming over and talking about how they had heard she was amazing at gymnastics and they really wanted to go to a few meets next year to watch her, and me knowing that she probably wouldn’t be here much longer. I remember emailing my lawyer, and her first emailing me back immediately, and then calling me. I remember getting the email from his attorney telling my attorney that he didn’t know how long he would be out of work and that he was attempting to qualify for disability. I knew then he wasn’t planning on going back to work any time soon.

After that, I remember breaking the news to Picasso, who took it pretty well. And I remember Rock Star coming home from camp, happy and excited to tell me all about her experiences, and me changing her life in an instant. I remember her crying and telling me, “I don’t want new friends! I want to stay here!”

I remember going through my house and deciding what I would take with me and what all I was going to try to sell. I remember days spent out in the sweltering heat having a garage sale to pad my bank account because I was living on savings at that point. And I remember packing up my few belongings and loading them up in a UHaul and driving 600 miles away from my home, leaving most of what I had ever owned behind.

It was tough for a very long time after that. The world was dark and gray. I felt no joy. I was resigned to my fate and waiting for death.

Finally, about 10 months later I began to feel better. The world began to look a little brighter. I had a tiny bit of hope. I could imagine a future. And then a mobster fell out of a tree onto my head and I’ve done my best not to look back.

June 10, 2017 was a Saturday and it was part of that first weekend I met the mobster in person. I wrote a post about it. We went up to Lake Michigan; I spent a lot of time sharing pictures of my family and friends with him. We had a delightful time; it was a much better day last year than in 2016.

This year June 10th was our one year anniversary of meeting and it was spent in Utah together with my kids. We flew in for a wedding and I happily showed my mobster off to my closest friends.

It is my hope that we will spend every June 10th together, although that may be a little more difficult next year when it falls on a Monday. Come hell or high water I will take that damn day back. I will never forget what happened that day in 2016 but I’m going to make sure that every June 10th from here on out is a marvelous day for me. Suck it, cheater!

Life Rollercoaster

Is this about over? I swear, every time I start to be a little more optimistic I get knocked on my ass. I was just thinking about how working two jobs has allowed me to have a tiny little bit of breathing room, that maybe I’m not so completely poor and that maybe I can provide just a tiny bit for my kids.

Then life comes along and says, “Not so fast!” I’m not sure what it is I’ve done to deserve all this hell being heaped upon me. I don’t sleep with married men. I don’t steal. I don’t beat my kids. I’m generally a very kind, giving person. I like to think I have a good sense of humor and am a good friend.

“What happened?” you may be wondering. Let me tell you. First, I open the letter from my attorney (who needs another 3 grand, btw). Jackass has got an expert witness lined up to testify that he’s unable to work because of his supposed PTSD. Great! An expert witness who will tell the judge that poor little sweetie pie can’t work because he’s suffering from the trauma of war.

You wanna know who should have a fucking PTSD diagnosis? Me! I was moved 2000 miles away from my entire life to make him happy only to find out he would never be happy. I put him and his happiness above me and my kids and our happiness only to be shit on repeatedly. I trusted that cousin fucking piece of shit and he turned around and spent an entire summer looking me right in the face and lying.

I’ve gone from being in the top 2-3% of the socioeconomic population to the bottom 5-10%. I’ve lost my home. I was forced to move out of the state. I was forced to move in with my mom or be homeless. I had to get rid of almost all of my possessions. I had to tell my kids we had to move. I had to rip their lives apart again. I’ve gone from being a stay at home mom who lives for her kids and does everything for them, to being a person who works 2 jobs, 55 hours a week, 6 days out of seven, who farms almost everything out for my kids and who dreads having to go to another event when I’m already so damn tired and my days are already so fucking long. I hate my life. I have absolutely no joy in it. I pray every day that I will die early so that I don’t have to do this shit anymore. But you don’t see me getting a fucking expert witness to testify that I’m just way too fucking fragile to work.

You know what I do? I scream and cry and cuss that sonofabitch out all the way to work. And then I pull myself together, dry my tears and go to work. Why? Because unlike Cousinfucker I don’t have a fucking choice! I don’t get to ignore my kids and pretend they don’t have needs because hey, out of sight, out of mind!

I’ve been doing this all along, with no one by my side telling me how wonderful I am and how horrible he was. I get up and I GO  every single fucking day. Every morning I wake up at 3:20 in the fucking morning. While the rest of the world sleeps I’m up and getting ready to go to my first job and stock shelves and toss boxes around. It’s not glamourous. It’s not easy. It’s not fun. And it pays for shit.

Then I come home, get ready for my second job, and I go to work and I smile and I joke with customers and I’m all happy and cheerful while my life is spiraling down the drain and I continue to go through this divorce from hell.

That’s what I do. Meanwhile, Cousinfucker finds himself an expert witness to testify that he can’t possibly work.

But that’s not all. Because Cousinfucker refuses to work and pay support I have been forced to work two jobs so that I can pay the bills and feed the kids. My second job doesn’t pay for a boat. It isn’t paying for a luxury vacation or three or four. It doesn’t allow us to go out and go on shopping sprees. No, my second job means I can buy food. If either of my kids needs something for school I can probably buy it. It means I’m not down to $1 by the time pay day rolls around.

My daughter works as well. She works so that she can buy a car because her dad decided he’d rather go fuck his cousin instead of sticking around and helping to raise his kids. She works so that she can buy the clothes that I can no longer buy her. She works so that she can help to pay her car insurance because I’m not sure I can take another $100/month hit. She works so that she can go out with friends, buy make-up, grab something to eat, and just have spending money in general because her father refuses to pay support, which in turn means I can’t do any of those things for her. Or her brother.

Guess what it also means?

It means between the two of us we now make too much for me or my kids to qualify for Medicaid. Yes, I got that lovely bit of news as well. The program that I was once embarrassed to need I am now crying over. No doubt due to the fact that I will now need to get a third job to pay for the medical insurance I will have to purchase through work. It’s $185 every two weeks and it’s a high deductible plan. I have to pay out $2600/person before it kicks in a dime. Isn’t that wonderful? Or I take the tax penalty come next April. Awesome! And with my luck if I don’t carry insurance on them then some catastrophe will hit one of them. Then again, I’m broke anyway so who cares if I have to declare bankruptcy because of medical bills?

If I quit my second job then my kids don’t eat and there are no tiny extras, like Easter baskets or money for school sports. Or, my retired mother has to shoulder even more of the burden of the three of us. If I don’t quit my second job then I need to get a third job. I guess I’ll find something where I can work Saturday and Sunday. I’ll work 14 hour days on Saturday and Sunday will be my light day where I only work 8 1/2 hours. I’ll get two of those a week and those will be my official “days off”. Doesn’t that sound fair? I work three jobs and Cousinfucker works none. I never show up for anything for my kids. I’m never around for my kids. All so that I can support them. Because Cousinfucker won’t pay child or spousal support. And because he’s very busy playing Daddy of the Year to the whore’s four kids.

I’ve been going through old entries, mainly because I deleted a bunch of pictures and realized when I did that I lost my images on the posts. Duh! But as I was reading I realized I kept saying that maybe in six months things would look better. Maybe in a year things would look better. Maybe I was wrong and I would get an amazing job and my kids would do wonderfully here. Maybe this and maybe that. But you know what? None of it is any better. Picasso and Rock Star both are doing well but I’m not. I work two shit jobs for shit pay and that’s cost us our free health care. Their father is doing everything he can to get out of having to pay. I have no new and better life. I have, like, three friends here and I rarely go out with any of them. They all have lives of their own and very little time for me. I have no life outside of work. I’m too fucking tired to do much of anything after I’ve spent 13 hours at work. I have days where I fall asleep sitting up in a chair around 7:30 because I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I feel horrible even admitting this but I dread the days I have to go to something for either of the kids because it means that I no longer get my 2 hours of down time. And then I feel bad if I don’t go; I feel bad that I don’t want to go. Because I have always wanted to go and support them. I have a life that I am desperately hoping ends sooner rather than later. I try and I try and I try some more. I work my ass off. I desert my kids. I try to be positive and I try to look on the good side of things and it comes around and kicks my ass. Every. Goddamn. Fucking. Single. Time!

You know what’s funny? No one believes me! I mention I hope I die of a massive heart attack and people think I’m joking. Someone once said to me, “I hear you work a second job.” I told her that, yes, I do indeed work a second job. I work from 4-7 am most days before I come into Job #2. She told me she didn’t know how I did it and how I managed and I replied, “Well, I cry every day.” Her response? “You’re so funny!” No, seriously, I cry pretty much every day. No one believes me. They think I’m hysterical. The funny kind, not the crazy kind. And lest anyone gets all worried I’m not suicidal. I wouldn’t kill myself but I’m not looking forward to staying alive most days either.

I really don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m so over all of this shit. I’m so tired of getting knocked down. I’m so tired of feeling just a tiny bit of hope only to have it slapped down hard. So many days I just want to tell him, “Fine! Take it all! I’ll take all the debt. I’ll pay you support. You keep your 401k. You keep your pension. I’ll pay you back for every goddamn thing you think I owe you and you pay me back nothing because everything you took was absolutely positively yours and yours alone. Hell, I’ll pay you half for my goddamn car so that I can still drive it even though you haven’t made a single payment on it in almost 2 years and have never paid the fucking property tax on it!” It still wouldn’t be enough for him. I hate him. I hope he dies. I hope it’s painful. I hope someone videotapes it and sends it to me so that I can watch it every night as a sweet bedtime story as I fall asleep. It might be a nice change from ID TV.

P.S. I know I said earlier I was generally a kind and loving person. I am. Unless I hate you. Then I hope you die. Painfully.

