Of Steely Resolve

Whew.  This holiday season has been a rough one.  It was my first in my new apartment (which I decorated in between fits of feigned festivity, euphoria and sudden bursts of sobbing), my first time buying and decorating my own tree with just my daughter, my first time realizing that I didn’t really have any presents under the tree unless I got them myself….

While all examples of my newfound independence, I cannot help but feel the emotional strain—or to start thinking about everything that has led me to this point.  And, more importantly, how to better face the future.

I believe that vocalizing what I want will help bring good things from the Universe.  Hey, ‘tis the season, call them my Christmas Wishes…or New Year’s Resolutions…or just the need to get all of this emotional chaos situated so I can better focus and pursue my real dreams and a better life.

Christmas Wish/Resolution #1: Responsibility

As I have mentioned in a previous blog, I am fully aware of what I could have done better in the relationship with my ex.  While I cannot gain back any of what I’ve lost, I can take comfort in the fact that I am and have always been a strong person who has communicated her needs, emotions and wants—sometimes even to my detriment.

I have only recently come to realize that I have made choices that were not necessarily the best for me, yet I am secure in knowing that many of these compromises were for the good of the family. I did not feel the need to pursue a relationship outside of the marriage.  While I could have certainly taken that route, as he did, I was instead comforted by the now supposedly false notion that he loved me--and that that was enough.  I have readily admitted that I am frustrated, saddened, disappointed, and yes, angered by the dissolve of my marriage.  I thought I had everything I wanted and needed. 

I am working to not let these emotions rule me—or to ruin me for future relationships.

I take responsibility for what I may have done (or not have done) to help the ex feel secure in the relationship.  I am not, however, responsible for him and/or his ill choices.  It still continues to be my hope that he will stop projecting his “shit” all over me…that he will just man up, take responsibility and realize his own role in the downfall of the marriage.  A futile hope, perhaps, as it seems that he has yet to deal with his insecurities, guilt and anger and will continue to foist these upon me—even as he pursues other relationships.

In the grand scheme of things, however, I must focus on being responsible not only for the care of my daughter, but for me.  I control how I act and react to others' admonishments and shortcomings.  I will continue to fight for what I think is right, both as it pertains to my child and the treatment of me as her mother, as a woman and as a person.  I don’t regret that my marriage happened, but I regret that I feel I had very little power to continue it.  Every misperception, every negative connotation, every misconstrued word…these all bled into the interactions with the ex and made it difficult to accomplish anything of worth.  Sometimes they still do.

Christmas Wish/Resolution #2:  Communication

It has been about six weeks since I received the ex’s text about the finalization of our divorce.  While I would have preferred that he had told me in person, I realize that forthright and direct communication (from him) may be too much to expect.  I must therefore focus on communicating in a different manner, if only for myself.

Unfortunately, here’s what I am dealing with:

I have requested several times that the ex contact me via the telephone to discuss items of concern about our daughter, but all that has resulted from this request was an insistence that he was going to continue to contact me as he sees fit (via text or email).  I am not sure why this is such an issue?  Is it fear?  Is it ignorance?  Is it an innate need to maintain his ill perceptions?  Is it because he does not possess the ability of speech?  Or because I, being the siren that I am, am so convincing that he will be bent to my will by the sheer power of my voice?

Believe me, I certainly do not call him because I want to talk to him.  In fact, I sometimes wonder if it wouldn’t be better to never communicate with him at all.  I call him because I am making an effort to co-parent and because I do not wish to be misconstrued.

And yes, I do understand that there is a potential for emotionally charged conversations, yet putting these conversations in writing has only done far more damage than good (especially over the last year).  I am not expecting us to gab like the best of friends.  I am just tired of spending an hour in a text/email war on something that could have been resolved in five minutes on the phone.  Sometimes technology is not in our best interests.

I am making efforts to communicate with the ex in a conducive manner, to choose my words carefully, to not get so emotionally caught up, to not harbor resentment or anger…I can only hope that one day I will actually be heard.  Oh how I’d love be able to have a conversation about our daughter that doesn’t leave me frustrated or upset.

Sometimes, though, I just don’t know how to do this.  Do I have to stop working to be indifferent in my communications?  Maybe that is the problem?  Do I just need to adopt a more laidback, “Hey, how’s it going?  Oh yes, of course we are friends!” approach?  How do I do this without feeling false?

Oh, this is going to take a post-Christmas Miracle!

