Round and round

So I've shared with one of the social workers here about the recent details of my life, Re: fun with fertility. I mean, what better way to get some free therapy, right? Actually we'd been discussing something else and then out of the blue she asked if everything was okay with me, which took me aback. Here I've been so proud of how well I've held my shit together and faked it til I maked it in front of co-workers, not revealing anything about the hormonal roller coaster I've been riding without interruption for six months. UP and down, UP and down, and I'm tired and dizzy and feel like I could spray vom down the front of my shirt at any moment.

She said, "I don't mean to pry, but it seems like you have a lot on your mind lately and I just wanted to make sure everything is okay at home." Which is technically prying, but okay. I've been feeling beat down with this thing and when she said that, I took it as my cue to turn into a snotting, sob-heaving mess right there in her office for a little while. Later, like the next time I'm having trouble sleeping, I'll probably rehash it all in my mind how I shouldn't have gotten so personal and be regretful and embarrassed about coming unglued in front of her and all that but right now I feel sort of relieved.

Well, except for one thing she said. Which was: "Kim, if you want to be a mother, you will be, somehow. We may not know exactly how yet, but you will do this. And you'll be a great one. That's what I can tell you." And gave me a hug, which I repaid by leaving a large snot stain on her shirt.

But I didn't pursue that line of talk, which I took to mean what several other people have suggested as well - adoption. That is something that he and I have discussed only in the abstract and never very enthusiastically. I'm not saying I'm against it; in fact ever since the last IUI, I've been thinking maybe I need to start talking to some of the adoption people who I conveniently work with every day and at least try to find out some answers to all the scary, overwhelming questions I have about even how to start the process.

That's when most people get pregnant, right - when the adoption ball has started rolling? Yeah, another platitude I've heard many, MANY times over the years. It doesn't help. I know people mean well when they say it, but when all your energy is going to keep thoughts like, I WILL NEVER GET PREGNANT, I WILL NEVER BE A MOTHER, I DON'T DESERVE IT ANYWAY at bay, trust me - it doesn't help.

I made Brian promise me after we started this that I would become a mother. He may have just been trying to get me to stop standing in the doorway of the computer room being psycho so he could go back to his poker game, but no; he has been a super trooper through this shit and he does keep his promises to me, so...there's that. But if that does have to mean adoption, that brings a whole new and different slew of issues. Like how important his ancestry is to him. How he laughs fondly over how much his nephew looks exactly like his brother. How that male proclivity to reproduce to keep the family bloodline going seems so fucking embedded in him. Not that I'm just accusing him of those feelings; obviously part of my desire to become a mother is of course to have my husband's child; made up of him and me, old school style. I'd say that's pretty obvious, but I still felt the need to clarify, just in case there were any doubts.

I feel like to even talk about it with him is the first step in depriving him of something really important. And at this point he'd just say I'm jumping the gun, that this process hasn't failed yet so why am I already giving up. I can clearly hear him say it. But this is how my mind works and I know myself too. When I find out next week that this has failed again, (I'm allowed to test Monday, but I'm QUITE SURE I'll start bleeding sometime around then, just like fucking clockwork, just like every other fucking month)I need to know how to proceed and quickly move onto the next plan. Because I'm afraid of where my mind might go otherwise.

Kodak moment

Keep in mind I got his permission before ever dreaming of putting up a picture like this for all the world to see. Just keep that in mind.

The other day we were going through some old pictures at his parents' house, something we both enjoy tremendously. I especially have a good time when gems like this turn up:


I have a few things to say about this. My husband is an attractive person. At least I think so. He's never had a problem with the ladies and that goes way back, including the time this picture was taken. In fact, this may be PEAK time for him and getting the ladies (I use "ladies" loosely of course). Once the hair grew all the way out, it was amazing. It was what I first noticed about him. It was the reason he never had to put forth much effort with the ladies! But. Had I met him during this time, I don't think it would've ever gone any farther than a glance. I mean, not to be rude, but look at those shorts. The tat. And Sweet Jesus, that hair. After I stopped laughing long enough to breathe, I told him he looked like the kind of person who is required by law to register themselves with the authorities when they move into a new neighborhood. Right? And by the way, it's not visible, but the other tattoo he had at the time was just two words: "Motley Crue." I did NOT have permission to share that, but I like living dangerously. In the bottom picture you can't see it either, because once he came to his senses (and turned 17), he had it covered up with this one that's visible.

Just to redeem myself (and him), here he is as he appears today:


Stay tuned for tomorrow when I either have to post a picture of myself from the 80's or else announce he's divorcing me.

First rule of fight club

Anyone who's been in an intimate relationship knows that every once in awhile there's going to be an altercation. If you live in the south, you might know it as a "fuss," a "flap," a "scrap," or a "ruckus." Whatever you want to call it, we had one last night and oh mama, it was a doozy.

Keep in mind I wasn't having the best day by any means anyway. Heh, I'm already getting defensive and no one's even said anything yet. That's funny. But seriously - shit day. He'd called shortly before I left work to let me know he might be a little late getting home, as his uncle and cousin got stuck out in the woods while turkey hunting and he was going to help them get out.

Jesus, if that's not the most redneck sentence I've ever written in my life.

But that was fine; I went home and to calm down I took a brisk walk, then started gathering up sticks in the yard for the fire I was so looking forward to having later on. I'd just started seeing the glimmer of a good mood begin when Crazy (my mom) called. Oh hell, here we go. She'd sent me a book in the mail, so I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to talk to her, but I was figuring on waiting another few days. For the next twenty-six minutes I listened to her passive-aggressively bitch about everything that had gone on since the last time we'd talked. I should've known better than to ask about my niece's birthday party - you'd think I'd have learned by now not to venture any deeper than the most surface of topics. Thank God Johnann called which effectively got me off the hook. Gotta go, Mom; I'll call you in a couple of days. And by days I mean weeks. Johnann's timing couldn't have been any better, and venting to her everything Crazy had just said brought my blood pressure back down to a safe level.

While I was on the phone with her, I prepared a fabulous broccoli casserole I thought would go great with the steaks we were marinating for dinner. When all else is sucky, food does wonders to cheer me. And if I do say so myself, this was the best broc casserole I'd ever produced. Not that it mattered.

He didn't get home until after 11:00.
He wasn't exactly drunk per se, but if a cop had pulled him over, he'd probably be in some trouble right now.
To say I was not pleased is to not give me the credit my ballistic nature deserves.

He came in, smiled at me and gleefully walked to the kitchen, saying Dinner smells great! He either didn't see or ignored my glowering in his direction and proceeded to get himself some broccoli, not noticing (or should I say caring) there was no steak to go with it because cooking the steak was supposed to have been his job. It's not like I'd even asked; he had offered. When his super Spidey senses finally picked up on the fact I was PISSED OFF, his entire face changed and he realized as Britney used to say, Oops I did it again.

But let's get this out of the way. He's by no means a bad guy. This isn't something that happens very often. In fact it's been so long since it has happened, I think it caught me by surprise. In my head, yes we're both stressed the hell out and sort of on edge, but in a weird way it's brought us closer together. I don't expect never to fight; in fact if that happened again it would scare the hell out of me, because we didn't fight for a long time right before our marriage imploded - because we weren't giving the relationship enough time or energy to fight. Scary. So yes - every so often, at least with us, there is going to be a blow-out. Excuse me, a squabble. Whatever! I guess I was just disappointed it had to be on the night of a poop-ridden day when I'd tried to make it a nice night. Tried and FAILED LIKE A BITCH!

When we fight, I'm the yeller. I'm the thrower of things and the caller of names. I'm not proud of this, I'm just admitting it. He rarely raises his voice and the only time he's ever called me a name is admittedly when I had just thrown so many obscenity-laced words his way, it would've been weird if he hadn't. I hate getting to the point where you say shit that causes you to cringe the next day after you've had time to calm down. I wish there was a way to check myself (before I wreck myself) in the moment so that I could control that a little better. It's fine to try and work on it, but in the moment all rationale goes right out the window for me.

But I'm not one of those wives who will ever bring the pillow and blanket out and throw it on the couch for him. No. I will always be the one to abandon the bed. Not that it's happened very often either; I'm pretty sure this is only the second or third time ever, but there's no way I'm sleeping in the same bed when I'm that pissed off, because it never fails that we'll wake up cuddled up. And OH HELLS NO, that was not going to happen last night. Besides, as shitty as our mattress is, the real punishment is for the person sleeping in the bed. Me and the doggie were perfectly fine on the futon in my closet room, though it would've been nicer had I thought to turn on the heat since we froze all night.

Today he called twice before I picked up my phone to talk. He told me he felt bad about everything but the worst thing was that I'm pretty much the only thing he's happy about right now, that I'm his biggest source of comfort and support and the fact he did something to upset me that much made him feel like shit. I know he means it. And that was the exact right thing for him to say to me so that I was able to let go of the last little piece of anger I'd been stubbornly clinging to. It also allowed him to tell me this piece of news: it's snowing in Atlanta right now.