What If There Is No Life To Gain?

I wrote this post a few days ago. I actually rewrote it because the first edition was enough to make me want to slit my wrists. It was really pitiful. Believe it or not this is the sunnier version and it’s still not all that sunny. I wanted to post it anyway because despite having a fairly decent weekend, and despite having a more hopeful disposition in the past 24 hours, I spend most of my life feeling the way the post describes. Who knows? Maybe a change is a comin’. That would be delightful. For today, however, you’re left with this.

The motto over on Chump Lady is, “Leave a cheater, gain a life.” I’ve read many inspirational stories about people who have done just that. They’ve received promotions, went back to school, finished Masters or PhD programs, traveled, done fun things with their kids, remodeled or bought houses, got a new family pet, took back their lives, stopped walking on eggshells, found out that life without the cheater was fantastic, etc.  Good for them. Sincerely. These are the questions I’m always left wondering:  Did you have a job when you got divorced? How old were you when this happened? How long had you been married? Did you lose everything when you got divorced? Did you have to sell off all your furniture and belongings and leave whatever you couldn’t sell behind? Were you moved across the country and then forced out of your house, forced to move hundreds of miles once again, or do you still live in the same city? Did you have to yank your kids out of their schools once again and make them start all over? Did you move in with your mother or father or some other relative that took pity on you because without them you’d be homeless? Were you left with nothing but debt? Did your shithead ex quit his or her job after 15 years of making 6 figures and leave you destitute? Did a judge take pity on them and slash their support obligation by almost half? Were you old, fat and pretty much used up when they left for the shiny new whore?

I try very hard to hold on to that inspiration. To this belief that there is a new life out there to gain. A better life. One that will be so good that I won’t miss anything about my old life. But honestly? There is absolutely nothing that I find appealing about this new life I’m living. Believe me- I would love to say those words I just wrote: I have created a new life for myself and it is so much better than anything I lived with Cousinfucker. But the fact of the matter is, despite that 14 part bitch list I shared, I wasn’t unhappy.

I had things I enjoyed doing- Bunko, PTA, Teacher Appreciation, hockey and gymnastics for my kids. I got to travel for gymnastics meets, go shopping and buy whatever I wanted within reason, get my hair colored and cut at an actual salon instead of out of a crappy box and Great Clips. I knew lots of people. I had fantastic neighbors. I carpooled. I had lunch with friends. Hell, I had friends. I kept busy. I was able to go to all of my kids’ events. I drove them around everywhere. They were my life.

My husband wasn’t much of a partner or a father, but the kids and I got along without him. And he did join us occasionally, especially right after he was caught in his first affair. I figured out a way to be happy and fulfilled even if I didn’t have a husband who wanted to do everything with me and be by my side every minute of every day. I liked my old life, especially the one I had before we moved to Whoreville.

Now my life consists of drudgery. I work and I sleep and if I’m very very lucky I run my kids around. That’s it. I work approximately 55 hours a week. I work 6 days out of seven on a regular basis. I begin my day at 3:20 am, leave the house at 3:45 and get home sometime between 5:30 and 6:00 4 days out of 5. I dread pretty much every single day because it’s just more of the same- get up at an ungodly hour, go to work, come home, take Rock Star to school, head back home to get ready for the second job, go to work, come home, repeat. Also, make sure you’re in bed before 9 unless you’ve got to pick up a kid from a game or work. In between getting home from work and going to bed I enjoy the following fun activities: emailing teachers and/or counselors, making sure we still qualify for Medicaid, filing taxes, doing laundry, cleaning the bedroom, shampooing carpets, washing dishes, making dinner, feeding and watering the dogs, picking up Rock Star from practice, taking her and picking her up from work, and taking out the trash.

I know I should feel inspired by the stories on Chump Lady but I don’t. Every time I read them it’s like a kick in the gut once again. Promotion? Career thriving?  Making more money than I ever did when with the cheater? I didn’t even have a fucking job! I hadn’t worked outside of the home since early 1998! My big accomplishment was getting a seasonal part-time job that paid me $10.50-$11 an hour. I followed that up with getting a full-time job that also paid an amazing $11/hour. The kids and I live on approximately 15% of what we used to live on. It sucks. I hate being poor. The reality is he waited until I was middle aged and out of the workforce for far too long before he left. I don’t think I will ever get even close to living the same kind of life. I’m not sure I’ll ever even get to the point where I only have to work ONE job as opposed to two. There are not a lot of job opportunities for middle aged women who are starting over at the very bottom. Plus, we’ve already established that I suck at my new job so it’s not like this is going to lead anyplace.

Traveling? Having fun with my kids? I don’t have any money! Where the fuck am I going to travel? Hop in the car, kids! We’ll take a drive down the road, cross the state line and call it a vacation! Or maybe I’ll take them to Steak-n-Shake and we can get one of their $5 meal deals. No milkshakes, kids; Mommy is poor and Daddy is busy faking PTSD so that when he finally gets a job all of his money can go to his whore and her kids.

I remember one woman saying she created a scrapbook of things she and her kids had done since the divorce. I seldom do fun things with my kids anymore; again, I don’t have the money. Or the time. I also rarely see them anymore. Picasso is usually holed up in his room playing video games with his friends but even if he wasn’t I wouldn’t be around. Between my schedule and Rock Star’s schedule driving her to school and to work are about the only times I get to see her. Thank you, Cousinfucker, for ensuring that the last 2 years that my daughter lives at home I never get to see her. You chose to abandon her. I didn’t. And yet I’m the one that gets to continually pay for your choices.

Remodeling a house? Buying one on my own? Don’t. Make. Me. Laugh. I live with my mother, for crying out loud. If I didn’t we would be homeless. I’m not joking. I don’t make anywhere close to enough to pay rent somewhere, much less rent and utilities.

Finishing a Masters or PhD program? Snort. When exactly would I have time to go back to school between the two jobs and raising my kids? Something would have to give. It couldn’t be the jobs because I need those to pay my bills, take care of my kids, and pay for this magical schooling. Plus, I’m almost 48. I need to carefully consider whether or not someone would be willing to hire someone at my age fresh out of school. Getting discarded in your late 40s holds a few more challenges than being discarded in your 20s and 30s. Not as bad as being discarded in your 50s and 60s, I suppose, but still not a great position.

No longer walking on eggshells? Life being so much easier and stress free now that the cheater is gone? Pshaw! I have an uncanny ability to put up with tons of bullshit. It’s not like we ever walked on eggshells around Cousinfucker. If he was in a mood I just ignored him and left him to his own devices. He was probably sexting whores but I didn’t know that at the time. I just went along my merry way, doing my own thing while he pouted and sexted. I would say that this new life is the more difficult and stressful one.

Someone else said she took spin classes and met up with friends when her child was gone. After already putting in a 14 hour day I’m in no mood to do any exercise of any kind. Not spin class. Not yoga. Not aerobics. Nothing. Maybe, possibly, I might enjoy a good ol’ boxing or kickboxing class IF I can pin a picture of Cousinfucker and Harley on the bag and proceed to kick the shit out of it. Honestly, though? I’m probably too fucking tired to even do that. It all sounds great. Oh yeah, after work I’m going to lace up my running shoes and run 3 miles. Or, I’ll hit the yoga studio. Or, I’ll pretend I’m beating Cousinfucker and Harley to a fucking pulp at kickboxing class. The reality is that time kicks your ass. When you’re getting up at 3:20 in the morning 6 pm rolls around and you suddenly find yourself tired. You’ve been up for almost 15 hours by this time when most people have been up for maybe 12. Hell, I didn’t used to get up until after 7. You’ve put in a thirteen hour workday and you know you get to turn around and do it all over again the next day! It’s not like this is an aberration. No, this is your life.

Plus, Cousinfucker moved me away from all of my friends so it’s not like I have this huge support system and we get together and drink wine or do fun things together. The friends I have from my hometown have lived a life without me in it for 20 years now. Their lives are full and I make up only a tiny part of it. That would be fine if I actually had something to fill my life with outside of them; unfortunately, I don’t. So there isn’t much of a social support network.

They always counsel us to find something we are passionate about, something that we enjoy doing. I had those things. They were all taken away. I have roughly 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hours each night to devote to “my passion”- if I never want to see my kids again. And if I can afford it. And if I’m not too tired. Or I can take my one day off each week and use that to devote to my unknown passion. Fuck the dishes. Fuck the laundry. Fuck the kids. It’s all about me. Only I’m not like that. I’m not going to desert my kids, especially not after their father has done so. I have so little time and I’m always tired so whatever I end up doing I would like it to be something that I really do love and care about. I don’t want to fill in space just to fill it in. That’s what all these Meetup groups feel like. I’m afraid that’s what church is going to feel like. That’s what I think a divorce support group will end up being.

I don’t know what I’m passionate about. Everything I knew and loved was taken away from me, even before Cousinfucker started fucking his cousin. My life as I knew it has been obliterated. It has been filled with work and poverty and trying to raise two kids while poor yet working nonstop. I hate it. I absolutely fucking hate what my life has become.

There is a part of me that says, “Try to get involved with a theater group. You loved that once.” But then there’s another part that says I’m too old to get any decent parts and yet another practical part that says, “Hey! Plays take an enormous amount of time and commitment. You don’t really have any time to spare. And if you do what’s going to happen to your kids? Are you going to abandon them, too? You’re already down to 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hours a night with them. If you do this then you’ll really never see them. And who will get your daughter where she needs to be?” So I’m afraid that will be put on the back burner at least until I no longer have kids in the house, and probably indefinitely. Yet another thing I waited too long to reclaim.

I have no joy in my life. I have brief moments where I laugh at something funny one of my kids says. I occasionally will have a day where things are going right for me so I get a 24 hour period of relief. There was the moment my daughter finally was happy. I’m glad for her but I’m not happy. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again.