Christmas Wish/Resolution # 3:  Personal Growth

It’s funny, but a friend of mine brought up a really interesting point:  Perhaps the ex and I both stunted each other from any personal growth. Perhaps he was attracted to my strength, which in turn prevented him from “finding himself”.  Meanwhile, I was attracted to the idea of domesticity and a stable life only to find neither of those a proper fit for me. He knew what he was getting with me and yet he still seemed to want a 1950’s housewife?  I’d even convinced myself that I could be that for him.  Yeah, right.

And you know what?  I can absolutely see my friend’s point. While I wouldn’t give up our daughter for anything, I have definitely not fulfilled my potential.  I realize now that I don’t need the ex in my life to do that.  He made my life comfortable.  So much so, that I feel I have been scrambling this last year to pick up the pieces—and probably will for quite some time.  I realize now that those pieces need not ever go back together the same way.

Everything I do from here on out will be for me.  No, not in a selfish, “everyone else be damned” sort of way, but in a way that promotes my growth and sense of self-worth.  I have always adopted a “Will the project enhance my life or teach me something new” ideal when it comes to doing theater shows…why not in my relationships, my career and my life?  I have gotten to the point in my life where I don’t need the crap anymore.  I will confront it, conquer it or cut it out.  Period.

Christmas Wish/Resolution #4:  Self-Reliance

I suppose on some level that I am grateful that my ex financially supported me since our move to this area six years ago.  He provided me with a house and certain financial freedoms.  Having been a stay-at-home mom/part-time employee for the last five years, however, has wreaked havoc on my financial stability and independence.  I am fortunate that I was awarded a relatively decent financial settlement in the divorce, which has enabled me to find and furnish my new apartment.  It is not something, however, on which I want to (nor will be able to) be financially reliant forever. 

In this current economic climate, it has been difficult to find gainful employment.  With no local prospects in my learned field, I have had to fall back on my “other skills”.  Although I have many strong skills (some of which are even legal in this state. Ha!), I do not have as many job opportunities as I would like—and certainly not in the same pay bracket as my previous design job.

I was fortunate to have found a retail job in August.  I was recently told, however, that my store location would soon be closing.  With only a slight chance of transfer to another store, I could find myself temporarily jobless.  Again.  Even my usual seasonal job for spring/summer will be cutting back my hours, pay and involvement.  Needless to say, this does not bode well for my financial freedom.

And so the job search begins!  One fabulous, fulfilling and well-paying job with amazing benefits shouldn’t be too difficult to obtain.  Right???

Sigh. 

Either way, however, I am dedicated to and excited by settling into my apartment and making a life of which I am proud.  I do this for me and to show my daughter that strength is an asset, and not the curse it seems some would have it be.  It’s better to be forthright, honest and independent than to rely on someone else for my happiness—Something I hadn’t even realized I was doing until I was forced to recognize that the rules of the game had changed. 

And who changed these rules, by the way?  The Ex?  Me?  Perhaps.  At the end of the day, however, it is I who will feel victorious.

Christmas Wish/Resolution #5:  Peace of Mind

And this is the one that seems the hardest to attain, but damn it, it will undoubtedly be the focus of my greatest efforts.

While I may never be rid of the scars the ex has caused, I hope to wear them as a badge of my survival.  I know that I will learn from my experiences and be better for them. Hell, I am even planning to get a tattoo to commemorate.

I don’t need to concern myself with retribution or revenge.  If there are Karmic Debts for others to repay, the invoice won’t need to come from me.

I will strive to be open to possibility.  Whether that involves love or a career remains to be seen.

I will not let my situations get me down, but embrace the challenges as the learning opportunities they are.  Oh, may I maintain some modicum of sanity and humor through it all.

I will continue to surround myself with people who appreciate, love and support me.  Those who don’t have no place in my life.

I will live up to my potential as best as I am able, achieving a balance in work, life and love.

My life has begun anew.

But please, Universe, please let 2012 be better than this year has been!

A New Lease on Life

Property Division.  Check.

New apartment.  Check.

Signed divorce papers.  Check. 

At long last, the baby steps are becoming leaps and bounds as I head toward my emancipation.  Although I am still awaiting the judge’s approval to finalize the divorce (and therefore sever the last remaining connective marital strand), it feels that this past year of heartache and misery is finally drawing to a close. 