AND DAMMIT, THAT MAKES ME ANGRY ALL OVER AGAIN!
Just kidding. Today, despite getting some very upsetting news about a dog I'm almost related to (can't talk about that now), I'm doing good.
And really, that's all I ever want to be.

To be continued

I guess this is the reason most people in my position would probably keep to themselves all these details in the process of trying to get pregnant. When the test came up negative this morning, the first thing I thought of was having to break the news to almost thirty people via email or text or phone call (Johnann is the only one I'd feel comfortable enough to call at 4:55 a.m. because I knew she'd been awake for an hour already, even though Heather was awesome enough to offer as well - I didn't want the first time we spoke to be this). But, that's me and it always has been. Whatever I have going on, good or bad, big or small, odds are a few people probably know about it. Which is why blogging is so great; I get to tell total strangers all my personal business!

Anyway. Negative test. And really I think the most upsetting part for me was Brian. When I went to bed last night sometime around 1:00, he was sitting on the couch watching TV. When I got up at 4:45, he was in the exact same spot. I've seen him do this a couple of times and I knew it was because he was too excited to sleep. He had that crazy look in his eye. So when I had to break the result to him I felt like I was letting him down, which has been a common theme with the whole not getting pregnant thing. I know he wants it as badly as I do and if this makes any sense, I want him to be a father as much as I want to be a mother. But as usual, he reacted by being completely positive and upbeat and said all the right things to make me feel better. And I was reminded again how lucky I am to have such a kind person who loves me. Even the doggie got in on the action, leaning in on me and crawling in my lap. He doesn't like to see Momma upset.

Not that I want to prolong the agony of waiting again, but I'm pretty sure when I call the doctor today, they're going to tell me to wait a couple of days and take another test. My period isn't due until Tuesday, so this is still considered early, the test is supposedly only 50-something percent accurate today and blah blah blah. Should the next test show the same result, we then make the decision to start the process all over again, which is most likely what's going to happen. For someone like me, this is an extreme test in patience. But the way I'm choosing to deal with it is to still feel lucky. This isn't the end as Brian said, and he's right. This only means when it does happen I'm going to be able to appreciate it that much more.

*Burp*

Oh, excuse me.
My stomach feels weird; kind of like I've been invaded by 112 million sperm.
WHAT THE HELL!
I mean, Brian's pretty pleased with himself since the doctor told us TEN million is a good "normal" count, but I'm a little freaked out by that number. That's a lot of swimmers! My favorite text of the day was from my friend Kristen who just wrote, "Swim little bitches, swim!" (Insert Finding Nemo song here; I just can't remember it right now). Luckily I only have the two little Lolly and Ollie Follies, so I don't have to worry about becoming a freak of nature (moreso than I already am) and giving birth to a continent. Brian's take on the whole thing was, "Damn, all I have to do is jerk off a few more times and I could populate New York City." Disturbing.

Other than that, everything is cool. His mom came with us and when he got called in for his date with his hand (this has to happen first, obviously) his mom said to me, "I didn't know what to say to him; should I have wished him good luck?" That was cute. But I told her it was probably for the best she didn't say anything to him. And lucky for him, this time materials were provided to help things along. In the Columbia office, they were not and I thought that was a rip-off for how much money we're paying. You can't invest some of that into a small but effective magazine collection? This place even had a widescreen TV and dvd's available! But Brian said all he could picture was turning the TV on, putting the dvd in and the volume being up really loud, allowing the whole office, including his mother, to hear. He just kept it simple and stuck (haha, ewww!) to the magazines.

My part of the procedure took less than five minutes - insert sperm, tilt pelvis up for fifteen minutes, get dressed and go. As the doctor was finishing up, he said, "Congratulations; you're pregnant," which I know was just some positive vibe thing and I appreciated it, but yes it will be a full two weeks (from tomorrow) before I'll know for sure. I'm not going to cheat either. Getting a false result on something like this would not be fun. Remind me I said this in about a week.

An unpleasant surprise was when Nurse Monique (who Brian thought was hot and I think looks exactly like our friend Shari - yes, hot) went over the instructions with us and told me ix-nay the caffene. For a few weeks, anyway. God-dang-it, because I haven't given up everything else already!?! But yes - I'm going to the store and I'm going to experiement with decaf and flavored creamers on the advice of coffee guru Johnann. I think her theory of disguising the taste (or lack thereof) with the creamer and sugar (I'm NOT giving up the sugar) (Unless they tell me to), I'll be okay with it. Preparing now for major headache tomorrow morning when my body realizes it missed it's morning dose of go-go juice.

In the meantime, Hot Nurse told me to take it easy the rest of today and that intercourse tonight could only help things along. Noted and will take under advisement.

But how many more millions do we actually need, really?

Thank you guys again for giving a fart. You make me feel all mushy and stuff. Then again that could be the leftover lube. But still. I love you all.

Kim Van Winkle

That's Brian preparing my intravenous drug injection with grade A black tar heroin. At least I'm guessing that's what it was, because after he injected me (heh, that's what she said - sorry, it's unavoidable) at about 5:30pm, things get a little hazy. Here's a timeline:

5:30 - I lay on the couch, he nervously asks if I'm ready, the dog stands close by in case he has to protect Mama.

5:32 - I pull my shirt slightly up and he gives me the shot in the fat roll of my lower belly, which finally makes it useful for something. I feel no pain whatsoever and ask him if he's doing it right (This happens a lot. Just kidding). Five seconds later, it's done.

5:35 - I ask if I have to lie there for a few minutes and he checks the instructions. No, I can get up.

5:40 - I text Sister: "Brian just shot me up like a junkie pro!"

5:45 - I call Johnann to tell her how painless and easy it was.

6:00 - I abruptly get off the phone with Johnann because I'm about to burp, puke, poop or all three. I won't get graphic; let's just say I didn't puke.

6:15 - Sister calls to see how everything is. I walk around outside while on the phone to get cool air because I still feel vomitous. I tell her I think I'm going to lie back down for awhile.

6:30 - Sit on the couch with book. Start to nod. Brian suggests going to lie down and I say, "STOP BEING MEAN TO ME!" and nod back out. Sitting up.

11:45 - Wake up, still sitting on couch sore as fuck. Say to him, "Why did you let me fall asleep in that position!" He rolls his eyes. I stay awake for about an hour then we both go to bed for the night.

Today at Noon - Finally wake up for real. Feel vaguely pissed and not sure why until I remember I'd dreamt he told me my butt is ugly and he wants a divorce because of it. Asshole!

So I don't know what the hell that was about. I sort of remember reading some of the side effects included nausea and drowsiness, so I guess they weren't kidding because that shit didn't play. Now I'm a little nervous about the same thing happening tonight; I don't really want to get another fourteen hours of sleep, as nice as it was. On the other hand we don't really have anything planned, so whatever. It's been raining all day and there's a chance tomorrow it will turn into snow, so I guess it's good sleepin' weather.

I better go bathe now while I'm still awake enough to do so. One thing about all these ultrasounds; I haven't been this consistently groomed in the privates since we first started dating. Ironically Brian can't even appreciate it because we're not allowed to do it now for the next few days. The time has come (PUN INTENDED) for his swimmers to build up so we get the best and brightest of the bunch. It's survival of the quickest in sperm world, apparently.

Sperm world. Sounds like an amusement park. Always crowded and everyone fighting to get to the front of the line to get on the egg ride.

Okay, I'll stop now.

Mystery! Intrigue! Laziness! Presents!

With the dog hurting himself last weekend, my dreams for a family roadtrip on my birthday were squashed, just like last year when I met my friend Jen in Savannah instead of going north to the mountains. Is there some evil force keeping me from seeing over an inch of snow? It's starting to look that way. But I didn't want to leave him with Brian's parents again (since-that's-who-he-was-with-when-he-hurt- himself-not-that-I'm-blaming-them-but-you-know-what-I-mean) and taking him with us was in the original plans but he's still limping, I decided staying home was the only option. It was still a nice day.

Brian had to work in the morning, so I slept late. He came back bearing gifts and those gifts were a bunch of dvd's he knew I'd love and a little exercise gadget I've been wanting, one of those calorie counter things I keep seeing on The Biggest Crybaby. I guess he's taking me seriously when I tell him I'm starting to exercise again. He's always been an optimist that way. He also brought home burgers, fries and Cokes, which is my favorite birthday lunch.

We watched Baby Mama, which was better than I thought it would be - surprising. Tina Fey is genius at portraying the late-thirties baby obsession that takes over while you're not paying attention. In one scene she's in a crowded elevator with a lady holding a baby standing in front of her. She reaches out and touches the baby's hand and then secretly sniffs the baby's head; kind of creepy and totally real. Brian looked at me during the scene and I said, Yes. That shit is REAL. He then asked me what was up with her since her character on 30 Rock is also trying to adopt a baby and I told him she's fine; she's married and has a baby in real life. Because I probably know a little too much about her, but it comes in handy for situations like that.