For the most part I just exist. I’m numb. Life is neither good nor bad. It just is. I’m just here killing time, counting down the days, the weeks, the months, the years. My life consists of working all day long and then running to and fro for my daughter who doesn’t have her license yet. I don’t really look forward to anything. I don’t even look forward to or find joy in attending my kids’ events because it just means a longer day for me. It’s one more thing on my list of things to do and I’m already exhausted most days. The last thing I want to do is go for another 2 or 3 hours when I’ve already been going for a good 14 hours or more. I dread most days, actually. I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve stumbled out of bed at 3:20 in the morning, got ready and headed off to Target and thought, “This is my life now.” There is a certain feeling of defeat when you realize that this is your life and it’s never going to get any better. You realize you are never going to live a good life again. You will never take another vacation. You will never get to travel to places you’d love to visit. You won’t be able to ever take your kids to DisneyWorld. You will never be able to go shopping or buy your kids things just because. You’ll never be able to give them grand gifts or surprise them with something they’ve wanted for a while. You will never own your own home; hell, you may not even be able to afford to rent your own apartment. You realize that you will struggle in poverty for the rest of your life. That you will always be pinching pennies and remembering the life you used to live- the one where you didn’t have to worry constantly, the one where you had a home of your own, the one where you had furniture and household belongings and friends and joy. It was a life I didn’t dread and wish away.

I keep hearing about this new and improved life. I really wish I could create it. Unfortunately, with the choices Cousinfucker has made I now must spend the bulk of my life working for very little money, which leaves very little left over to create any kind of new and wonderful life. I would love to report soon that I love my life, that I’m happy and content. First I heard give it six months. Then I heard give it a year. Now I’m hearing give it two years. Well, I’m a year and a half out from D-Day and I’m no closer to Meh or to a new and improved life than I was 2 weeks after that day. Perhaps I shall begin the countdown anew once we are officially divorced.

Evil Always Wins, Part 2

I want to thank all of you who have sent me good wishes throughout all of this. I appreciate those who believe that Cousinfucker has horrible things heading his way and that when I get my day in court he’ll have his ass handed to him by a judge. Unfortunately, as the title says, evil always wins and there was no ass handing. Only ass kissing, in my very humble opinion.

We had our court hearing for his failure to pay to spousal and child support. First of all, he didn’t even bother to show up. You would think that would have a very adverse effect on the court proceedings where he was concerned. You would be wrong.

Oh, we went ahead with the hearing. His attorney fell on the sword for him, citing a “miscommunication” over whether or not he needed to be there or if we could reach a settlement. She asked to have the hearing delayed or for him to appear by phone. She didn’t get either of those things but it didn’t matter. Evil still won.

I walked into the courtroom with him owing me over almost $53,000. I walked out with him owing me just under $29,000. Yes, folks, even with the shit eating chimp blowing off court he still got his support modified! All the way back to June. Only the spousal support. He still owes $2000/month for the child support, but my spousal support was slashed by more than 50%. More like 75%.

The judge did make reference to the fact that it probably seemed like he was being rewarded for his bad behavior but that this wouldn’t have any effect on the spousal support in the settlement hearing. Nonetheless, he deducted $3000 a month from his obligation because I was no longer having to pay the mortgage, the loan on the pool, or the credit cards. And he made it effective as of June 1st. Didn’t matter that I paid everything in June except the second half of the mortgage payment. Didn’t matter that I continued to pay one of the credit cards until I ran out of money. He still got his way even though the dumb fuck wasn’t there!

Take heart, cheaters! You can lie, cheat, steal marital funds, quit your job of many years, walk away from tens of thousands in unvested stocks, cash in your remaining stock and spend it on a  whore and her kids, leave the state you drug your family to for your happiness, essentially get fired from your new job, refuse to pay support of any kind, and NOT SHOW UP FOR THE DAMN HEARING and you will be rewarded handsomely.

About the job… I found out last month he was given the option of resigning or being fired due to showing up to work intoxicated. I found out later that not only had he been drinking but that he had already been warned. I found out the day of the hearing that he had been on probation twice for drinking and that this was actually the third time! He apparently had a glass of wine at lunch and then refused a breathalyzer upon returning, at which point he was given the option of resigning. And yet he still got away with everything.

Oh, the judge found him in contempt. I’m not clear as to whether he was in contempt of the settlement order or he was in contempt of court for not appearing. I do remember the judge telling his attorney that this had been an order to appear. So he was fined $10,000. Of course, if he pays his support obligation by our divorce hearing in May then the $10,000 fine will be forgiven. How very nice for him. I just love it when good things happen to horrible people.

Additionally, his lawyer is definitely trying to argue that he lost his job due to PTSD and not drinking, that the drinking was simply because of the PTSD. And, she implored the judge to consider the fact that there were material changes in circumstances, i.e. her client was not working and had no income, and I was working now and making approximately $30,000/year.

Of course, she seems to forget despite my testimony only moments earlier, that the only reason I’m making that amount of money is because I work 50-55 hours a week. It’s because, as I testified, I go into work at 4 am and work until 7 when I come home, take Rock Star to school and then return home to get ready for my second job. And then I work all day from 8:45 or 8:30 until 5:15. I also work 6 days out of seven, although to be fair Saturday is my easy day. I only work from 4 am until 9 or 9:30, or thereabouts.

Strangely, my attorney thought court went really well and sees it as a win. As she pointed out, “You’ll get $28,000 by May.” Well, yes, but I was supposed to get $52,000. And he continues to insist upon splitting the marital debt and paying it out of his 401k. While my attorney is dead set against that she does think I will be assigned 50% of the debt, including the loan for the pool that is in his name alone.

I have a few problems with this, all of them centering around the fact that I’m negotiating with a fucking liar. Let’s say I foolishly agree to pay off the marital debt with the 401k. Don’t worry. I won’t agree to it, although I suppose the judge could order it eventually. But let’s say I do agree. 1. He could easily lie about the amounts he’s paying. He could act as though he had to pay off the full amounts while actually negotiating a lower payoff amount. So, in theory he could say: Sam, we have $100,000 in the 401k. The marital debt is $25,000 so I’ll pay those off and we’ll split the $75,000- $32,500 each. Then he negotiates the marital debt down to $10,000, gives me $32,500 and takes $47,500. Now granted, this doesn’t take into consideration the huge taxes and penalties he would pay but it does give you an idea of what would probably happen. 2. He could just not pay it. Period. And file bankruptcy, leaving me holding the bag. Basically, any situation in which I’m relying upon him to do something he says he will do is fraught with potential pitfalls. Even if I agree to take half of the debt on and end up negotiating a settlement myself with the creditors, he could still refuse to take care of his obligations or file bankruptcy, and once again, I’m dealing with his irresponsibility. I get punished for doing the right thing and he gets rewarded for doing the wrong thing.

My take on this is if I got fucked up the ass as hard as I did at the hearing without him being there I don’t stand a chance in May when he does appear. Hell, maybe he’ll blow that off as well. Won’t matter. The judge who traded in his first wife for a newer model is still going to give him everything he wants while giving me nothing. My attorney did say that in an absolute worst case scenario I would be awarded spousal support for 10 years. Fantastic! How much? $1000? $500? Whatever it is it won’t be enough to allow me to stop working two jobs. I only get child support for another 3 1/2 years. It will already be slashed in a little over a year. Not that he’s paying it anyway. And will my daughter magically take over all financial responsibility for herself the minute she turns 18? I don’t think so.

If he gets his way, and I’m sure he will because the judge apparently sympathizes with cheating men who abandon their children and don’t pay support, then I will pretty much be left with absolutely nothing after twenty years of marriage. My reward for moving across the country countless times, leaving behind one life after another while he pursues his career, and putting all my trust and faith in him is being abandoned in middle age, forced to work 13+ hour days for the rest of my life while caring for our children with no help from him, and receiving maybe $5000 when it’s all said and done. He’s undoubtedly going to be off the hook for spousal support despite earning six figures the last fifteen years of our marriage. He runs off and gets a new life with his whore and her kids, his “stepchildren” as he calls them. She makes good money so his lifestyle doesn’t go down the toilet. They’re still going out to eat. They’re still going on vacation. Meanwhile, I’ve lost everything and have nothing to replace it with. And yet people still think I’m joking when I say I hope I die at an early age.

Karma & Living Well

There’s been a lot of bitching on this blog these last few months because I’ve been seriously unhappy. Cousinfucker has resigned from not one, but two jobs, has blown through tens of thousands of dollars, and is happily shacked up with Harley. I’m sure there is lots of drinking, lots of sex, and lots of TV watching. He pays absolutely nothing and I’m left juggling this entire mess. None of this is a secret. It’s my life.

The other day I tried focusing on the positives as small as they might be. Tiny things like my daughter not hating it here quite as much or having a family dinner or my son going trick-or-treating. I know that it’s easy to wallow in pity and I’m sure it’s probably much better for me to focus on the good.

This is where I stumble. I suppose life would be a lot more pleasant if I could say to myself, “Rock Star, sweetie, I know you’re bummed because you thought you were going to get your license and instead you had to get another learner’s permit, but it’s only six months and in the grand scheme of things it’s not a big deal,” and actually mean it. It would be more pleasant if I could say, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of about needing public aid. It’s there for a reason. You won’t be on it forever.” Or if I could tell myself that it doesn’t matter that I lost my home and all of my material possessions because in the end I have what really matters- my kids and my family. I can talk of how grateful I am to have a home and not mention how I never wanted to move here or how I don’t have a place of my own. I could put a positive spin on everything that is happening. Hey- kids are resilient! Hey- high school doesn’t matter! Hey- what’s an extra immunization or two? Hey- no problem that I’m the one running around and taking care of everything while he fucks and drinks and watches TV! I could plod along refusing to acknowledge all the bad stuff and only highlighting the positives. But to me that gives Cousinfucker a pass. How can you possibly be angry with someone when everything they do is okay? How do you honestly function when you eat shit sandwich after shit sandwich, pretending nothing gets to you?