Yeah, you read that right.  It’s been a year since this all began.  In fact, ironically, the day I signed the paperwork was just one week shy of a year (almost to the day) since our initial break up.  I now have thirty days to move all of the crap I have accumulated over 11 years of marriage from the community property into a two-bedroom apartment.  Oy.

I technically obtained the apartment before actually signing the divorce settlement, but have yet to move in. I have found the prospect of moving daunting--certainly not because of lack of desire to move, but instead because there is just so much stuff.  In essence, just as my life has been thrown into chaos by this divorce, so too have my belongings.  I will readily admit that I am a collector and a clutter bug but as I survey my belongings and try to determine what is to be moved, I wonder, dear God…have I become a hoarder?!

Time to clean up my life (In more ways than one)!  How invigorating, how exciting, how…stressful. 

I tackle the papers first.  Because I haven’t felt comfortable using the office (hello, community space), I have taken to “filing” my necessary documents in my bedroom.  I have receipts, bills and check stubs in my nightstand (which, incidentally, is staying in the house) that must be sorted.  In my sewing room are magazine clippings, files and boxes filled with sentimental ephemera.  In the loft are further items that were just thrown in a box when we moved into this house.  Oh man, I haven’t even started working on the downstairs. 

Aaaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhhhh.

Shake it off, girl.  Shake it off.  It’s just stuff. 

Or so I keep telling myself. 

As I am sorting through all the junk, I find birthday, anniversary and Valentine’s Day cards from the ex.  Taking a moment to read them fills me with sadness.  The sentiments contained in these cards strike a chord in me…here, in my hands, is written proof that he loved me once, that there was meaning in our relationship.  In the last year, these sentiments have been so easily negated that it’s been hard to be sure.  Just as I begin to feel myself getting weepy, I find a letter amongst the cards, tucked in like some dirty little secret.

Now let me give you some background:  In the first year of my relationship with the ex (before marriage was even a thought), I was very gung-ho and goal oriented and decided to return to college to get my Fashion Design degree.  Upon learning that the ex could not articulate any goals for himself, I decided to break off the relationship.  We were separated for about a month, during which time I dated another person (which is a whole other debacle).  Toward the end of that month, the ex and I discussed trying to work things out.  He came to my house to find that I was not there.  In my absence, he left me the aforementioned letter. 

Back to the more present day and the finding of this letter….

Over the past year, I have often questioned myself on whether the cruelty and anger exhibited toward me could have been there all along.  I had so often thought of him as being a “good man” or “kind” or “decent” that it seemed impossible that he could ever say or do anything harsh or contrary to that.  Dealing with the idea that my relationship with him was not what I had thought has been something that I have discussed ad nauseum with my therapist (Don’t judge.  Therapy has helped.).

Finding this letter, however, brings with it a sobering reality.  I have always known that hurt and anger can make one do and/or say some awful things.  This letter is perhaps further proof of that.

As I reread the letter so many years later, I can still sense the blame and disappointment.  The tone and wording are so similar to many of the recent emails I’ve received that I have but one fleeting thought:  “I should have known.”

It is always easy to see clearly in retrospect, isn’t it?  As I continue to sort through the cards, I realize that they are representative of a now-closed chapter of my life.  I have no more use for them or the sentiments they contain.  The letter, though, the letter I might keep as a reminder to look deeper, to not be blinded by love, to know that ugliness does exist.

Or maybe I’ll just burn it as a sublime release from the unrecognized shackles of the past. 

Ah yes, much better.  Here’s to my new lease on life—once I get all of my crap moved into my apartment.  Ha ha.

Halloween for One

So getting divorced brings with it all sorts of realizations.  Oh man, I need health insurance…and auto insurance…and to pay rent…and my own Costco Account…and someone to pick me up from the car repair shop…and… Blah blah blah.

The one thing that has been causing me to panic this October, however, has nothing to do with any of these “details”.  Instead, the very thing striking fear into my very soul is…WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR FOR HALLOWEEN?

You’ve got to understand:  Halloween is my favorite holiday.  I mean, seriously, it’s like what Christmas is to most people.  I love the spooky decorations, the costumes, the candy, the pumpkin patches, the haunted houses, the cobwebs I don’t have to clean....  When Starbucks brings back their Pumpkin Spice Lattes for the fall, I want to weep from the sheer joy that Halloween is almost here (Oh, OK, and they are damn good!).  I could probably live in Halloween Town for most of the year and be just fine with it.