I checked my email that evening and found out work had been trying to get ahold of me but my voicemail box was full. Oops. A lot of people had called and text'd (what is the past tense of text, dammit, becaused "texted" looks stupid) to leave me birthday messages and that made me very happy. But apparently someone had sent flowers to me at work, not knowing I wasn't going to be there yesterday. Was it you? I can't figure it out. They stored them in the cold supply closet for me to help keep them from wilting, but I'm going to take a ride over there today and get them so I can bring them home and stare at them. I like flowers. And I can't wait to find out who sent them!

My friend Johnann sent me a bunch of books from my Amazon wishlist that I've plowed through while still avoiding Twilight. Even so, we're planning a Barnes & Noble date today, as one can never have enough books; I need to buy one for Brian for V-day as well. Annette always gets me Office-related merchandise, but this year she decided to cover all the shows and got me a cool (literally because it's the kind you stick in the freezer so it can keep your drinks cold) mug with the NBC logo on it. She and I are proud Peacock geeks. Before we had cable, NBC was the only channel we could pick up and I was frighteningly fine with that, since that's what 90% of the things I watch are on. I know Heather was naughty and is sending me a birthday box and unlike the one I sent her, I'm sure everything she planned on putting in it will be in it. Does anyone know where four bottles of OPI nailpolish could have run off to, because THEY WEREN'T IN HER BOX AND I DON'T HAVE THEM EITHER. Ahem, sorry. That is the kind of mystery I don't enjoy. And of course my mom sent me a Walmart gift card, because she knows depending on our finances, I'll either spend it on something for myself or on groceries, which also counts for myself. A grocery trip without worrying about over-spending is a very exciting thing to me. I am easily pleased, which makes for a lot more fun and a lot less disappointment in life.

And this morning upon sitting down to the computer, I saw a big red stuffed heart with sneakers on waiting for me - I'm guessing that had to be from Brian or I'm REALLY going to be mystified. I tell him every year not to acknowledge Valentine's, since I feel my birthday is the more important of the two holidays, but every year he gets me a little thing anyway. He's cool like that.

It's been a nice celebratory weekend so far; I hope everyone else's is too.

The turning point

I know you've read that title and are thinking to yourself Finally! I don't blame you. I never planned on going that in-depth with this story, but I'm actually glad I did it. Another avid journal keeper friend of mine once said of our voracious writing habit, If we didn't document it, it didn't happen. And this most definitely happened, so it's good I wrote about it. Of course it took seven years, but better late than never. Something I keep forgetting to mention is what I wrote in my paper journal days before the shit hit the fan: I have a feeling things are about to turn around and start getting good again. Ha! Hahaha! Even during the Bad Time, I had to appreciate the irony in that.

So, we'd moved all our stuff to two different locations in Tampa. Jen and I shared a cute house in a decent neighborhood and she went about crafting and decorating, her therapy for dealing with her break-up. The first night Brian helped me move my stuff in, he spent the night there. None of us knew at the time this would be the beginning of a trend, that he'd spend almost every night there during the short time I ended up staying there. This tells you what a generous friend I had in Jen - she thought she was going to have some quality girls-getting-over-men time with me, not witness the slow repare of my marriage. That we're still good friends to this day with no hard feelings on her part still amazes me sometimes.

Spring had turned to Summer and I had a big trip coming up. My New York cousin was getting married July 4th and I decided to ride up with his parents and brother (or in other words, my aunt, uncle and cousin) to attend the wedding. Nine days of family togetherness with my family is a somewhat frightening prospect, but there was no way I was missing this. He's the cousin I'm closest to; he helped make my wedding the success it was. I was also looking forward to getting away from all the drama for a change and New York is my Happy Place, so it was with a very good frame of mind I left Florida.

The trip was, as I suspected it would be, loud, annoying, fun, and exhausting. It is good to have family and even better to return to your roots; being around your people in the place you come from can give you a much-needed perspective. It didn't hurt that when I got up there, my cousin told me if I was tired of all the bullshit, I could always stay up there. He was in a position to offer me both a place to stay and a job (a very good job) to get on my feet and literally start a whole new life. I'd always said someday I'd live in New York again and here was my chance.

We'd discussed this a few times and one morning I was pondering it while riding a four-wheeler around my aunt and uncle's fifty-seven acre horse farm, some of the most beautiful property you will ever see. The Catskill mountains loomed peaceful and purple in the background. My mountains. The place where I'm never in a bad mood. Surrounded by people who loved me; closer than ever to the memory of my dad. I was happier than I'd been in ten months; Florida with all its stupid problems seemed every bit the thousand miles away it was.

I came back from riding around to see that Brian had called. Hmm. That was strange, considering I figured he'd be busy moving his new family into the big new apartment. I called him back and we talked for an hour. Nothing big, just mostly small talk about how my trip had been so far and what he'd been doing. He told me he'd met a nice guy who also worked on the golf course and that he'd mostly been hanging out with him, including staying at his house at night. I wanted to ask how things were going with his girlfriend, but honestly I didn't care too much at that point. Instead of getting into any heavy talk about the future, we just had a pleasant conversation, kind of like how we used to have all the time. Most of our conversations lately had been exhausting and draining; it was nice to just talk.

The rest of the time in New York passed quickly and before I knew it, it was time to head back south. My cousin had told me not to worry about making any decisions right away; besides he'd just left for a three-week honeymoon to Italy, where I'm sure the state of my affairs were not uppermost on his mind. I was glad to have the option, but at the same time I was also looking forward to getting home and seeing Brian again. It's a very inconvenient pain in the ass to love your husband sometimes.

After driving the hellaciously long way back down the eastern coast, we landed in Inverness around 8:00 p.m. and I decided to spend the night at Grace's instead of driving the last eighty miles to Tampa. Until I got another phone call from Brian. He was crying. I asked him what was wrong and he said, You're thinking about moving to New York, aren't you. How the...I said, Why do you say that?He told me he got the feeling from when we'd talked on the phone that day and the feeling just kept getting stronger the longer I was up there. Abruptly he asked me to please come back the rest of the way; he knew I was tired but he didn't want to wait until the next day to talk. I kind of had the feeling it was going to be a pivotal conversation. I was road-weary as all hell but I grabbed a Diet Coke and got back into the car, leaving Grace astounded. Again - loving your husband = ass pain.

He was at Jen's waiting for me and we spent the rest of the night talking, crying, pacing and smoking and finally it was decided. He told me it was over with Her Bitchiness. When push came to shove, she wanted him, but she wanted to continue to enjoy the Lake City Lowlife. It didn't matter he'd put money down on the apartment and had just started the best job he'd ever had; she wanted him to move back there. He foresaw a bleak future with me being out of his life forever and spending it with an asshole in some shithole of an interstate town. As for me, tt wasn't too hard of a decision and I've never regretted it. There are times I wonder what my life would be like now had I moved to New York seven years ago...but I think everybody wonders things like that sometimes. It's that whole Robert Frost two roads diverging in the woods thing. I picked one and I sometimes ponder about the other one. Mostly when I'm craving good bagels or pizza.

So as you can see, all signs point to a happy ending. However, just because we'd decided to stay married that night didn't mean there weren't still several obstacles we had to get through in order to have our happily ever after. When you spend that long living in chaos, it takes time and effort to get things back to normal. We were separated for ten months, but for a nice dramatic wrap-up, I'll end the story one year to the day where I started. Next time.

Finale coming soon to a blog near you.

"We were on a BREAK!" -Ross Geller

It's getting close to wrap-up time with this story. Hang in there with me a little while longer - I promise, it gets better. Obviously.

So there we were, staying part-time at Grace's house in a sort of suspended time-lapse. We slept together on her couch bed, but there were no relations for us during that time. The one time we tried turned out disasterously - he was still way too emotionally wrapped up with her and I still obviously had a lot of resentment toward him; it wasn't good. That was pretty painful, let me tell you. After that episode is one of the few times I actually considered the possibility of divorce. We had an hours-long, drawn-out tearful conversation about it in her back yard and in his car driving around the neighborhood, but he still asked me not to go through with it, knowing it was totally unfair to ask me to continue to wait. Apparently I didn't really want that either, because it didn't happen. But it wouldn't be the last time I came really close and it's weird to think of how different things would've turned out had a couple of crazy things not happened...aaand, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Our friend Jody, who had indirectly caused this mess (I don't blame him, but my sister refused to ever speak to him again after the shit settled, as did all of our mutual friends and now no one has been in contact with him in years), "let it slip" to Christine Brian and I were staying together during the week. I guess it was his way of getting Brian back for leaving him in Lake Shitty with no one but a housefull of women and kids for company. She, as you may imagine, was Not Pleased and handed down another ultimatim. Brian had a good job in Tampa. She was ready to leave her sister's house and get all set up like a proper Welfare Woman deserves. She told him it was time he got a place for them.