I think there is a fine line between doing what you have to do and raging against the injustice. I get that Cousinfucker isn’t ever going to step up. I could bitch and moan about how unfair it is but that won’t change anything. So, I make the damn phone calls and I do whatever the hell it is that needs to get done because I know it won’t get done otherwise. Is it unfair that Cousinfucker is off screwing his whore of a cousin while I’m enrolling kids in school and running around to get all the necessary documents? You bet your ass it is! Is it unfair that Cousinfucker has quit two jobs now and has basically abandoned his financial responsibilities towards his children while I’m applying for public assistance and desperately looking for a menial paying job to feed them and buy them the necessities? Again, you bet your ass it is!

The truth of the matter is I can do the first one without complaint because I’ve always been the one doing the hands on work where the kids are concerned. I can’t make him move here and physically care for his kids. That’s impossible. But I can hold out hope that he will be held accountable for the financial end of it.

Maybe he’ll get away with it. The judge could buy his whole PTSD story. Even if he doesn’t and he orders him to pay there’s no guarantee Cousinfucker will actually do as ordered. Hell, he has a support order right now that he’s ignoring. It’s possible that he’ll decide he would rather go to jail than pay me.

I think that limbo state is the worst. That and the fact that I don’t currently have a job. I am completely dependent upon him. My prospects aren’t looking bright in the pay department. They won’t be bright for quite some time. 47 year old women who have been out of the workforce for 18 years are not in high demand. I know- I was shocked, too!

So, in that regard it’s really difficult to be thankful. Yes, I have a house to live in. Yes, I have my kids. Yes, they’re being educated and have potential opportunities. And yet right now I have enough money to pay my bills for one more month. I might have enough money to feed my kids. But I’m at the end of the road. Family dinners and trick-or-treating aren’t going to put food on the table. None of that stuff is going to make my car payment. Needless to say I am definitely stressed out over the financial end of things. All the positives in the world won’t take that away. Nor will they erase the fact that I’m looking at working at least two jobs just to pay my bills, feed my kids, and potentially be able to do small things for them, like buying my son new shoes or grabbing a milkshake after school one day, or going to the movies if I ever have a spare moment.

I’m trying to figure out how I’m supposed to pay for college so I can go back and get a more marketable degree, take classes once I’ve figured out how to pay for it, and then also work full-time plus some so that I can support my kids. Oh, and actually spend a minute or two with my kids as opposed to letting them raise themselves these last few years. Back in his home state, Cousinfucker is shacked up with a whore without a care in the world. It’s very difficult to be able to acknowledge any positives in a situation like that. And it does seem very head in the sand if I tell myself, “Oh, you focus on yourself and don’t worry about him!”

My reality is that if Cousinfucker were paying what he’s supposed to be paying I wouldn’t be in this situation. Hell, if he were paying even half of what he was supposed to be paying I wouldn’t be in this situation. I would have still had to move and therefore would have still upended my daughter’s life, but I wouldn’t be in a financial bind.

If you can’t tell, I’m not fond of financial insecurity. Give me a good paying job or the winning lottery numbers, or ensure that Cousinfucker starts paying spousal and child support based upon his previous earnings and I’m sure I’ll be able to focus on the positives just fine.

Unfortunately, right now focusing on the good stuff just seems to excuse his behavior; it tells him and the world that what he’s done isn’t that bad. It is that bad, though. He has destroyed this family. He has systematically dismantled our lives, not once, not twice, but three times now! He has left me in a terrible financial situation, one from which I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to recover.

Look, I’m gearing up to be told he won’t have to pay me a penny. He won’t have to pay arrears from the temporary support order or from before. He won’t be responsible for paying me half of what he’s spent on Harley and her kids. He won’t be asked to show where he paid back the five grand he took out on his 401k to buy Harley an engagement ring. He’ll get away with everything and I’ll be working my ass off from here on out while he lounges around with Harley. I wouldn’t be surprised at all to find out his plan is to get his child support reduced as far as he can and have spousal support denied. Then in five years once Picasso has graduated from high school he’ll start working again. I’ll end up looking ridiculous asking for spousal support to finally be awarded and the judge will probably wonder why on earth I haven’t learned to provide for myself yet after five to six years. So he gets off scot free. He does whatever he wants and doesn’t have to pay a penny. Meanwhile, the kids and I have had our lives upended and no one gives a damn. There is no retribution for us. Too bad, so sad.

I could tell myself to take the long view. I could tell myself that even if I’m not worth shit to my kids right now as far as being able to do anything for them financially that maybe if I go back to school to be a nurse I’ll be able to help pay for weddings and help buy things for the grandkids. I don’t want to be a nurse; I have absolutely no desire to be a nurse. But the money is good and it’s probably one of the few occupations where I could possibly get hired coming out of school at age 50 or greater. I could tell myself that as unfair as all this is I just need to put it out of my mind and focus on what I do control- which turns out to be not much. I could tell myself that working 60 hours for $9 and $10/hour might suck ass but at least I’m paying my bills. I could remind myself that even though my kids don’t have any extras that all those hours working at shit wages means they’re able to eat and have cell phones and get all their necessities paid for. I’m sure that at some point I will accept that, much like I accepted toppling off that bridge so many years ago.

There’s still something very unsettling about taking that view. It feels wrong. It feels like I’m letting him off the hook and that he’ll never pay, because let’s face it: He doesn’t have a fucking conscience. The fact that his kids want nothing to do with him doesn’t affect him the way it would a person who actually felt any normal emotions.

This week someone wrote to Chump Lady and asked her for her best karma stories. Several people had one but what struck me the most was something a commenter said about not believing in karma and why.

While there are some pretty humorous karma stories out there… these disordered individuals are the ones in the driver’s seat of their own karma bus of destruction. That bus may one day plow into them with race car speed or slowly drive over them back and forth and they’ll just keep getting up and dusting themselves off, unaware of what’s causing their injuries or how to stop them from happening. People who are so scrambled up in their brains that they can do such things as destroy their own families without even flinching don’t have the ability to self-reflect nor do they understand the concept of cause and effect. They will continue to repeat the same cycle of destruction over and over again. It doesn’t make me feel satisfied that he will never truly be happy, in fact, it makes my job as a parent more difficult as one day I will have to explain to my daughter why her daddy acts the way he does. Hopefully, he doesn’t discard her when parenting gets too difficult for him, but his track record says that this disconnect is probably somewhere in the near future.

I know that real karma will probably never affect him because as CL pointed out, my STBX simply doesn’t care. He lacks what the rest of us take for granted. Real emotions and the ability to connect to another human being without sucking the life force out of them like an emotional vampire. I’m not a mental health professional, but I think that whatever caused him to be this way can’t be reversed. It’s tragic and sad that even his own family has rejected him and still he continues on his poisoned, misdirected path because it’s all he knows to do. 

That’s the truth, folks. CF is in the driver’s seat of his own karma bus of destruction but he won’t ever make the connection. He will continue to insist that he is a victim. His story will be that he was forced to cheat on me. I didn’t take care of him. I never loved him. Feel sorry for him, everyone. The fact that his children want nothing to do with him has, well, nothing to do with him. He’s the victim! I somehow turned them against him. Or, failing that, they never loved him either; they only thought of him as a wallet. They didn’t talk to him. He was treated worse than a piece of furniture. If they don’t want to have anything to do with him then why should he support them or care what happens to them? These other kids appreciate him; they love him. So he’s justified in walking away. His kids don’t love him, have treated him horribly, and only care about his money.

Tracy often writes that the best revenge is living well. Person after person writes in and talks about how much better their life is now that the cheater is out of it. So many people talk about their financial struggles and end their posts with their realization that even if they’re struggling it’s so much better than living with the cheater.

What happens when your life isn’t better? I don’t have an amazing job. I didn’t get a fantastic promotion or a raise. I didn’t buy myself a darling little house that is smaller than what I had but I just love it because it’s all mine. I’m not rewiring a house. I haven’t received some amazing settlement. I haven’t taken up some amazing new hobby nor have I traveled extensively. My life is one shit filled cupcake after another. I can’t even find a menial paying job, much less think I’m going to get a promotion or a raise! I can’t travel because I have no money. I have no desire to rewire a house although I understand how that might be a very useful skill. I will never be able to buy a house of my own. At the most I might one day be able to say I have an apartment of my own. I have always been alone. It’s just that when I was married and alone I had access to money. My kids had everything they needed and almost everything they wanted. Now I’m alone and I feel guilty if I buy my daughter a $1 sweet tea from McDonald’s. A little over a year ago the kids and I were living on a six figure income. Today I’m celebrating the fact that our Medicaid applications were approved. Life is definitely not better.

I admire those who can say despite all the financial struggles their life is so much better and they’re so much happier. I’m not one of them. I remember someone telling me that she had had a large, expensive house before her divorce and now she was living in a much smaller house but she was happy. I don’t think that’s going to be me. I liked my big house with the 3 1/2 bathrooms. I liked my huge bedroom and my hot tub and my pool, even though I only swam a handful of times in the damn thing. I liked my big kitchen and the granite countertops. I miss it.