So what’s the problem?

This year marks the first October in several years that I have been invited (on my own) to an adults-only Halloween party.  Not having even had a solo Halloween in over 15 years, it sounds silly, but the whole thing has caused me great angst.

Let me explain:  Ever since the beginning of the relationship with the ex, I have found a special (and somewhat sick) joy in creating themed Halloween costumes.  When our daughter was born the paired costumes increased to being “trio” costumes.  We’ve dressed up as characters from Beetlejuice, Robin Hood, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Star Wars, The Wizard of Oz, Toy Story, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast…I can think of only a couple of times when our costumes weren’t themed during our relationship.  And now I have to come up with a costume that works for just one person?  AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHH!

The good news is my daughter has already decided that she wants to go Trick-or-Treating as Cinderella. OK, so that one’s easy.  I will therefore dress to match as the Fairy Godmother.  This is hardly appropriate attire for an adults-only party, however. 

Not really the type to dress slutty (sexy yes, slutty never), I really want to be something that would be fun and appropriate for a party filled with amazing, creative people.  I want it to have a sense of whimsy, sexiness and sass while representing my current state of mind.  The costume should still be a nod to my newfound sense of self and, as always, be tongue in cheek.  That is a lot of pressure for the newly emancipated person's costume.

After much thought (and a chance discussion with the awesome receptionist at my therapist’s office), though, I have finally found the answer to my Halloween conundrum.  The perfect costume for October 2011:  I am going to be a Black Widow. 

Bahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaa.  

Yours, Mine and No Longer Ours

In a recent blog entry I discussed the difficulty of living under the same roof as the ex. I’ve since discovered something almost as, if not more, emotionally stressful: preparing for the move out.

I have often been asked why I feel I am the one who needs to move.  Most of my friends and family are of the thinking that I should keep the house while the ex should have moved out many months ago.  My answer is very simple, however.  I don’t want the house. 

To me, the house (a customized home in a new housing development) represents the promise that we were building something together.  A future home for our daughter, a shared life, a permanent entity…and a f*cking every day reminder of the failure of the marriage.

Ignoring the fact that I couldn’t afford to keep the house if I’d wanted to, there really is no reason to stay in the house.  Just as I cannot live within the confines of a loveless marriage, I will not live in a soulless house.  At this point it is merely a place to store my stuff.  Pretty damned expensive storage unit if you ask me.

So, as part of the divorce settlement, it became necessary to get rid of it.  Like so many people in these economic hard times the ex and I are attempting to short sale the house (do not get me started on what a joy that process is), but in the meantime there is the dreaded “Property Division” on which to concentrate.

In an effort to stay out of court and thereby causing more turmoil in an already tumultuous situation, the ex and I agreed to divide the property ourselves and to submit our decisions to the lawyers.  I was hoping to merely create lists of what we each desired and see what negotiation would be needed, but the ex insisted on meeting for lunch to discuss the division of property in person.  Already at the point that I found it uncomfortable to even be in the same room with him for more than five minutes, this seemed like a new form of torture:  Eye gouging, fingernail pulling, root canal, lunch with the ex, yup, yup, yup.  Maintaining an indifferent front was particularly difficult when he pulled out, not his list, but instead POST-ITS (on which he had written different pieces of property), all with the idea that we would discuss and divide up the Post-Its onto papers labeled with “Donate”, “Discuss” and each of our names.  Oh god.

Seeing my life divided that way, like none of it meant anything, pretty much sent me into a sobbing tizzy.  What was hardest was that he wanted to get rid of all his family heirlooms, but fight over the flat screen TV.  Yes, I know it is just stuff, but our daughter is our legacy and now she wouldn’t even have the things that meant something once.  That stuff began to represent everything that had gone wrong with the marriage and how easily discarded and replaceable it had all become.

The ex and I left that meeting with the determination that the rest of the items not already discussed would be sorted and added to the individual lists.  After that meeting he then proceeded to go through the house (again with the f*cking Post-Its) and label everything with our individual names.

I guess I should consider myself lucky he didn’t systematically piss all over everything in an effort to mark his territory (although it certainly felt that way).  The sight of all of those Post-Its attached to our property depressed the hell out of me.  I asked to have the house to myself for a few days to complete my review of his pissings…I mean, Post-Its.  I wanted to mourn the loss of the life I thought I’d had. Yours, mine and no longer ours, indeed.