Which is what the dumbass did. Trying to keep it from me, he put a deposit and first month's rent down on an over-priced three bedroom apartment in Tampa. Obviously I found out about it. But things were so shaky with them still, I decided to let things play out and not fight it anymore. Of couse NOW I'm glad I didn't push a divorce through but then I wondered what the hell I was thinking. Except that I kind of knew if they actually did move in together, it would be the final straw. Out of her element, not having her sister to party with or neighbors to flirt with, living REAL LIFE as a mother and a girlfriend? I doubted she was cut out for it.

Coincidentally another friend of mine had just broken up with a long-term boyfriend and was crushed. She came over to Grace's one day to talk about how fucked up everything was for both of us. Out of that conversation, we decided the best thing would be for us to move in together, knowing it wouldn't be permanent. When I told her about Brian's new apartment in Tampa, she told me she was thinking about moving to Brandon, a town twenty minutes south of there. Her favorite cousin lived there, she didn't want to be in Inverness anymore; our very small hometown, where she'd run into her ex constantly - she was ready to get out and start over. I'd known Jen forever and we'd lived together successfully before, during college. And she's a lot like me in letting her fight or flight instinct take over in a crisis; she started making plans that very day for our move.

I told Brian about the plan. He was happy. Happy that I wasn't going any further in my relationship with JR, happy because he liked Jen and most importantly because I'd be close to where he was living. He still wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be with her. Selfish? Absolutely. He admitted as much. It was at that point he told me he knew he carried things too far and he didn't know what to do to make things right again. He didn't trust her anymore, not that he ever did much after the first couple of weeks. The newness had mostly worn off and he was upset to find out she wasn't a very nice person. The problem for him was the kids. They'd gotten used to him and he was even more attached to them now, especially the baby. In the time he'd been around, the baby had grown up so much, had started walking, talking. Calling him "Daddy." He got to experience all of that. That sound you just heard was me throwing up in my mouth.

But that's okay. No one ever spent a night in that big stupid apartment. At least no one I know. The beginning of the end had just begun.

Next phase: The halfway point

Maybe I'm getting sick of the story because I spent too much time in the sad/bad beginning part. It wasn't all doom and gloom and once I escaped Lake City ( or Lake Shitty it will forever be known as to us), things did start to improve. Like I said, I spent a few weeks as a gypsy to stay with different friends until I sadly realized it couldn't go on forever and I needed to decide where I would settle down, at least temporarily. I spent New Year's Eve of 2002 in a hotel room in Tallahassee with JR and his friends, thinking This isn't how I pictured married life.

Lucky for me, my sister and brother-in-law (they weren't married yet, but may as well have been) offered to let me stay with them in Orlando. What was good about that was it was far enough away so that I wouldn't be tempted to see Brian. That still wasn't going anywhere and it hurt too much whenver we did see each other and we kept it to a minimum, only enduring short and painful visits when we changed puppy custody. Yet it also wasn't the smallness of my hometown where I'd originally run. Have you ever been to Orlando? There's a lot to do there. Even though I wouldn't describe myself as happy, I mostly remember that as a positive, even fun experience. I got to know my sister's husband better than I ever would have otherwise. We went to a few Orlando Magic games, which was fun because they'd just turned into a decent team. There was a Disney trip in there somewhere, because you can't spend too much time in Orlando without getting sucked in there through osmosis. I was making fairly decent enough money at a temp job I'd found and though I saw JR a few times, I spent most of my time with Sister, Travis and good friends.

That era lasted a little less than three months and a few key things were responsible for its demise. The biggest one was my dad died suddenly sending me and all of us into a scary tailspin. Almost seven years later, I still can't say I'm recovered; it's just something I live with now.

I was working at the temp job in downtown Orlando that morning when I got a call on my cell my dad had been rushed to Citrus Memorial in Inverness, an hour and a half away. I didn't know at the time he had passed already; I guess whoever called decided it would be safer for me to drive not knowing first. I still can't remember who called to this day. Very weird. When I got to the hospital and found out he was gone, I found my mom and sister, who had gotten there a little before I had. There are whole blocks of that day I don't remember, but I know I called Brian immediately. He'd just started working at a golf course in Tampa - a job my dad had gotten him. He knew by that time we were separated, but he also still loved Brian and was optimistic we'd get back together. And that's the part that sucks the most about the whole thing - my dad never got to see that the shitty story had a happy ending. (Here's where somebody usually tells me He does know , and I start crying. If you'll excuse me for a few seconds.)

Brian arrived a little while later and went through that nightmare of a couple of days with us. He was as upset as all of us were; my dad was an amazing guy. His funeral at our town's main little funeral home was attended by so many people, they didn't all fit inside the building. Family came in from everywhere and most of my friends were there as well. Brian was more than a little uncomfortable being there, knowing a lot of people there thought he was the anti-Christ. But he was there through the whole thing. As were both sets of his parents, which is something I'll never forget. But here's the part where you need to remember how kind and decent Brian's been through most of this; and this was one of the hardest things I had to forgive him of after all the shit settled.

The day after the funeral he left Inverness and went back to Lake Shitty to HER. Yep. He'd spent a few too many days away from her with me and even though his father-in-law dying was an acceptable enough reason even for Ol' Crosseyes, she decided enough was enough and put the smackdown on him. I guess I was still in so much shock (and not-quite-sober for most of my waking hours) that I wasn't even too affected by it at the time, beyond being obviously hurt and pissed. It sucks to have to remember it, but there are no rules in a game like this. Maybe you would've handled it differently - bully for you. It's been dealt with as far as I'm concerned.

Thus began another strange few months. Brian worked during the week in Tampa and I still had the job in Orlando (though it wouldn't be for very much longer for me). We were both staying with my best friend Grace during the week now; I like to say she accepted both our emotional and literal baggage into her house without question. Which meant we both had 70 - 80 mile commutes, ONE WAY. EVERY DAY. On the weekends, he'd go see HER and I'd do whatever; sometimes see JR, sometimes stay with Grace and Elizabeth - and that's when I realized how close I was to the kid and what a rare source of happiness she was for me at that time. She didn't really understand what was going on at six years old, but she was some damn good company. You can't be sad too much around kids; or at least not that kid. I took her to Orlando to pick up my last paycheck and on many other fairly good-sized road trips for someone her age. We sang in the car. We went to the beach. I took her to see Crossroads, glad I had a child with me as an excuse to go see it. I sometimes dropped her off or picked her up from daycare; like I said, we got close. It's amazing how I actually now miss some things from that time.

Grace and I started referring to this as our "In the Ghetto" period. There wasn't a whole lot of money coming in for any of us but we pooled as many resources as we could, realized that no matter what is going on in our lives we still felt the need to buy groceries every week and make dinner (almost) every night. We had a lot of fun together and even though she was extremely pissed off at Brian, she never said anything mean to him or made him feel uncomfortable in her house. Amazing, Grace. Too easy, but I'm keeping it. So another couple of months passed this way and it sort of felt like controlled chaos. In addition to dealing with my stupid marital sitation, I was now in the beginning stages of grieving for my dad. I'm indebted to a lot of people but especially to Grace for the rest of my life for keeping me from going over the edge, because believe me there were times I was very close.

Please now sing a few lines from Lean on Me in honor of my friend Grace. Stand by Me works just as well. Or In the Ghetto by Elvis. It's fun, trust me.

Moving right along

Okay, I'm officially sick of this story, so I'm going to skip ahead about two months to the next significant thing that happened. During that interim I can say nothing much changed except I had more to do to occupy my time and kept losing more and more weight. During this time I let some friends and family in on what was going on. It sucked. We all cried. Nothing changed.

Finally early one morning in mid-December I woke up and something snapped. I don't know if a particular event caused it or I'd finally just had enough. I can't imagine it was only one particular thing, as I'd already had to deal with seeing and hearing things no married person should ever have to see or hear and I was still alive. I think I was pretty much done with that place and what was going on. The only time I felt okay was when I was not there, so I figured it was time to leave for good. Whatever was going to happen would have to happen with me living elsewhere.

I wish I could tell you I did the responsible thing as far as my job was concerned, but I'm all about being truthful so I can't. Once I decided to leave, I didn't want to be there another day. Another hour. I got dressed, packed a small bag, wrote a long and probably very psycho letter to my bosses which I left on my desk before anyone else arrived (I made sure to get there before daylight just in case), filled the gas tank, bought cigarettes and got the fuck out of dodge. I had seven dollars left. How very bohemian of me.

Now that I think about it, Brian must've had custody of the dog during that time - we were taking turns because both of us love him that much.

So I was alone when I left, no furry buddy by my side. I'm sure I was sad about that, but as I merged onto I-75 south I shot the whole town a bird and turned the radio up. I felt like I could breathe easier already. This would kick off about a month of me hitting the road whenever I got too sad. I don't know how I managed it money-wise, but if ever you find yourself in this situation, I can't recommend road trip therapy enough. I had people who loved me all over the state and all of them - ALL of them told me to come and stay. As long as I wanted, it didn't matter.