These are the lessons I’m learning. 1. The best revenge is living well; however, I’m not living well. I doubt that I ever will. Truly. I completely expect my life to suck from here on out. 2. Karma really only affects those who are self-aware enough to realize they have screwed up their lives and have a conscience. Since neither of those two things seem to apply to Cousinfucker he will never be run over by the karma bus. 3. Finally, despite living paycheck to paycheck, potentially working 2 shitty part-time jobs just to provide the basics for my kids, and relying on welfare to do the rest, I should concentrate on what I do have and focus on the future instead of the fact that Cousinfucker is going to get away with all of his bullshit and financial shenanigans. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Well guess what? I’m tired of giving up everything from my old life. First there was the house, the furniture, my stupid decorations, the pool. There was the fact that I had to pull my kids out of their schools and move them again. Now I’m looking at probably having to get rid of my car. It’s not going to help tremendously. I’ll still have some sort of a loan it just won’t be $365. Maybe it will help with insurance costs as well. Of course, I’ll probably have repair bills instead. Next up will be getting rid of the kids’ cell phones, or making them pay for them if they want to keep them. It’s like Cousinfucker cannot torture me enough; there’s no limit to the pain he inflicts. Yet somehow I’m supposed to skip happily along and say, “Oh, think of all the things I DO have!” Here’s the thing though, and it’s not pretty. The things that I have now? I’ve always had them. My kids, my family. I didn’t gain them through divorce. My net sum is at a negative balance. I haven’t gained anything; I continue to lose over and over. And there’s no way I’m going to be okay with Cousinfucker getting away with that. There’s no way that I’m okay with everything that has happened in the last 4 months. I will NEVER be okay with it. Ever.

Ultimately I know I’m going to have to make peace and get on with my life. I’m not sure how I’m going to do that, though. I’m so far into the hole I’m not sure I’ll ever get out of it. I just had a credit card account closed because of what’s going on with another credit card- the one I haven’t paid on, have a court order saying I’m no longer responsible for it, and one that CF apparently hasn’t taken care of either. I haven’t charged on this credit card that was just closed except for the one purchase I made when I applied for and was approved for this card. But, it’s been closed down. I kept that card in case of emergency. It was my backup plan in case I needed to pay my lawyer another deposit. Now that’s gone. I wouldn’t be surprised at all to find out that CF actually cashed out his damn 401k the day he quit his job so I don’t even have that to fall back on. You know how Dave Ramsey preaches the snowball effect in regards to paying off debt? I have this going on in reverse. More and more shit is piled on. Whenever I think I’m getting a break I actually get screwed over.

Oh, karma, what in the hell did I ever do to deserve this?

Trying to Put a Positive Spin On This, Take Two

Last time I tried this it didn’t work so well. I ended up just feeling sorry for myself. What I was trying to say the last time is: Being in limbo sucks, there’s no point in worrying about the future, drop the rope, and stop whining about life being unfair. It sucks but there’s nothing you can do about it.

Being in limbo does suck! I don’t know anything. Right now my head is full of worst case scenarios. I do not allow myself to think that things will go my way in court because I don’t want to be devastated when and if Cousinfucker gets away with everything. As I’ve said many times I envision my daughter’s senior year as the Year From Hell, as I have to either explain to her why she can’t participate, basically, i.e. no senior pictures, no graduation announcements, no graduation party, no dinner afterwards, no graduation gift, no nothing; or I work 80 hours a week to keep my head above water and then end up working the day of her graduation so she gets the party but I miss it.

That’s what I’m envisioning. Honestly, I think that’s a pretty damn good representation of what’s actually going to happen (hey, I’m trying to be positive, not delusional!) but I don’t know that for a fact. Hell could freeze over and Cousinfucker could start paying me what he owes me. Pigs could fly and I actually find a job that pays me a decent amount. So, there’s no use in worrying about any of that.

I need to learn to truly drop the rope and not try to pick it up again. My life as I knew it is over. There’s no point in comparing my life a little over a year ago to my life today. For most of 2015 I was a fairly comfortable housewife and stay at home mom. Now I’ve been discarded. I’m scrambling to find a job. My lifestyle has dramatically changed. I can keep whining about it but it won’t change it. I need to do as Picasso does and tell myself there’s no point in crying about it because I can’t change it. Just keep on keeping on. If I finally get hired working for shit money then I’m hired working for shit money. If I need to get a second job, I need to get a second job. If I work three jobs, I work three jobs. I can complain all day long. I can cry into my pillow for months and months. It does. not. change. a. thing. I may as well wrap my mind around the fact that my life is going to be very unpleasant from here on out and embrace the suck. You know, we often say we would rush into a burning building if our kids needed us. I would fight off a bear for my kids (not a snake- they’re on their own for that one). They don’t need me to run into a burning building or to fight off a bear. They need me to provide for them. And if that means I work 2 or 3 jobs, 60-80 hours a week, 6 and 7 days a week, then that’s what I’ll do. Who said life was supposed to be pleasant? I will endure for my kids.

Rock Star does have a few friends at her new school, including a cheerleader. Her cheerleader friend asked her if she was going to join their team this winter. Rock Star is telling me she’s not going to because she doesn’t want to have to change her availability at work. A week ago I would have been fine with this and pouted along with her.

“See, Cousinfucker? See what you’ve done to her? She has NOTHING because of you. All she does is go to school and work.”

Instead I am going to encourage her to try out. I’m going to be the grownup instead of the pouting brat and tell her she may as well try to make the best of her last two years. She didn’t want to move before either but she made the best of it and she ended up having a remarkable time.

It really IS another chapter in my life. It’s very strange to not be driving Rock Star all around to activities. It’s strange to have gymnastics completely over and done. It’s weird not having any kids over at the house. I’m sure I’ll adjust.

There is no master bathroom here. There are two bathrooms, one upstairs and one downstairs. I can’t speak for everyone else in the house but I use the one that’s closest to me. I’m frequently in the upstairs bathroom that my kids share. It’s much smaller than the bathrooms they used to have, and of course, they didn’t have to share. I no longer have a kitchen with granite countertops. There’s no pool or hot tub or trampoline in the backyard. The furniture is not mine. All of my holiday decor is gone. Again, it is what it is. At least I have a place to call home. I have a mom who welcomed me and my kids with open arms. Some women aren’t that lucky. I try to tell myself that everything I had before was just stuff. One part of me cries out, “But it was my stuff!” The new, more positive me tells the crying part to shut it and reminds me once again that it was just stuff. I’m sure I had too much stuff and didn’t use half of it.

Dropping the rope is hard. So very hard. It reminds of this time my brother pushed me off a bridge. I knew I was falling. I remember screaming, but then I also remember reconciling what was happening. I was falling and there was nothing I could about it except prepare for the landing. Note: This happened when I was much younger. I’m sure I wasn’t more than 12 and probably even younger. He would have been no more than 9 at that point. It was also a low bridge over the creek that ran through my grandparent’s property. I don’t want anyone thinking I had a brother that tried to murder me.

That’s what this whole experience has been like since August 10, 2015. Hearing that my husband was cheating on me once again with the exact same person. Falling. This isn’t happening! What the hell am I going to do? Oh no, it’s happening. How are you going to prepare for impact? Finding out he quit his job and moved out of state. Falling. I can’t control it. Brace yourself. Receiving the text message from him four months later informing me he lost his job and wouldn’t be sending anymore money. Falling. How do I keep everything the same? How can I stay here so that my daughter finishes out high school? What am I going to do about a job? What in the hell am I going to do? There won’t be a save like the last time. I was in a free fall and the only thing I could do was land. I couldn’t stop it.

Here I am today. Nothing is like I had hoped. Everything I had wanted for my kids is gone. They’ve gone from being privileged and pampered to paupers. The rage I feel most days is frightening. I can’t let it out; if I did it would overtake everything. It is that powerful. But here’s the truth. It’s all gone. I can’t make it come back. I will never earn anywhere close to what CF did. I have to accept the fact that we are poor.

I fought against applying for Medicaid. I fought against applying for free textbooks and free lunches. I fought against applying for food stamps (and still haven’t as of yet). All of that is so terribly embarrassing and yet, if your kids needed you to run into a burning building… so I debase myself and hold my hand out for free stuff. I’ve dropped the rope. This is reality. I can hope it isn’t so. I can scream and cry and yell, “It’s not fair!” at the top of my lungs. It doesn’t do any good. Just let yourself fall and prepare for the impact that’s coming. It is what it is.

My car is the last thing I have left over from my old life. For years I had been wanting either a convertible or a sunroof. For years CF had fought me on it, saying that sunroofs leak. I would tell him the new sunroofs are much more durable. Of course, he knew more than I did. Finally he caved. I got my new car (an actual car and not a minivan) with GPS, an aux cord so I could listen to my iPod, Bluetooth for my phone, push button start and a sunroof. I think I might even say I love that car. I have fought against getting rid of it. My argument has been that it’s a new car. I don’t have to worry about repairs. It’s a hybrid so it gets fantastic gas mileage. Plus, because of the miles I’ve put on it for Rock Star’s gymnastics I doubt I would get enough to cover the loan. I also am not sure how I would even get a loan for another car since I’m sure my credit is in the crapper thanks to CF and his nonpayment of bills. Nonetheless, it costs me over $350/month. I don’t have a job currently and it’s not looking like I’m going to get a decent paying one anytime soon. Because it’s a new car insurance is higher for me and I’m sure that’s part of why it’s so high for Rock Star. As much as I hate to get rid of it it’s looking more and more like that’s what I’m going to have to do. I’ll probably get a 10 year old Honda or Toyota and pray that it doesn’t break down and need expensive repairs. I guess I’m back to listening to the radio. I have come to accept that CF is going to end up taking every last thing I ever had over the last twenty years. What’s a car anyway? You only need it to get you from point A to point B. I’ve already lost my home, my furniture, my holiday decorations, my pool, my hot tub, my children’s stability. What the fuck does a car matter?  Rope. Dropped.

