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Welcome to the Other 50%. Yup. The divorced half. That’s me. Well, almost. After a valiant, but not so successful attempt to save my marriage, I packed up and left.
Sorta.*
With The Kid.
Hunkered down at my parent’s house** for a few weeks while I map the rest of my life, I’ve had an awful lot of time to hide in my room and think.
WTF have I done?
The right thing. I know that. Except when I don’t. But most of the time, I know that the best thing for me is to move on. It’s the best thing for my husband too. Although not so sure that 50% has bought in yet.
The Kid? Well, he thinks he’s Spider-Man.
Now what?
After 10 years with the same dude, I find the process of dating interesting in the same way I find the process of making your own mayonnaise interesting. Fun to do the first few times, put it on Facebook, LOL...But seriously?
I do know I’m I’m super freaking lucky to have friends who will keep my head out of the oven and my glass half-full.
Dr. Phil?
If you’re in the Inner Circle (which is technically more of a straight line, but, whatevs) I’m a flipper-outer.
I’m soo not flipping out about all the logistics of the split. Not consumed with money, single parentdom or lawn care. I’m 42. I’ll figure it out. The scary part is finding what I really left for. The relationship I’ve always wanted, but never got around to having. The love of my life. That person you meet and just know, this is it. Where every day is just like when Bobby Brady kisses Millicent. And, no, I’ve not just taken a bunch of X. I really think that can happen.
At 42.
Think about it. Most people get married in their late 20’s. Are you the person you were at 27? With a mommy gut and Caesarian scar, National Geographic boobs, bifocals and a brand-new zip code for your ass? Heck, even the MILFY-est among us suffer from the aforementioned. And socially? Foghettaboutit. When I was 27, it was all work and play. Now, a night out with the Hens is a bi-annual event and half of us pass out at 10 and the other half are likely being mocked by the 20-somethings because we actually know the words to that Taylor Swift song the DJ is playing ironically. And odds are pretty good that someone will need to duck into the bathroom with her breast pump before the night is over. Hot!
So, with all the doors (and windows) wide open to my new life, I’m left to drill down to what really matters. I’m hoping to find a shockingly mature and wise version of me who still likes a good time, but wants to live life the way it was meant to be, in America at least...
Clean, simple, easy.
Happy.
* Must get “my” crap out of “his” house.
**Not recommended when suffering major midlife crisis and/or chronic existential angst.