For some reason, this appeared difficult for him to understand.  But then everything had become difficult to understand it seemed.  Too much anger, too much distrust, too much disrespect, too much blame, too many malignant perceptions…sigh. Oh, funny girl, to think this division of property, marriage and life could be done amicably.

After a couple of weeks of terse emails back and forth (including 3 drafts of the “lists” in 5 days from the ex), I reached my boiling point. I will readily admit that I have a temper, but it takes a lot to push me over the edge.  Within what is almost a year of whiny, petulant bullsh*t, I had already discovered that I despised the person he’d become.  Worse, I did not like the person I was becoming.  I’d always prided myself on being independent and strong, yet here I was wholly dependent financially and emotionally on someone else.  I had given him the power to cause such great upset with just a few words.  When he sent me an email that I felt negated our entire 11 year marriage (and 15 year relationship), I just…snapped.

It doesn’t matter now what was said in the email (although God knows I’d LOVE to post it here), but I found it just, well, MEAN.  I had already been questioning our entire past relationship and myself  (something therapists say is perfectly normal during a divorce), but when I read that email I questioned how he could not recognize his own cruelty and alleged lack of responsibility in our downfall?  How was it so supposedly easy for him to negate our past life and love together?  I know the answers to those questions (and the fact that I am fully aware now of what I could have done better in our past relationship) are of no consequence at this point.  It simply seems like the more I fight to be civil now (how’s that for a contrast of ideas?  Lol.), the more I must defend against in terms of angry words and spiteful behavior. 

Ultimately, I just got tired of forced civility, I guess.  When I say I snapped, I mean that in the most basic sense:  Screaming, cursing, door slamming, shoving…and oh yes, the police were called (although really how much harm could a 5’2” person do to someone 13” taller than herself?).  I am not proud of my behavior, but I felt that my requests for proper treatment and respect of my boundaries have been blatantly and consistently ignored.  I have felt berated, belittled, disrespected, blamed and underestimated throughout this entire divorce proceeding.  Enough was enough. 

The good news is, however, the altercation brought with it a lot of clarity and finality. He has repeatedly called me a victim, but that is only in his twisted little psychodrama version.  Instead, I would rather believe that I am a survivor in my own story, working to regain my sense of self and life, both for myself and for my daughter.  Every day brings with it another step away from my current existence.  I need to just keep moving forward, making strides to heal, to live and to, hopefully, love again.

Watch for your invite to my “Thank God I’m Free” Party coming soon!  Lol.

Brevity Is the Soul of Wit

Every year the Reno News and Review hosts a 95-word fiction contest for which RNR readers are asked to submit a short story written in exactly 95 words (no more, no less).  This is obviously a unique challenge for someone with the gift of gab.  So I wrote two.  Lol.

Below are my entries into the contest for 2011.  Although neither of these were published, I am proud of them, nonetheless.  Please keep in mind that these are FICTION.  Any similarities to real persons or events is completely unintentional.  Maybe.  ;)

Hope you enjoy them.  

MKC

***

BEGINNING OF THE END

With great trepidation Melissa wondered whether she should open the email address she was never meant to see.  He’d hidden the account from her…just not well enough.  She got the password on the first try.  With a determined intake of breath, she clicked on the Inbox.  Nothing.  Opening the “Sent To” folder, there it was:  the end of her marriage.

Searing anger, pounding heart, shallow breathing, disappointment…this must be what betrayal feels like.  She thought fleetingly of the gun in her handbag.  It was then she understood how crimes of passion are committed.

CHOCOLATE CRAVINGS

When they’d first met, she never thought it’d get to this point.  Jimmy was fifteen years her junior, attractive and well, a musician, for Christ’s sake.  But now, seeing his mocha-colored arm draped over her bare breasts, it just felt… right.  Her fingers traced his military tattoo, the only sign of a more regimented past.

“Jimmy, I need to tell you…”

He gazed at her quizzically with his… were they green?... eyes.

“…I’m married.”

He grinned mischievously.  Perfect teeth. 

“I know.”

He apparently didn’t care.  Strangely, neither did she.  This had been a great birthday.

****

To read the winning entries, please visit the RNR website at:  http://www.newsreview.com/reno/95/content?oid=3703514

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let Down Your Hair! (or: You Call This Living?)