My kids will never have awesome Christmases again. I know they’re too old for Elf on the Shelf but our elf won’t ever come visit again because I can’t afford it.  I’m falling and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve dropped the rope. Christmas is going to suck from here on out because I can’t afford much anymore. I can fight it all I want but this is their new reality. Sorry, kids.

My daughter is working a part-time job so that she can afford to buy clothes and make-up she wants and be able to go out and do things. I can’t give her an allowance anymore. At some point she will probably have to contribute to not only paying for her car, but also her insurance and her phone. She will work and work and work to pay bills and she will have nothing left over to pay for movies or dinners or clothes. That’s a little harder to drop the rope on. I never wanted to be that parent. I never wanted that for my child. I followed the rules. I graduated high school, I went to college and graduated, I got married, and THEN I had a baby. Only it didn’t matter. Because my kids are going to end up with nothing anyway. It’s at times like these that I think I shouldn’t have even bothered with college because it’s never paid off for me. I wasted my mother’s money and I’m making less money than the majority of people WITHOUT a college degree.

I look at all those smiling faces on Facebook. They’re sharing pictures of their vacations, their romantic dates, their weddings or upcoming weddings, their kids at Homecoming, their kids participating in sports. I used to have a life like that. I don’t anymore. Drop the rope. I could cry, but what would that gain me? Nothing. Brace for impact. Pick yourself up. Get on with this new life. Stop wishing for the old one because it’s never coming back. It’s like wishing someone who died would come back. It’s not ever going to happen.

I hope this one wasn’t too depressing. I really have found some relief with this whole, “Let It Go” philosophy. Seriously, I find it much easier to just accept the fact that my life is going to suck and deal with it from that point, than it is to flail against the injustice of it all. Yeah, it sucks. I can’t change it. You put your head down and plow on through it. In the words of Larry the Cable Guy, “Get ‘er done!” Do I want to work an $11/hour job? Nope! But if that’s all that’s out there willing to hire me then that’s what I’ll do. And if working for $11/hour means I need a second job then as much as I may hate it that’s what I’ll do as well. I guess the good thing about being poor is that if I don’t get very much vacation time it won’t matter. I can’t afford to go anywhere anyway so who cares if I only get a week after a year of full-time employment? No vacations in Sam’s future. Hey, I’ve had 18 years of vacation time. It’s not like raising kids is any kind of work.

You know, sometimes I wonder if this hasn’t been his end game this whole entire time. I wonder if he hated me so much that he plotted this all out years ago. Step one: Take Sam away from the state she loves. Take away all of her volunteering activities. Take away all of her friends and all of her social activities. Take away any connections and support she has. Step two: Move her 2000 miles across the country and then abandon her after buying a new house, furniture, and car. Start acting like a jackass now that you’re all she has. Make her completely dependent on you and then bail. Don’t support her. Don’t hang out with her. Strip her bare. Step three: Look up your whore of a cousin again. Fuck her. Lie to Sam all summer about everything. Step four: Cash in the remaining stocks, open up a bank account with the whore, interview for jobs out of state, cut Sam and the kids off financially except for what “your lawyer told you you would have to pay in support”. Step five: Quit your job of 15 years, move out of state, don’t tell Sam or the kids. Make Sam wonder if you’re ever going to pay support again; make her wonder if she’ll have to pull the kids out of school mid-school year and devastate them. Step six: After pulling the rug out from under Sam with that whole “quit your job” thing, quit your job again! This time claim to be having a nervous breakdown to try to get out of paying spousal and child support. Leave Sam and the kids destitute, make them move once again, take EVERYTHING away from them once again, and force Sam onto welfare and back into the job force after 18 years of following your pathetic ass across the country.

I wouldn’t put it past him but you know what? There’s nothing I can about it. I will drop the rope. So many people say the best revenge is a life well lived. I don’t know how well I’m going to be living this life; however, I get the sentiment behind it. Sometimes we can’t make them pay; we don’t get justice. We have to pick up the pieces left behind anyway and do our best.

That’s a hard reality to accept- this idea that he and Harley could get away with everything. Yet if that does indeed happen, what can I do? Nothing. Drop the rope. Move forward.

I have no idea how any of this is going to turn out. For now I think I need to listen to the radio or my iPod on my drive back home so I don’t frustrate myself. I need to get a job- any job- even if it doesn’t pay what I need it to so that I can at least stop draining what’s left in my checking account. It’s far better to have my paycheck cover my limited bills, or almost cover my limited bills and then use savings until I can find a second job, as opposed to completely paying for everything out of savings. Look at me being all adult!

I’ve got my kids. I’ve got my dogs. I left my house with the most important “things”. I will never be the person who says: Golly gee! This divorce is just going to be the best thing ever! I KNOW I’m going to find the love of my life now that I’ve cast the shit eating chimp aside. I’ll be so glad I got that divorce once I meet Mr. Right. And I KNOW I’m going to get a great job- one that pays well and stimulates my mind. I’ll meet all these new friends and have a fantastic social network. I’ll start going to church and that’ll just be wonderful, too. Maybe I’ll take a Bible study and become best friends with someone from there. I’m going to volunteer once again and network my ass off! I’m going to feel so much better because I’m out there on my own, not relying on my husband. And I’m sure God will come through and court will go my way and Cousinfucker will end up having to pay me thousands in back support and for arrears and misappropriation of funds; he’ll end up being ordered to pay me substantial spousal and child support as well. Why, I bet he’ll even get up off his ass and get a job so he can actually pay what the judge orders!

I know that’s sarcasm but even taking the sarcasm out of it I’ll never trust that good things are going to happen. He’s shattered those dreams once too often. Every time I had a plan he came along and smashed it. I cannot do that to myself anymore. It’s easier to believe that nothing is ever going to go my way. The best I can do is agree to drop the rope. I can let it go when the judge rules in his favor and I get fucked up the ass. I can refuse to dwell on it when he rides off into the sunset with Harley and then begins his new six figure salary job- not paying a dime in child or spousal support. I could be frustrated or angry but what does that really do? He doesn’t care. Hell, he would probably love it if he knew how much it bugged me that he got away with everything. You learn to swallow that shit sandwich that is your ex-husband leaving you destitute while he goes on to enjoy life with someone else.

Some days I vow to not let him defeat me. I tell myself I’m going to do whatever needs to be done to stand on my own two feet without him. I’m going to raise my kids without his help. I’m going to carve out a great life for myself. I’ll get a job. Make friends. Volunteer. Go to church. I will thrive! And other days I want to curl up in a ball and admit defeat. “Okay, you win, Cousinfucker. You’ve destroyed my life. You’ve taken everything away from me. I’m living on welfare. I live with my mom at age 47. I will never have anything again. I’ll never go on vacation again. I’ll never have a home of my own. I’m never going to be able to provide for our kids the way you did. I’ll just lay here in the fetal position and wait for death to come.” You may be glad to  know that lately I’m telling myself the former more often than the latter.

I’ve heard a lot of sad stories over on Chump Lady. I’m always amazed at the women (yes, it’s always the women) who talk about having to work until the day they die, or living in a tiny home after living in a huge house, or barely scraping by, and yet they feel so much better.

“I left behind a 6000 square foot home. I work three jobs just to make ends meet and I’m still in danger of having my electricity shut off. My car is barely hanging on; I defeat death each time I drive it. I have no money, no savings, my life is a giant struggle but I’M SO MUCH BETTER OFF now that I’ve left my cheater.”

Really? I guess I must be a shallow person because I don’t feel that I’m better off. When he was paying me spousal and child support I felt I was better off, but now that he’s claiming PTSD and spending his days drinking and fucking I don’t feel better off at all. One of my friends told me way back in the beginning that she was so happy I was finally out of my marriage because she was so worried about me and what I would do as his social anxiety got worse and worse and I did everything on my own. She has one of those marriages where they do a lot of things together, both as a family and as a couple. I’ve never had that. It’s not my normal. I can’t miss what I never had. Fifteen months ago I was all alone. My husband was shutting himself off in the bedroom and crying all the time. We didn’t do things together as a family; we didn’t do things as a couple. I was still a pampered housewife living on six figures; my kids had everything they needed and most of what they wanted. Now? I’m still alone; I don’t have a new Prince Charming in my life. I doubt I ever will. I’m on welfare. I got to break the bad news to the kids that we were moving once again. I got to enroll the kids in new schools and ride that tidal wave of emotion as we waited to see if Rock Star would go to her preferred school, all along believing she wouldn’t get in. I got to break the bad news to her that she didn’t get to get her license; I held her as she cried. I get to go through all the headaches and heartaches and he’s living with the slut without a care in the world. Which is better? The world where I’m alone but I’m living on six figures and my kids are happy? Or the one where I’m alone, my husband is off fucking his cousin, and I’m on welfare? Gosh, that’s a really tough choice. Let me think about that a minute and I’ll get back to you.

Turns out, it didn’t take me a full minute to make my decision. I prefer the money. I wish I were more like those women who are so grateful to be away from the cheater.  But I’m not. I like having money. I like being able to take care of my kids. I like being able to give them the things I never had as a kid. The only thing I can do at this point is drop the rope. It’s not what I wanted but it’s what I’ve got. I’ve got to figure out other ways to make things happen for me and my kids.