But, the first place I headed was pretty logical - my hometown. I knew I wasn't going to stay with my parents, as they only knew the bare minimum of what was going on. My best friend's house, on the other hand, was a very attractive prospect - it is like a cocoon of security in a big and shitty world. I showed up without calling first to her job at a doctor's office on a Tuesday morning. When she saw me walk in, she didn't say much but got out her house keys and handed them to me. Mind-reading comes in handy when there are people around you don't want hearing your bidness.

The only awkward part of going there was her boyfriend at the time, who happens to be Brian's best friend. Except it wasn't really awkward since he was on my side throughout pretty much the whole thing. Not that we made people take sides. It just sort of started happening naturally after a few months had passed and Brian still couldn't seen to make up his mind as to what he wanted to do.

That Christmas was one of the worst days of my life. I didn't talk to him, but I did talk to his parents, which made everything worse. They were sad and told me they hoped Brian would come to his senses soon (he was classy enough never to share with him my portion of the blame - you'll need to remember that soon when I tell you something else that will piss you the hell off). I'm pretty sure that was the only day I took sedatives while it was still daylight - anything to make the day be over. Another friend swooped in toward the end of the day and forced me to go to Orlando with her, where more of our friends were and also my sister and brother-in-law. I didn't really want to go, but getting on the road again was better than sitting around like a lost pathetic character in a bad novel - I was in and we were out.

Somehow later that night, JR tracked me down. He was someone that also spent a lot of time on the road, for a myriad of reasons, none of them good. But he was only a few hours away - did I want to see him. The truth was I sure did. I mean, come on. I hadn't seen my husband or dog for a long time by then.

Here's where details get swirly for awhile, so I'll end here for now. Let's just say this started the Dark Period, where sobriety wasn't a big part of my life for a little while. A little vacation from reality was what I wanted and it was easy to choose. I admire people who handle a crisis without a crutch. I was not one of them.

Ethics and annivesaries

Before I get into the latest installment of Marriage: The Crisis Year, I just have to comment on the story that's going around the news and blogosphere this week. You know the one - where the woman who already had six kids from fertility treatment just gave birth to octuplets? I wasn't planning on talking about it because it's already received too much attention, which I think is one of her motives to begin with. She's already receiving book and movie offers and she'll likely make a lot of money from this. However, currently a fertility customer myself, I have to say something. No, I don't want to be told how many kids I'm allowed to have (I don't live in China for a reason), but isn't there such a thing as common sense? Responsibility? Maybe this woman is crazy; maybe she has greedy motives - hell, maybe she just LOVES KIDS THAT MUCH. Whatever. What blows me away is not so much her, but the doctor or doctors who allowed this to happen.

And another thing: who's paying for it? Apparently her parents have gone broke trying to help her support the first six kids, so it can't be them. She hasn't worked since 2002, so it's not her. She's single, so unless there's some guy footing the bill, there isn't an income there. I know how much money we've already put out for this stuff and I haven't even been implanted yet, so...what? Did she watch too many episodes of Jon & Kate Plus Eight and think, hmm...what a good idea; if they can make money, why can't I? (I'm a Jon & Kate fan and only bring it up to support a theory.) Are the taxpayers paying for it, as some have suggested? That would mean she would've had to apply for some type of financial assistance, which brings me back to: who the hell would put their stamp of approval on this idea?

One of the first things I read about the fertility place we're using is that they do their best to prevent multiples. It's in the best interest of both the mother and the children, and while there were pictures of twins and one set of triplets on the wall in the waiting room the other day (and they were SO BEAUTIFUL!), that's pretty understandable. You start taking fertility drugs and having procedures done with the sole intent on creating a life - it's an unavoidable side effect. Personally, I wouldn't mind twins. I'm almost forty and this might be the only big show; to end up with a family of four like the one I came from is a very pleasant proposition to me. Of course this also is from someone who has no idea what it's like to take care of ONE baby for any length of time, so that sounds pretty cocky just saying that.

I don't know what will come of this, if anything, but I hope things turn out okay for all those kids who never asked to be born into this chaos. And I was just thinking nothing could surprise me anymore...people will never cease to amaze me.

Yesterday was the anniversary of the day we met, so that ties in conveniently with another annivesary, the saddest one I've ever had.

All the shit hit the fan September 12th. Our second wedding anniversary was October 9th. You can imagine how difficult this day would be on its own, but what made it even more horrific was the fact my parents had no idea what was going on (yet). We lived almost two hours away from them. They wanted to celebrate with us, and being a weeknight the best idea was meeting in the middle for them to take us out to dinner. It was what we'd done for our first anniversary and it had been a lot of fun. I told Brian what they wanted to do and he for some reason agreed. I don't know what the hell we were thinking, to be honest.

The drive down was quiet and though I tried not to think about our wedding day two years before, that was fairly impossible. It had been such a great day; a day I never would've imagined barely two years later would bring us to where we ended up. We talked a little, but tried to keep things light, knowing we'd be putting on a show and would need to save the mental and emotional energy for that.

It was so bad. My parents met us at a Ruby Tuesday's near the mall in downtown Gainesville. Brian grabbed my hand as we got out of the car to walk to the restaurant and that one little gesture nearly made me fall apart. My parents were happy and excited to see us and among the hugs and kisses, handed us a present. For the love of God. I just called Brian to see if he remembered what it was: a Fry Daddy. I knew it was something big and for the kitchen. I don't remember what I ordered to eat that night, but I do remember how hard it was to fake eating it, considering I'd pretty much given up on eating by then. Always someone with a good appetite especially when out to eat, my parents noticed, but didn't make too much of it - I made some excuse about having a slightly upset stomach (not a lie) and got a doggy bag for the leftovers.

My dad and Brian loved each other a lot. It was good to see Brian perked up while in his company - one of the hardest things for him during that time was the thought of disappointing our parents. Which is why you should really try to keep your affairs secret. I'm kidding - I had to lighten the mood a little.

After we parted ways, I'm not sure what possessed us to continue with this horrid evening, but we decided to see a movie while we were right there. The hell! Of course it was bad - did you ever see The Others with Nicole Kidman? Some people liked it - I guess I'm a little biased about it and probably wouldn't have liked my favorite movie of all time if I'd seen it that night. No, I really think it actually sucked. Over two hours of creepy mystery with a totally obvious pay-off. Ugh.

We drove home. He knew better than to spend the night elsewhere that night and I was glad to have him home. The year before we'd danced to the song we danced to at our wedding - "I Love You" by the Climax Blues Band (the lyrics were so perfect for us, there was never any question what our wedding song would be) and we'd said that would be a tradition we'd do every year...that night we didn't dance, but just listened to the song quietly sitting on the couch together. Sad, sad. As with everything in this story, there was no cinematic moment of realization that we belonged together or that we'd get through this somehow. Real life is never that convenient.

Exhausted from the night's effort, we finally went to sleep - me in our bed and him on the couch, the dog settling down with a big sigh in between the bedroom and living room, not understanding at all what the stupid humans were up to these days.

Lighter fare

I'm...not in the mood to talk about maritial mistakes or making babies today. I had a long-but-too-quick weekend that's left me a little groggy. Also today is the 13th anniversary of Brian and I meeting for the first time (at a bar called Wings & Ale). In honor of that and the fact I'm mostly brain-dead, I'm keeping it light today.

Laundry seems to be a running theme with the bloggers I read. All of us hate it and most of us let it get out of hand long before we motivate ourselves to do something about it. Why is that? I know if I kept a regular schedule with it, it would be much easier to control, but I haven't done that in a very long time. Why do laundry when I can read/sleep/play on the computer/do anything else. Brian put together an awesome wall unit shelf thing in my closet room so that for the first time in a long time I have adequate space for my clothes. It was so beautiful when he was done and I'd put my clothes on it, I took pictures of it. By the time this past Saturday had rolled around, most of the clothes were on the futon in baskets of dirty/piles of clean clothes and the wall unit was almost empty. He made a smartass comment about it that made me want to slap him in the mouth, but I couldn't deny he was right. I hate when that happens.

That, coupled with having an overnight guest Saturday night forced me to get off my ass and put all the clothes away. I am telling the God's honest truth when I say it took me over three hours. THREE HOURS. Of course the guest ended up passing out in a beer/Playstation stupor on the couch, so the removal of the clothes from the futon was technically not necessary. But oh how much fun it was to pick out something to wear to work today - it was like having a bunch of new clothes to choose from. And it'll be like that the rest of this week! Exciting. Maybe I'll try to keep it under control for awhile. Don't quote me on that.

The guest in question was an ex-boyfriend of mine and no, there's no juicy story there. He was a guy I was more best friends with than anything and who I originally moved to SC with in 1992. We broke up a few years later (obviously amicably) and I stayed here and met Brian a year later. After we'd been together for awhile, they ended up meeting each other and getting along. We don't see him that often, but whenever we do it's always a good time (don't be a pervert). Also what happens every time is I get really thankful I didn't end up with D and got to marry Brian instead. That cheesy Garth Brooks Unanswered Prayers song? Totally me. He's a great guy and I'm happy we're still friends but as a husband? Noooo. No. No. No-no. In fact, he's currently going through a divorce right now and I really like his new girlfriend and want to tell her to have fun with him but don't make any long-term plans. But I would never do that. They'll be coming to my birthday party this weekend and we've made plans to spend that night with them afterwards, so that should be interesting too. I'll be happier having her there to balance everything out and do the guys outside peeing off the front porch/girls inside talking about guys and babies hang-out thing.