So, here it is, already September and I find myself thinking more and more about my current living situation.  Hardly ideal, I am working to make the best of it, even though every day it grates on my soul, my patience, my wellbeing…

What’s the big deal, you ask?  Really, what could be so bad?  Let’s just put it simply, shall we?  Just one seemingly innocuous phrase to sum it all up:

(Cue melodramatic music here.)

I am living in the same house as my ex. 

While I understand that many couples find themselves in the same situation after a breakup (mostly due to financial necessity) and that there are some lucky couples who actually seem to make this work, folks, I do not recommend this.  Yeah, yeah, I know it is not like I am living with drug dealers/addicts or members of the mob (hello, I have seen Trainspotting and The Sopranos), but how this even happened is a source of constant frustration—mostly because it is a situation from which I cannot easily escape.

When the ex and I first started going through what I call the “beginning of the end”, I asked him to leave.  He stayed in various hotels, changing locations each week or every few days in an effort to get the best deals on cost.  He never stayed with friends, allegedly because he didn’t have any (his declaration, not mine).  After two months of this, he asked if he could move back in, claiming that it was too expensive to pay all of the bills (which he did because of a much higher income) and to live in hotels.  Additionally, we were supposed to start therapy soon.  Apparently he’d heard that couples trying to work through relationship challenges should be living in the same house. 

What a crock of shit.

Against my better judgment I complied, allowing him to move into the downstairs bedroom.  I would live upstairs…like Rapunzel trapped in the tower.  Without the long hair.

Unfortunately, living in the same house did not really lead to working anything out.  Therapy was futile (as it generally is when one person clearly doesn’t want to be there).  We tried dating (another futile attempt).  We attempted “amicable” communication (even less successful).  It was too difficult to find resolution for the sins of the past, the betrayal I felt, the negative perceptions…and how could I?  How could I ignore that not once did I feel like the attempts we were making were in any way motivated by a desire to be together.  He allegedly wanted to keep the family unit in tact, sure, but to really truly work on this relationship?  Hmmmmm.  Not as clear.  I felt I was being held at arms’ length and expected to work on my issues, but not receiving any sort of confirmation that there was a good reason for it. 

I began to feel that divorce was the only option well before our mutual decision to get one.  Darn my stubbornness, but I won’t live in a loveless marriage—not with the wellbeing of both my daughter and I at stake.  Honestly, what sort of example would that set for her?  “It’s OK, honey, be a strong, independent woman…just don’t expect your husband to love you.” 

But I digress.

Unable to afford my own place (both due to the decision to be a stay-at-home mom and therefore only working part time for the past 5 years and for stupidly not realizing the need for my own savings account), I have, at this writing, “lived” with this arrangement for over 8 months.  While our lawyers continue to negotiate the terms of our divorce, we barely speak to each other—save for the occasional terse email.  Ever in a constant state of agitation from not knowing when it is "safe" to be at the house, I hold on to the hope that I will soon be the only key holder in my own domain.

And on that day I will have climbed out of my tower and I am throwing a freakin’ party.  Oh, and my daughter has asked if we can get a cat.  Freeeeeeeeeeedddddooooommmmmm!

Love Sucks: the Playlist

I've been reading a great book called Talking to Girls About Duran Duran:  One Young Man's Quest for True Love and a Cooler Haircut in which the author, Rob Sheffield, chronicles his life in relation to the music of his youth.  I have decided to therefore create a series of music-related blogs about my life's journey through love, loss and lust. 

Below is the first entry in that series.

  

Just a note about formatting:  With each song you may notice some notes in italics.  Generally just one or two words, these are my first impressions of the songs and a clue about what they mean to me.  Sometimes I go into greater detail.  Sometimes I don’t.  Blogger’s perogative.  Lol. 

 ********

Love Stinks  (J. Geils Band)

The Title Song

Whenever I hear this song, I think of Adam Sandler singing this in The Wedding Singer after his breakup with his fiancé.  I love his friends’ reactions to his meltdown.  Of course, I prefer my friends’ reactions:  Upon learning that my marriage was dissolving, my friends invited me into their home and plied me with cider, rum and Rock Band.  Release the Kraken!

Incidentally, I also had an audition that following Monday.  It was the most real and raw audition I’ve ever had.  I don’t think I could replicate that performance if I tried. I think I scared the casting directors.  Lol.

Smack My Bitch Up  (The Prodigy)

Blindsided

Meant to be played at maximum volume…or what I call “Full Anger Levels”.