My sister-in-law was telling me that if I got a job at her company once I had been there a year I would get a 3% raise! Wow- I would go from making $11/hour to $11.33/hour! Can someone who is really good at math let me know how many years I would need to work before I finally reached $30k/year? I’m thinking probably 10. Many people have told me I have to start at the bottom and work my way up. I don’t have that kind of time! My daughter graduates next year. My son is an 8th grader. I don’t have 10-15 years to work my way up the ladder. By the time I’m making any kind of decent money my kids will be self-supporting. I’ve pretty much decided that the only way I’m going to make any kind of decent money is if I go back to school. I’m leaning heavily towards nursing. I don’t necessarily want to be a nurse but I figure if I’m going to hate what I do I may as well make good money while I’m doing it.

It’s not that I think I will hate it. I have just never had any desire to be a nurse. I’ve known a lot of people, though, that are going back to school and they are all choose nursing. It pays well and it seems like they’re always hiring. I figure I can work in the OR and then I only have to deal with unconscious people.

Or, I could become a teacher. That one is a little trickier though because you never know what school system is hiring. I wouldn’t be assured of getting a job around here and I can’t afford to move. I won’t do that to my kids again either. Unlike their father, I mean it when I say I don’t want to move them around constantly. I would probably prefer to be a teacher as opposed to a nurse but it doesn’t pay as well. On the bright side, I would have summers off.

I’m rambling now. I am doing better. I am at the acceptance stage. I think that’s the last one but I haven’t reviewed the stages of grief lately. I’m grinning and bearing it. My mantra is: I can’t change it; I just have to accept it and do what needs to be done. Embrace the suck. Drop the rope. Let it go. Or as a fellow blogger put it: Sometimes evil wins. What are you going to do?

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

I’m moving. I’m going through every room in my house and sorting through what I’m going to try to sell and what I’m going to take with me. This whole process has been upsetting and tear inducing. Today I wondered if perhaps this was God’s way of saying I was too materialistic.

I’ve lived outside of my mom’s home since 1994. My first official home was a one bedroom apartment- perfect for a single woman with no children just starting out. I met CF while living at that apartment. Married him. Bought a house with him. I couldn’t tell you how large our first house was but I know that as we’ve bought houses over the years they have gradually become larger and more expensive. As most homeowners know we tend to accumulate things the longer we’re living somewhere. In short, I have a lot of stuff.  I like my stuff. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m a hoarder but I do tend to hang on to things. And that’s what I’ve been dealing with all week.

Why do I feel a pang in my heart at the thought of giving away the mug I bought when I was probably a young teen?  It was from Hawk’s Nest and I’ve had it forever. I rarely use it so what’s the big deal? And yet it tore at my heartstrings to place it in the “sell” pile. There was also the lighthouse glass that I got on prom night my junior year. It’s not something I use but it was associated with a memory; I’ve had it for 30 years and moved it from house to house and state to state.  I can hardly wait until tomorrow when I go through the glasses!  I’m probably going to lose it when I set out the souvenir glasses from a restaurant we frequented on vacation in Florida.

I dread the thought of storing all the pictures of my kids that I’ve had hanging on my wall. I paid a lot of money to have pictures taken of my children when they were babies and those pictures are still proudly displayed. But no more. My photo albums will be tucked away and stored.  The journals I wrote in to document my kids’ lives and the funny things they say also won’t see the light of day.

I have a huge collection of books. I’m getting rid of almost all of them.  I may keep a few chosen ones but most of them, even ones I haven’t read, are going to be sold.

I’m selling off the bulletin boards I had made when I had a stainless steel refrigerator which meant I couldn’t hang anything on them. I knew someone who made these cute little boards with magnets and I figured they would be perfect to hang drawings and important papers. It’s not so much getting rid of them as it is the realization that I won’t be hanging report cards on the refrigerator.  I won’t be hanging up Picasso’s drawings or any important papers. I honestly don’t know where the hell I’ll put any of that.

I look at all the seasonal decorations I just bought and hang my head in sadness at the thought of selling them.  I worked so hard to make my home look festive- snowmen in January, hearts in February, leprechauns in March, fairies and flowers for May, mermaids, coral, fish and all things beach over the summer… Halloween and Thanksgiving, and Christmas and Easter decorations. All gone. I even bought a few new decorations just this past fall. I think my favorite one was the sign that listed all the wonders of fall; I hope its new owner likes it as much as I did. I bought them because I was determined to continue living my life despite what CF had chosen to do. Now those specific decorations have been used once.

I have hung inspirational signs all over my house but primarily in the kitchen.  All of those are going. I have a few that I love more than the others, like the one that says: Enjoy the little things in life, for someday you will realize they were the big things. Or: Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass.  It’s about learning to dance in the rain. My favorite though I think is my sign that reads: Wicked chickens lay deviled eggs.

I’m getting rid of most of my beach towels. With us downsizing so much AND moving in with my mom we don’t have a need for 10 or 12 beach towels. But here’s the thing. Every summer for more than a few years now I would buy each of the kids a new beach towel at the beginning of the season. So I’m not just getting rid of beach towels; I’m getting rid of memories.

Like my shot glasses. They were a small, convenient, inexpensive way to commemorate the various places we had visited. Gone!

Who gets sentimental about towels? Me! It’s not the towel though.  I have a fantastic memory. I can look at every single towel in my linen closet and tell you when I got that towel; I look through all the towels in our linen closet and it’s like looking at a timeline of our life.  There are the towels that we were given as wedding and shower gifts. There are the towels I bought when we moved the first time, and the towels we bought when we moved the second, third and fourth time. Oh, those are the towels I bought for our last house when we needed a nice set of towels when we were showing the house. Finally, I have the towels I bought for the kids when they got their own bathrooms and could choose to decorate them however they wished. I’ll be taking those towels with us, of course.

I look at all the grape decorations I have, which are still in the boxes they were packed away in when we moved this last time.  I’ve had those decorations since around 1998, maybe 1999. I’ve used them on top of cabinets in three different kitchens. I couldn’t use them here because we didn’t have cabinets that would allow us to place anything on top of them.  CF promised to build me a shelf around the enclosed porch where I could use all of them. He never did, of course. As weird as it sounds those grapes have been a large part of my life.

It is the same for my huge picture of magnolias.  It, too, was bought the first time we lived down south; it’s been displayed in four different homes now. It’s not so much the picture that is important.  It is what it represents and the fact that I’ve had it for 17 or 18 years.  It’s mine, dammit!

I’m going through water bottles and kitchen stuff. The water bottles represent different places we visited and sometimes things that were going on in my kids’ lives at the time. I believe I have admitted I have a slight crockpot addiction and I am keeping 3 of my 5 crockpots. Will I ever use them at my mother’s? Maybe at Christmas time.

I’m looking through my cupboards and seeing all the plastic plates I accumulated over the years when my kids were little and I wasn’t going to put a breakable plate in front of them. They obviously don’t need them anymore; they’re teenagers now for crying out loud! But we do use them still. They’re larger than a dessert plate but smaller than a regular plate, so they’re perfect for toast or smaller meals. Or for when I haven’t ran the dishwasher and I’m out of regular plates.  Again, it’s not that they are needed. I’m not going to have to replace them. It’s that they are part of my family’s history; they represent a time when my children were young.

My brother has told me I should pack up and store all of my kitchen stuff. Rodents can’t destroy any of it and it’s not like plates go out of style. I’m getting rid of the plates and silverware and bowls anyway. I will probably keep the brand new hand mixer that CF bought me our last Christmas together and I know I’m bringing along my Ninja blender, my air popcorn popper, and new waffle maker.

I’m trying to tell myself it’s just stuff. It’s not important. People lose all of their things in fires and floods and other natural disasters and they survive.  The important thing is the people.  I have my kids.  They are what’s important. I tell myself that I hung on to way too much and that even if the items represent memories I can always access those memories by simply remembering the event; I don’t need a souvenir or anything tangible for that. I tell myself that if I ever do move out into a place of my own that I can start all over and keep things simple. I even sometimes point out to myself that there is an awful lot that I never or rarely used which means I’ve spent a lot of money on stuff I didn’t need. Maybe this will be a chance to be more deliberate about what I buy.  So why is this so hard?

6 Months Later

I was reading through the Chump Lady archives again when I came across a comment.

I remember six months ago, my best friend said to me as I was sobbing on the phone with her, “In six months you will feel so much better and your life will be so much better.”… sure enough, on the six month anniversary of DDay I had an insanely fun first date and didn’t even realize that the six month “anniversary” of the emotional apocalypse had passed until the next morning, when I woke up laughing hysterically. It’s amazing what getting a vampiric asshole out of your life does for your happiness.

When I look back at my own six month “anniversary” I realize I was finding out he had quit his job of fifteen years. I was finding out he had moved out of the state.  I spent a week crying, not knowing if I was going to have to pull my kids out of school, completely upend their lives, and move in with my mom. I had no idea if he had received his bonus.  I had no idea if he was going to screw me over when it came to me getting my half.  I didn’t know if we were going to be able to pay off the pool as outlined in the court order. No insanely fun first date for me! Nope, just tears and fears. Hey, that would make a great name for a band!

Ten months after DDay (to the exact day!) I found out he’s lost his new job and isn’t planning on sending me anymore money. About a week later I realize he’s going to play the long con and do outpatient therapy until we get in front of a judge. I have to break the news to my kids that they are going to be uprooted again. And not only are we moving but we are going to leave behind almost everything we own!  I sure could use that insanely fun date, or a fantastic dinner out with a great group of friends.  Instead I get, “Hey, how about another shit sundae?”

Perhaps it is because now, at the eleven month marker I am currently going through all the rooms in my house and deciding what to discard, what to try to sell, and what I’ll take with me and store, but I am not feeling like my life is so much better and I certainly don’t feel so much happier than on that evening back in August when my life was blown apart.  In fact, I’m looking at working a low paying job that will barely pay my bills, even with overtime, much less feed my kids or God forbid, allow me to buy them something they need or want! Perhaps I’ll make some new friends but I’ll be so fucking poor I won’t be able to go out and do anything with them.  I listed all those great restaurants we have access to now, but again, I’m going to be so fucking poor I can’t take my kids out to eat. I’m going to be signing up my kids for free lunches and waivers on their book fees.  Oh that is the life!  Welcome the poor kids to the neighborhood, everybody!