He also talked me into doing a birthday thing for him next month; going to see this Beatles cover band that's supposed to be amazing. He and I are both huge Beatles fans (we saw Paul McCartney here in 1993) and he's seen them like three times before and said we have to see them, so I'm trusting him. They're called The Return in case anyone's seen them and they totally suck. Which if you have and they do, don't tell me because the tickets are non-refundable and I bought them online Saturday night. I'm sure it'll be great. I now have Hey Jude in my head and will for the remainder of the day. Naaaa, na na na na na na, na na na na....hey, Jude...
Okay, I lied - one baby thing. Does anybody know how to tell if you're REALLY ovulating, like the best possible day of your cycle to get knocked up? I've heard so many different things and read a million things online...a common one is that you start fourteen days after the first day of your last period; does that sound about right? If that is the case, that means it's today...and even though we're doing the IVF, it couldn't hurt to try one last time on our own, right? We'd save money plus it would be a proper way to celebrate the anniversary thing today, right? (Even though the anniversary for the first time we did THAT is eleven days from now. Yes, I waited eleven whole days after we met. Do not judge me; it had been awhile)

Yeah, why the heck not; there's nothing good on TV tonight anyway.

The Marriage Foibles, Part Five

Where did we leave off...oh yes, I'd just packed my husband up to go stay with his girlfriend for awhile and just gotten a call from my guy friend. For the sake of keeping it all straight, I shall refer to the other woman and the other guy going forward as JR and Bitchface. No, that's not fair. JR is cool because those are his initials, but I need a better name for her. Skank-ho? No. Hmm. I don't like writing her real name, not for fear of her finding this - judging from her love letters, her reading comprehension skills aren't this advanced. I just don't enjoy writing, hearing or saying her name. But to be mature and adult about this I'll just use a form of her name: Christine. Wait, Anti-Christ? No. Christine it is. You know, like the evil car in that Stephen King book. I like that - eeevil.

So, JR called and asked what I'd been up to. I laughed and said, You got a few hours? He said sure. Uh-oh. But I gave him the Reader's Digest condensed version of what had been going on and he was shocked. He said, You didn't tell him about us did you? I said Of course not, dumbass. He said, You're going to. You're going to get pissed off and tell him and then we won't be able to just hang out and be friends anymore. I told him I wouldn't at the time, but of course it would turn out he was exactly right. He was a pretty smart guy, in certain areas.

After we talked for awhile, he asked if I wanted to go to his house and hang out. Let me set that scene for you. This guy was eight years younger than me, making him 24 at the time. He lived in a huge brand-new triple-wide mobile home on a nice couple of acres of land out in the middle of nowhere (bought for him by his parents). He had a revolving group of girls and friends and roommates and his house was party central. I was always nervous when I went over there, never knowing what I'd find, but it was never boring. Of course I went over there that night and after watching O' Brother Where Art Thou (that will forever remind me of that time in my life its soundtrack used to make me violently ill because Brian had the cd in his car's player at all times back then)(but I do love the movie still), things got physical. Of course. Damn, it sucks to be a weak human sometimes.

JR quickly became a good distraction for me. Carrie Fisher once said about John Belushi: "It always seemed like he was in the middle of some emergency, but it was always a fun emergency." That describes JR perfectly. He was the leader of his large group of friends and was always up for any adventure. I started doing things very out of character for me - riding 45 minutes south to Gainesville to go to play darts and listen to his friends' bands at different bars on work nights, for instance. I was way too old for that stuff, I'd thought, but I quickly learned any distraction from real life was a welcome relief. I only spent a couple of entire nights at his house because I felt guilty about leaving my sweet baby dog home alone too much. Seriously. That dog was my most comforting and loyal companion during that time. Brian missed him terribly as well; mayhaps as much as he missed me. The stories that poor dog could tell.

It was during this time I told Brian I was seeing JR, and yes it was in a fit of jealousy. My heart was broken and my self-esteem was crushed; I didn't mind letting him know I was no longer spending every night crying at home, pacing and wringing my hands, waiting to hear from him. He asked me if anything had happened between JR and myself before this and I had to tell him the truth. He said, Yeah, that's what I figured. He was understandably not pleased and felt justified in what he was doing then. I said, I didn't have to be honest with you but I am. I also need to point out I didn't hurt you like you're hurting me - I made the mistake but I didn't ever make you wait at home worried and wondering where I was. Weak justification, yet I said to him many times during those monthsI did it first, but you did it worst. I liked that it rhymed.

Things really started getting confusing one afternoon when I was home on the phone with JR. The call-waiting beeped and I answered the other call. It was a female voice I didn't recognize. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hello?
C: Kim?
Me: Yes...
C: You know who this is, right?
Me: Um... (starting to figure it out)
C: It's Christine - the one with your husband.
Me: Okay...
C: Yeah. Well, you want him back, he obviously wants you back - if you care you'll meet me at the Circle K in an hour and pick up him and his shit.
Click.

My first thought was not what you might guess. It was pretty much, Huh. I wasn't feeling much of anything at first except curiosity. It was obvious things had taken a turn for the worse in Loveyland, but why? I thought, I guess I'm about to find out and quickly got off the phone with JR. I then went straight to the bathroom and threw up whatever miniscule amount of food I'd eaten that day - puppy Cletus was getting used to seeing Mama puking and resting her head on the nice cool potty and he stayed by my side the whole time, like always.

I tried to mentally prepare myself as best I could and left to go pick up "my husband and his shit." As I pulled into the gas station, I saw he was just getting out of her car with the large bag he'd been living out of for several weeks. I stayed in my car and waited. My first glimpse of her happened right then - and if looks could kill I wouldn't be sitting here writing this today. Whatever, hooker.

He got into the car and tried to smile at me. I started driving and didn't say anything, mainly because I had no idea what to say. He haltingly started explaining, saying they'd been fighting a lot and everything came to a head today when she gave him the dumbest ultimatim The Other Woman can ever give: either get a divorce or we're done. He told her he'd hurt me, separated from me, took his wedding ring off for her (that one just about did me in - mine never came off the entire time we were separated) and he wasn't ready to think about getting a divorce yet, when they'd known each other for two months. He told me, Let's just leave. Let's get the hell out of this town; we both hate it here and there's nothing left for us here.

Those were the words I'd been waiting to hear and for a few minutes, my heart lifted. I'd been begging him for us to leave months before all this started. Things were going downhill for us financially, he wasn't even taking classes anymore which is why we moved there to begin with, and I had had many premonitions things would only get worse, which of course they did. So when he said that and took my hand, I was truly happy. Our second anniversary was only a week or so away and it would be a perfect time to leave that hellhole and start over somewhere - anywhere - else. The feelings I had for JR were nothing more than a physical attraction and friendship. I would feel bad to leave without saying good-bye to him, but he never lacked for female companionship very long. He was young; he'd bounce back quickly; I knew that. I would've been more than happy to start packing right then and not look back.

My euphoria was short-lived. We got home and after we spent some time playing outside with Cletus (to see how excited he got when Brian got home just about broke both our hearts), but as the evening wore on, it became very apparent he was not as happy as he'd been acting that afternoon. My radar was on high alert and I told him to talk to me about how he was feeling. He started crying and put his head in his hands.

I don't know.
I love you; I know that. I miss you so much. I talked about you all the time even though it made her so mad. She's not trustworthy. She likes to fight. She likes to hit. She likes making me jealous by flirting right in front of me. I know it's so not fair to you and I hate so much that I've hurt you this badly. But I'm still attached to her. The hardest part too is that I'm also attached to her kids. They love me; the youngest one even calls me Daddy.

That last part? Came really close to killing me. She may be a lot of things, but she had the one (actually three) things I didn't: babies. Imagining him taking care of her children (changing diapers for the first time!) is what brought me the closest to insisting on divorce. I knew I could forgive him for her and the sex and whatever, but that? He knew how badly I wanted a family; we'd already started trying. Now, after all we'd been through - moving to that shit town, working to put him through school, struggling financially the whole time, but getting married and being so happy during it all? Yet there he had a ready-made family - three beautiful sons just dying for a father. Any father, probably.

If this was a movie, it would've ended dramatically in the car that afternoon when I picked him up, he took my hand and said let's get out of here. But obviously this isn't a movie and by the time we went to sleep (separately) that night, we were right back to square one. And that was nowhere good.

More from the Fertility Files

I just thought of something. Is it a little strange that I'm inter-mixing stories of my almost-divorce with updates on us trying to have a baby? I'm not sure if it's a good thing or just plain bizarre. But I guess that's never stopped me before, so whatever.