Tore My Heart   (Oona)    

The WTF?

Chronicling the dichotomy of a breakup, Oona sings of heartache, loss, revenge, anger, remorse and longing.  I first heard this song on So You Think You Can Dance, not knowing the song would later be so appropriate in my life.  The dance (choreographed by the brilliant Sonya Tayeh) was dark, heart wrenching, and again eerily appropriate. 

Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)  (Nancy Sinatra)

The Assassination

You know that scene in Kill Bill (after bullets have hailed down on the wedding party) when we see a closeup of the Bride trying to reason with her would-be assassin before he puts a bullet in her brain?

Yeah, like that.

Helpless    (Oingo Boingo)

The Confusion

What descension into chaos would be complete without a song from Oingo Boingo?   So much confusion, so much loss…Pay special attention to my favorite line about the convicts.

      

A Pain That I'm Used To   (Depeche Mode)

The Denial

I used to relate this song to my old job as an Accessories Designer.  Dealing with the day-to-day grind, not sure if there were better jobs out there for someone with my relative inexperience, just feeling like no matter how hard I worked I would never get the appreciation I felt I was capable of getting…

Easy to see how those same feelings could relate to a broken relationship, isn’t it?  From the jarring first “noise”, this song still gets me.  I swear Dave Gahan lives in my brain sometimes.  Poor guy.

       

We Can Work It Out   (The Beatles)

The Hope

Although ultimately futile, there was still that glimmer of hope.  I wanted so much to do whatever it took to fix the failings of the relationship.  I should have known better when the marital counselor told me (on two separate occasions) to seek legal counsel. 

Hot N' Cold  (Katy Perry)

The Torment

What, did you think all songs about torment would be dreary? 

Ultimately, it was the quicksilver emotional back and forth that provided a reason for continued failings—and my impatience to deal with them.  Constantly held at arm’s length, but being encouraged to work harder on the relationship…I guess it was not unlike that old chestnut, “I love you, but I am not in love with you.”  Who can work with that?

Terrible Things   (April Smith and the Great Picture Show)

The Blame

I know of no one capable of living a “pristine” life.  I certainly haven’t.  Just don’t judge me for it.

Middle Distance Runner   (Sea Wolf)

The Failing

I once heard a radio program in which a therapist was talking about the steps to get (and maintain) love.  One of the steps was to love a “complete” person.  When we love someone with a passion (i.e. hobbies or goals) and a secure sense of self, we are able to complement that person more fully, not merely complete them.  Hmmmmmmm.

Heavy in Your Arms    (Florence & The Machine)

The Perception

Perception is a funny thing.

My mother said something to me during one of our many conversations about the divorce, “Well, what did you expect would come from being in the driver’s seat?”  I didn’t think I had been.  I certainly hadn’t tried to be. 

Interesting how being a source of strength can seem like a weight to the other person, isn’t it?

White Blank Page  (Mumford and Sons)

The Question

Sometimes we just do the best we can. 

Grenade  (Bruno Mars)

The Castoff

Give a little.  Get a little.  Give a lot…get taken for a ride?  Explain to me where that one is written. 

That's What I Get  (Nine Inch Nails)

The Bitter Pill of Realization

Sigh.  Oh it just gets better.  

****

There.  Just a little teaser.  Stay tuned for the next installation of music, when our intrepid heroine explores the reasons/symptoms of her marriage's demise.  Some fun now.  Wheeeeeeeeee.  

LOL.

Feel free to add suggestions to my playlist.  I love finding new music to purchase. ;)  And, if I'm lucky, maybe I’ll even get to hear your stories about those songs.

Until next time....

MKC

Disappointment and the Divorcee

I vaguely remember a critic once chastised Alanis Morrissette’s song “Ironic" for being not about various ironies, but instead about a series of “bummers”.  This makes me contemplate on whether life, like the song, is also just a series of disappointments?

Ever the optimist, I try not to see life that way.  Sometimes, though, I find myself in situations (or surrounded by them) that make it more and more difficult to find the “sunny side of the street”.  I call that difficulty “adding to my shit pile”. 

Over the past year, I have definitely added to my shit pile in ways I’d never thought possible.  One of the few comforts is that I find that I am not alone (Yay for group disappointment!  Lol.).  So many of my friends are going through similar situations that, as a result, I’ve adopted a very “It is what it is” mentality.  Sometimes it is so impossible to control the events in one’s life that one has to learn to succumb to them, to go with the flow…and perhaps to even accept that things are happening for a reason (even if we can’t yet determine what those reasons are). 