My kids and I have no home to call our own; we are moving in with my mom.  It is her house, not ours.  I will probably never have a home of my own again. I am selling off almost all of my possessions and the few that I am keeping are going into storage. So no, I am not feeling so much better nor am I any happier at the six month mark, or the ten month mark, or the eleventh month mark. He keeps shitting all over me and any plans I make. I am not holding out any hope that things will magically get better at the twelve month mark, or the thirteenth, or the eighteenth or even the twenty-fourth. I pretty much expect things to just keep sucking from here on out.

I would love to think that in another 3 or 6 months I’ll be here raving about my new life.  I’d love to think I will find a great paying job that I love and that my kids are happy and thriving. I would love to be able to tell every one of you that I’m doing well with no help from CF and while we’ve had to adjust our lifestyle a bit we’re doing just fine. I would like to be able to report that I’ve made new friends and I’m volunteering and I’m just so busy and happy and my life is oh so full.  I’d love to tell you that maybe things won’t be so much better at the six month anniversary, but at twelve months or eighteen months life is fantastic. Maybe it will be but I’m not holding my breath.  I know I’ve been fairly upbeat these last few entries so I’m sorry to bring anyone down.  It’s probably just the reality of having to go through all my things and sell off everything I’ve accumulated over the last 20 years. Oh well, fresh start, right? Thanks, CF!  I hope you get one of those one of these days!

A Letter to My Kids

Hey Kids,

The time has come for you to find out that your mom is not all powerful.  That I am, in fact, human and I make mistakes.  So I want to apologize to both of you.

I’m sorry I picked such a wretched excuse for a human being to be your father.  He has failed you in ways I couldn’t even begin to imagine.  For years I listened to him whine on and on about his father and how he was rejected by him.  But you know what?  He always financially supported him and that’s more than I can say for your own dad.

I’m sorry I chose to be a stay at home mom instead of working a job so that when this time came I could support you without his help.  Don’t get me wrong.  I loved being at home with the two of you.  I loved being the one to take you places and plan school parties and volunteer at your schools.  I loved going on field trips and being here at home at the end of day.  I loved being able to watch you at all of your meets and games, being the one to drop you off and pick you up, being able to travel with you.  I truly did.  In hindsight, though, I never should have done it.  I should have worked.  I should have told your dad that his career wasn’t more important than my own job.  I should have followed my passion and done something with my life aside from being your mom.  I know that sounds like a shitty thing to say and I don’t mean it to be because, again, I loved being here for you.  I still do.  But I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place now.  I’m sinking fast and I’m taking both of you with me.

I’m sorry I didn’t stand up to him more and baby and cater to him less.  Maybe if that had been the case he would have left sooner and I would have more options.  Maybe it would have helped and he never would have done any of this.

I’m sorry I can’t keep you here through graduation, Rock Star.  I cry every time I think about it even though everyone tells me you’re going to be fine.  I’m going to end gymnastics for you forever.  I’m going to take away you being captain for your team.  I know high school gymnastics was not what you wanted and won’t take you to college but it was better than no gymnastics at all.  I’m taking you from a place where you are a very big fish in a pretty small pond and I’m going to turn you into a goldfish in the ocean, if goldfish could survive in salt water.  I feel like I’m ruining your high school experience and I am so so sorry for that, my sweet girl.  Once again, I listened to your dad whine for years about how he was constantly moved as a child and never attended the same school each year.  He never switched high schools though, a privilege he is denying you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t do whatever it was that I needed to do to stay married and give you two a stable home, even if one of your parents wasn’t always sane or even around much.  If I knew what I did wrong, or what I didn’t do that he wanted me to do, I would have taken the appropriate action.  But I have no idea what it is I did or didn’t do that made your dad choose to have an affair.  Honestly, I know  that I can only be responsible for my own actions and he is responsible for his.  I am truly sorry, though, that I couldn’t make this marriage work.

Finally, I am so sorry I agreed to this move.  I am so sorry I tore your lives apart for this shit storm we are in now.  I’m sorry for the pool that we are probably never going to swim in even though we’ve spent a crapload of money on it.  I’m sorry about your friends and your sports and your schools.  I’m sorry about everything that you’ve had to lose and all that you’re still going to lose.  I’m sorry I don’t have a home of our own to move us to.  I’m sorry for all the dreams you have that aren’t going to come true because we have to leave.  I’m sorry for all the plans that you are making that aren’t going to happen.  I’m sorry we’re going to be poor and your lives are going to be turned so far around you aren’t even going to recognize them.  I’m sorry for everything.

Your uncle tells me every time I say that that it’s not me who is ruining your lives- it’s your dad.  I’m here, though, and he’s not.  So I’m the one who is apologizing.  I cannot apologize enough for what is going to become of your lives.  I would say I should have picked better but then I wouldn’t have you two.  At any rate, I failed you both, and for that I’m sorry.  I’ll do my very best to make it up to you somehow.  I promise.



Just When You Think He Can’t Sink Lower…

Today has sucked.  I got through Valentine’s Day no problem.  That day does not bother me at all.  I woke up today and all Hell has broken loose.  So much for cleaning up my potty mouth because I am pissed beyond belief.

I woke up with a message from my pool contractor, asking me if there was any news or if they should get a lawyer.  I replied that my lawyer was working on it and that I thought Cousinfucker would pay; he was just taking his sweet time.

For some reason I decided to look at my bank account and see if the support payment had been made.  Since September Cousinfucker has had payments directly deposited into my account.  It wasn’t there.  Shit!  Has he decided to fuck with me since he had to move out?  Or is it something far more nefarious?  That little nagging voice in the back of my head wouldn’t go away.

I call my lawyer and tell him my support payment has not been deposited.  I go on to tell him that I have no idea if he’s quit his job, moved out of state, just wants to fuck with me…. I have no clue.  I do tell him that as long as we’ve been married his company has always deposited his paycheck early if payday occurs on a Sunday or a holiday.  He tells me to give it until 2 pm tomorrow in case there is simply a small snafu with the holiday schedule.

While I had been chatting with my mom I texted Cousinfucker’s boss and asked him if Cousinfucker still worked there.  A few hours later I get a reply.  Sam, Cousinfucker resigned several weeks ago.  I wish you both the best.

First of all, WTF?  And second of all, WTF?  I think the best for me has just flown by.  My husband is fucking his cousin and has abandoned me and my kids.  It’s a little late for well wishes!  And seriously?  Did the asshole really quit his job?  Oh yes he did!

I quickly sent another text asking him if he knew whether or not Cousinfucker had received his bonus check before resigning and if he knew where he went.  Remember, Cousinfucker is not responding to me or to his kids.  Turns out part of the reason behind that is because his phone was company property so he no longer has it.

In the meantime I find out that he has left the fucking state.  Yes, that’s right.  Cousinfucker moved me and my kids here, ripped our lives apart, and then turns around and a year and a half later LEAVES THE FUCKING STATE!  Dammit!  I was just beginning to feel settled somewhat.  I had a plan.  Some of my fears were being alleviated.  I knew where to get insurance.  I figured out how I was going to pay for my daughter’s graduation party. I had a plan for how I was going to pay my taxes.  Now?  Poof!  All of that is up in smoke.  Son Of A Bitch!

His boss eventually texted me back and let me know that Cousinfucker was going back home (no, he’s not) and that all other questions should be directed to him.  I texted back:  Thanks for all of your help.  The kids and I sure do appreciate it.

As it stands I don’t have a way to contact him unless I use my kids as a conduit.  I guess I could correspond with his family but I have no stomach for that.  I could possibly also unblock him on Facebook and send him a message that way.  He has left without a word to either of his kids.  His support payment is not in the bank. I don’t know if he plans on paying it or not.  I don’t know if he got his bonus check or not.  I think he probably did because his last direct deposit was January 31st.  I have no idea when, or if, Cousinfucker is planning on paying off the pool.  I have no idea, when, or if, he’s planning on paying me my portion of the bonus check.  I don’t know if he still has insurance on me and the kids.  I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get the bonus included in his annual salary now that he has quit.  I don’t know if he’s making a ton more money at this new job.  I don’t know what’s going to happen with all the unvested stock he had.  I mean, I know he’s not entitled to it but I don’t know if he’ll have to reimburse me for a portion of what I would have received, or if they will be able to use that in income calculations.  He walked away from a job of 15 years.  Oh, God!  I don’t know if my original plan is going to go through.  I had wanted to stay here until my daughter had graduated.  I hate the thought of moving her her junior year.  I really do. Hell, for all I know this new company will offer him a buyout on the house and I’ll either have to accept it and get out now, or he’ll try to make me take on the house and any losses associated with it.  I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to swim in this damn pool that we’ve paid so much fucking money for. I have no idea what he’s planning on doing as far as taxes go.  Is he going to file jointly, or married separately?  Who the fuck knows?  And how will I get any portion of the refund, or will that be yet another thing he tries to keep from me?  I don’t know anything right now.  This sucks so hard!  I hate him.  It’s really hard to get to “Meh” when he keeps fucking with me and the kids.

The good news is I received a lovely gift basket from a fellow cheated on mom/friend.  It included wine!  And I’ve gained about 10 pounds of the 25 pounds I lost originally on the divorce diet.  Thanks to asshole and his machinations I have felt sick to my stomach all day and have had nothing more than a grilled cheese!  Maybe I’ll drop 5 pounds.  Motherfucker!