I got a compliment today that I can honestly say I've never gotten before. During the HSG (big scary uterine x-ray) me, the doctor, a nurse and a med student (why there's always a large audience for public pubic viewings of me, I don't know) were all looking at the screen that shows what's going on and the doctor said, "That's one beautiful cervix." I didn't really know how to respond besides "...Thank you?" So that even though there was a cathiter and speculum inserted into my nethers and I was experiencing fairly significant cramping, hearing that everything looks great in your reproductive system tends to make the pain not matter so much. Or at all, in my case.

It went quickly and it went well and that's all I was hoping for. The next few weeks will be normal and then the next time I get my period, things start getting serious - fertility drugs, ovulation monitoring and even sex. Then if the sex doesn't work (which I'm sure it won't, because nothing is ever that simple or inexpensive for us), the next step is the actual IVF. Brian is funny. He mostly understands what's going on, but as we were getting ready this morning he said, "Do I have to masturbate again today?" For my x-ray? I said, "Only if you want to." Also when I was explaining the IVF procedure to him, part of which includes them "washing the sperm," he said, What - they think I have dirty sperm?" He's trying his best. I laugh at him, but don't blame him; all this is new to me too. Here I grew up thinking all you had to do to make a baby was have sex. Little did I know.

I can't thank you and you and you enough for sending me your thoughts during this strange time; it means the world to me. I didn't think I'd ever be keeping so many people up on what's going on with my endocrine system, but it turns out it's kind of nice. I plan on taking it nice and lazy tonight and try to get through some more Twilight. The last few pages I've read I've actually been able to stay awake, so I have high hopes for tonight. Yeah, not really.

B.I.H.T.D. Part 4 (I seriously need a better title)

To reiterate: Yes, I cleared it with Brian before I started writing this story and sharing it with the internet. I got a weird email from some weirdo just now, so I feel I must address Mr. McWhackjob. Brian has been skimming some of it and skipping other parts entirely. He didn’t want to read it at all at first and did so only at my request. I feel like he’s the only other person who I can fact-check with and the main opinion I care about with how I tell this story. This actually happened to us and it wasn’t fun and I’m not trying to make light of it. But having a sense of humor is one of the things that got us both through it in the first place, so if I’ve offended anyone by acting like it wasn’t a big deal…I’m sorry but you don’t know me or us, so shut it, Wingnut. Besides my dad dying, this was by far the most traumatic event I’ve ever gone through. And not that it matters, but these two things happened almost six-months apart from each other to the day, my marital crisis being the first. I don’t look back at the end of 2001/beginning of 2002 with fondness, but I’m entitled to my dark sense of humor, just like you’re entitled to your no sense of humor.

Okay! Back to the Flux Capacitor, set to September 2001.
A few people made the excellent point after reading the last post that DUH – of course he felt happy and loved with the Other; the relationship was brand new! Which I didn’t address in the last post but I most certainly said to him at the time. Um, hello idiot – remember our first six weeks together? Pretty fun, right? Yeah. Well now it’s been five and a half years; excuse me if I no longer have that new car smell. What a strange metaphor. But seriously. You’re not exactly Mr. Excitement yourself these days. He acknowledged that. It didn’t matter by then. He was well on his way past infatuation, which was pretty hard to believe.
When it was all over he admitted that in his head he’d already messed up so badly that he didn’t think there’d be any way to turn back. He’d hurt me, felt like he let our families and friends down and pretty much felt like an all-around fuck-up. I add that in case someone ever thinks it’s too late. If you’re still alive and above ground, it’s never too late. You can get a divorce and get married again; it’s never too late. For some people that’s what it takes. For us we went to the brink a couple of times, but never crossed it – which is the economical way to do it if you ask me.
But of course that took a long time; almost a year. The first month or so of this was not a very pleasant time, as you may imagine. It’s one thing to learn about your husband and another woman and quite another to see it in action. While we were in the first few days of trying to live with this, it started to become apparent they were seeing each other almost every day. One night in particular, he actually told me he was going to see her, but that it would just be a little while. I knew it was coming, but that didn’t mean as soon as he closed the door behind him I didn’t break down into a hysterical, fetal snot-choking, vomit-inducing hour-long cryfest on the floor. When 2:00 in the a.m. rolled around, and he still wasn’t home, I couldn’t stand to be inside our house any longer and was out walking with the dog around the neighborhood, crying and dry-heaving in my pajamas, I decided this was unacceptable. That was one of the worst fights, when he got home that night. Things got broken, including our big framed wedding photo, a ceramic pedestal I’d gotten a great deal on at my favorite pottery store and my only pair of (very necessary) glasses. The dog, not used to us screaming at each other, quietly slipped out the door while we weren’t looking. Thinking about that one still makes me very sad.

So. I decided instead of watching the affair unfold before my eyes and seeing him visibly torturing himself, it was time for me to make a decision. I told him to go to her. I didn’t want him to leave, but it was better than being a witness to this madness. For my own sanity I knew it had to happen. Things were going nowhere like this. And logically I’d figured out the more time they spent together, the quicker the honeymoon phase would wear off and more than likely some problems would set in. I wasn’t wrong.

Here’s the part where I tell you a little about her. From what I knew at the time, she had recently moved down to that little shit-hole of a town to live with her sister and her three kids. She’d just broken up with the father of her youngest child, a six-month old baby boy. Her other two boys were both under the age of six and as previously mentioned both had different fathers. She liked to party and though I won’t get into specifics, a lot of partying was done in that house with the two sisters, the six kids, my husband and my friend Jody. She didn’t work and lived off of child support and her parents. She was a few years younger than me. That part always hurts, right? But she wasn’t real smart, based on a couple of love letters I’d found in his jeans pockets and she didn’t like to read. That part made me happy – books and reading was our thing. He told me he wasn’t allowed to bring me up at all; that she told him he talked about me so much, why didn’t he just go back to me. Bitch. She, however, enjoyed flirting openly in front of him with their biker neighbor. Curious. My amateur opinion? Not only was she a run-of-the-mill whore, she was also somewhat of an attention whore. But hey. She wasn’t the married one and I don’t give two shits about her personality traits. Now, anyway.

I would later learn she was very tall, skinny and had light brown waist-length hair. Up close her face wasn’t the greatest, but it was passable. The only flaw I immediately noticed was her eyes – slightly small and beady and even a little crossed. The funny part, and by funny I mean sick, was that before I saw her, I was actually picturing someone who looked similar to me! What the hell – ego much? Believe me, my insecurities are many and have never been as prevalent as right then, but I seriously pictured a short-ish, kind of big-boobed brunette. I never have liked tall women and this certainly didn’t do anything to endear them to me (no offense – if you’re tall and don’t fuck my husband, I don’t have anything against you now) You can change many things about your appearance but as far as I know, height isn’t one of them. Her appearance really doesn’t matter, but I’m female – of course I wanted to know every last detail to take apart and analyze and torture myself with. It didn’t help; it didn’t hurt.

Okay, in the interest of keeping this story moving along and this post under 5,000 words, let me quickly sum up the next couple of weeks. I somehow managed to function enough to go to work (almost) every day. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet – I didn’t even know what I’d say. So this was definitely a dark time for me, dealing with it alone. Some of the weird things I did during this time:

- I became almost completely incapable of keeping food down. It was hard enough forcing myself to eat on the rare occasion I actually felt hungry, because my mouth was always completely dry, making it difficult to swallow. Two things I was able to consume I bought at the gas station every morning – vanilla Cappuccino and those rectangle Keebler crispy wafer cookies. Don’t believe them on The Biggest Loser when they say you have to eat to lose weight – I’ve never found a more effective diet than this 300- calorie-per-day-plus-vomit plan. I eventually bottomed out at 104 and while it was interesting to fit into size 0 jeans, my boobs disappeared and I looked like I’d traded necks with a chicken. I miss those size 0’s, but I’m much happier being a size 8 – 10, knowing my husband loves only me now. Well, me and football.

- I could no longer listen to music of any kind or watch TV. The only form of entertainment I could stomach became talk radio. Very, very weird. Except not really, because that’s what Brian always listened to, so I guess that was one way of keeping something normal? I don’t know, but it became a permanent habit for me. Luckily my love for music eventually came back. Sadly so did my love for TV.

- Always a book lover, I found it hard to concentrate on reading anything more challenging than a magazine. Until I decided to start the Harry Potter series. I give a lot of credit to J.K. Rowling for helping me keep my sanity during that time, though she doesn’t know it. Tip: when real life goes to hell in a hand basket, Sci-fi/Fantasy children’s books really do the trick.

Brian still checked in regularly with me by phone because I told him it was easier for me not to see him. One night though he called to ask if he could come by and get some clothes and books and I said sure. This is a big example of how much I was on auto-pilot: After he got there, I started picking out and folding his clothes for him to get ready to take. When we both realized what I was doing, we began to laugh like lunatics. I said, “What a great wife I am – I’m getting your laundry ready for you to take over to your girlfriend’s house!” I was still laughing about it, but right then he stopped laughing, got really serious and said, “What the hell am I doing?” I said, “I don’t know. But it’s probably about time for you to go.” And before I could get too emotional (I’d already done all the crying I planned to do in front of him), I sent him on his merry (sad) way.