I’ve recently come to the conclusion that the most devastating disappointments are the ones that are typically emotional in nature.  Sure, there are the “daily” ones (not getting a job/promotion one deserves, getting poor service/food at a favorite restaurant, discovering that one’s favorite jeans are too tight…), but the ones we feel the most, well, disappointed by are the ones that grab us by the heart and squeeze without mercy.

Here are just a few of my “favorite” emotional disappointments.  While I cannot take credit for living through all of these, they are appropriate nonetheless: 

• Putting oneself out there and never getting the “morning after” call/email/text.
• Discovering an intriguing connection fraught with possibility only to have that person move away.
• Meeting someone only to find out that he’s a fraud…or worse, a chickenshit.
• Engaging in a night of (casual) passion with an amazing guy and getting a “souvenir” for the effort.
• Realizing that upon committing to someone, he has a small…heart.  Or mind.
• Marrying the seemingly perfect man and discovering he has another life (i.e. a girlfriend).
• Deciding to get a divorce.

And so we finally come to the entire point of this blog entry…

By and large, the most extreme disappointment I have felt this year comes with the decision to get a divorce.  Not only because my 11 year marriage is ending, but because I cannot wait for it to be over.  

How did I get to this point?  How is it that someone whom I have known for over half of my life could suddenly become a stranger to me?  How could I have loved him so much (I thought) when now all I want to do is punch him in the throat?  Lies have been told, perceptions have been warped, betrayals have been discovered…there is no fixing this one, folks.  No amount of therapy or wishing can change that.

And yet, it is what it is.  

While not completely blameless in the dissolution of my marriage, there were clearly forces at work that were beyond my control.  Blindsided, tossed aside, powerless to change the past, unsure how to change the future…there were so many days I wanted to withdraw, to stay in bed all day, to shut down…anything to avoid the tirade of suck that my life had seemingly become.

But I am not that person.  I am a survivor, a doer, the one who keeps her head when all rest of the world is losing theirs.  Damn it.

So I pulled myself out of bed everyday, forcing myself to keep moving, keep focusing, keep working to just hold my shit together.  I have tried to keep my personal life protected from all but the select few, choosing not to blast it all over the internet, community, local television stations.... 

That is not to say life has been perfect.  Of course there have been cracks in the veneer through which my stress became increasingly apparent:  Missed deadlines, lack of interest, mood swings, difficulty with impulse control…yup, classic cases of depression and anxiety.

And yet, surprisingly, I am finding that people still like me.  Heck, maybe they even like me better.  Lol.  I have learned who my friends are…and truthfully, were it not for them (and oh, OK, the occasional night filled with copious amounts of alcohol), I could never have gotten this far so quickly.  I certainly don’t think I could have even written about this phase of my life without dissolving into a quivering mass on the floor, wailing and sobbing like a crazy person.  Thank you, my friends, for helping to renew my faith in love, life and myself.

So what now?  Well, I guess just to continue to get back to the person I’ve always been, to experience life fully and to teach my daughter to do the same, to heal, to hope, to laugh…to date…

Oh, god, now that sounds like another adventure about which to be blogged. 

So until next time…

Thanks for reading!

Why the Bleep Would I Read Your Blog???

So you've read blogs before.  Many probably.  What will make you want to read mine?  Is it not just another self-serving attempt to hear myself chatter?  Perhaps.  But perhaps you will be intrigued.  Maybe even amused.  Or touched.  Or learn something new.  Or....

It is my hope that you will read my blog because I am putting myself out there into cyberspace in order to say what I need to say.  Some of it may actually strike a chord with you.  Some of it may be something you want to share with your friends.  Or some of it may be total crap.

Whatever you feel about it, just know that I am writing it for me.  I find myself at a crossroads in my life...many changes coming, all of which are filled with new beginnings...and new fodder for a blog.  While I hope to find an audience, some of this stuff is just something I have to get out of my brain--hopefully in a manner that is well written, interesting and accessible.

Thanks so much for joining me on my journey.

MKC

PS  Please note:  I have tagged this blog as containing adult content.  While you will NOT find any nude photos,  I like to speak frankly and occasionally have a foul mouth.  This may not be appropriate for the faint of heart and young of mind.  Just sayin'.