I’m not sure if it was luck, fate or God was just feeling sorry for me, but mere minutes after Brian left, I got a phone call. It just so happened to be my guy “friend.” He wasn’t aware of anything strange going on with me; it had just been awhile since we’d talked and he decided to call and see how I was doing. I had to make a big decision right then and there. Do the morally correct thing and not jeopardize my marriage further…or tell him I had some free time on my hands in case he wanted to hang out. Guess which one I picked.

Breaking up is hard to do - Part 3 of ???

You know what I'm having the most trouble with? Coming up with an appropriate title for this little marital tale of woe. Any input is welcome and appreciated.

Okay, here's where things get weird. There we were in our living room having the most painful discussion of our whole relationship, dare I say our whole lives. He'd just admitted to me he had feelings for another woman. Although I was shocked, hurt and reeling, I had to pause for a minute and remember: I know what he's feeling. I too had feelings for someone else and while I'd never planned on letting it go any further than where it was, currently on hold, I realized Brian was being more honest with me than I was with him.

Not that I was ready to admit anything yet. Because although NOW he knows the whens and hows of everything, I felt like I was in a much more vulnerable position at that moment and wasn't exactly in a sharing mood. I wasn't in love with the other guy. Unfortunately Brian's feelings for the other girl had already gone well beyond the point of physical attraction. And that was bad news bears, right there. How much easier for all parties concered if he'd done the normal damn thing and just had a one night stand like everybody else? No harm, no foul; what I don't know can't hurt me. But noooo...in his head he was in limbo hell, kind of waiting to get caught. Based on my temperment and personality, he expected to be immediately tossed out on his ass, thus having the decision made for him. He was not expecting the reaction he got, not at all.

See, in some small part of my effed up head, I actually understood and sympathized with him. Our relationship had been left unattended and had almost imperceptibly gone into a rut. We're human; we notice other people of the opposite sex. But instead following that all-important rule where you keep anyone else at a safe and appropriate distance, we obviously let ourselves get close to them. Although I try very hard not to give relationship advice, I can say with complete authority I would not recommend this. Unless of course you're a masochist who loves prolonged periods of heartache and chaos. Then by all means.

I asked the cliche'd question every wife in my position from the beginning of time has always asked. Do you love her? He looked at the floor. Uh oh. He answered:I think so. Then the inevitable,Do you still love me? This time he looked me in the eye. Yes. (The first flutter of hope entered my heart, though alas it would be very short-lived.) But. And here's where he started saying a bunch of stuff I'd pay large amounts of money to be like that Jim Carrey movie where you could have parts of your memory erased forever. Things like, I haven't felt close to you in a long time. When I'm with her I feel loved. We always hold hands and sit together - when was the last time you and I sat on the same couch or hugged while we're sleeping?

Excuse me while I go throw up dinner. Okay, much better.

The sucky part was, he'd made all good points. I couldn't argue. That didn't stop me from arguing; trust me - it had become obvious very quickly I stood a good chance of losing him, becoming one more of those thousands of divorce statistics, where we'd lived together happily twice as long as we'd been married. I always thought those stories were so ridiculous. (There's that pride again.) That was not what I wanted; not even close. I quickly realized how stupid and lazy I'd been. Taking for granted that I could coast along on the history of our closeness - marital cruise control - have my little fling and no one would be the wiser. Ever hear of karma? While I don't practice any forms of Eastern religion, I'm a true believer in that crazy shit. My Name is Earl? Yeah; my name is Kim, motherfucker, and I'm here to tell you that crazy shit is real. Real sucky.

And so it was we were at our first stalemate. As much as I wanted answers and a resolution, nothing was going to be solved that night. After hashing and rehashing, yelling, crying, pacing, and hand-wringing, he settled in on the couch to try and catch an hour or two of sleep before having to get up and go to work. And that's the difference between men and women right there. Sleep? I don't sleep that well on a good night, let alone that night. I've seen him fall asleep during a hurricane that was threatening to blow our house down...although I'm pretty sure in this case he wanted to be done talking more than anything else.

If I was smart, I would've tried to sleep as well. I didn't know it then, but I was about to need as much energy as I could muster in order to simply function every day. I was still naive enough that night to think things couldn't get any worse than they already were. Ha.

In which the husband is redeemed (a little)

Brian read yesterday's post and though he was okay with the content and how it was written, he said, Great. Now I look like an asshole. I assured him the next part of the story would include my assholery as well. So without further ado...

There we were in our little Ford Escort on the side of a dirt road, and he answered yes to the most hideous question I'd ever had to ask. Can I explain that even when I asked, I still didn't expect him to say yes? In the five years we'd been together, almost two of them married, we hadn't experienced any problems one would think would've led to this. We didn't argue very often and when we did it wasn't over anything major. Money was our biggest concern, with him being in school and only able to work part-time and me earning pitiful pay at my full-time job. He was (and is) a very kind and respectful person who though I sometimes push, has never disrespected or said a mean word to me. As I said before, he isn't the lying type. He certainly isn't the screwing-around type. But then again, I didn't think I was either and it was me who technically broke our vows first.

-Unavoidable backstory-

Ouch. That still sucks to admit. What's that saying, "Pride goeth before a fall?" Yeah. I don't usually throw the word "goeth" into everyday conversation, but I can relate very well. I so naively assumed we would never be one of *those* couples. We'd had a great time dating, fun living together and were both really excited and happy to get married. People still tell us how much fun they had at our small, casual lakeside wedding almost ten years later. We had eighty friends and family members drive and fly a long way to watch us get married. I don't think one person there that day thought it would ever come to this for us, and certainly not a month shy of our two-year anniversary. Including the two of us.

At the time he didn't know I'd been physical with another man, but he was keenly aware of how far emotionally removed I'd been in recent months. I worked at the college he was attending and had made some really good friends, some of them guys. Young, funny, witty, smart guys. You know - the good-for-the-ego kind of guys. One in particular led me down the path I never in a million years imagined I'd go. Not that I place a lot of blame on him. I was aware of what I was doing every step of the way and I've never been one to blame someone else for my mistakes. I was very open with my friendship with this guy in front of Brian and though he had made some comments here and there, I thought he was cool with it. Lying to yourself is very easy sometimes, as is coasting along with your relationship on autopilot. We did not fight any more during the months leading up to this than ever before. Which, as Brian pointed out later, was a problem in itself. Indifference can be just as poisonous as waging war and in our case it was the death sentence.

I'm not planning on getting too far into our sex life here (yes, I actually do have some boundaries, believe it or not); let's just say it was normal enough so that I didn't notice anything different in that area. The biggest red flag for me was the fact he'd started going out at night without me. A close friend of ours had moved back into town after HIS divorce and needed a friend to commiserate with him. Though I'd known and been close friends with Jody years before Brian knew him, as soon as I introduced them it was instant full-on Bromance. Not literally, dude; they just became BFF's really fast, okay?

Jody was a nice guy, but unlike Brian he was both a pathological liar and heavy drinker. Which were most certainly two reasons for the divorce he was practically suicidal from after eight years with his high school sweetheart. We weren't the type of couple who did a lot of the "Guys'/Girls' nights" where one spouse goes out with friends and gets wasted without the other. But Jody was in a bad place and it was much easier to deal with his shit by having a bud (and many Buds) and who better of a candidate than Brian, who was unhappy and bored and feeling distant from me? Whether it was going to a bar, playing cards, fishing or playing golf; they were spending an obnoxious amount of time together but I guess I was distracted with my own sneaky situation to complain too much.

The ride home and that night was rough. With the unrelenting 9/11 coverage (which provided a surreal and appropriate background - both my world and the world had cracked wide open), we started to get into the hows and the whys. I asked him how long it had been going on - About six weeks. I asked him who - You don't know her. Well NO SHIT, fucker! I wasn't exactly picturing you and one of our friends screwing!! Ahem. Sorry about that; that old pesky rage still rears its ugly head sometimes, even after all this time. Either way, he didn't tell me who it was that night. All I got out of him was that he'd met her at a bar one night when he was out with Jody. Oh. Oh, really. Brian was quick to defend Jody and tell me it was all his fault, and for me not to be mad at Jody. Even though Jody just so happened to be seeing and staying with this woman's sister at the time. And the two sisters lived together. With their six kids. Can I stress again how evil this town is where we spent almost three years of our lives? Evil, redneck and ghetto, all at the same time.

But yeah. This was the worst, ugliest, shittiest, most messed up part of the whole thing for me. This woman had three kids. (Do I even have to tell you they were all from three different fathers? Or that the youngest was just six months old?) I'd already been off of birth control for two years without getting pregnant. While it wasn't a major concern yet, it had already become a sensitive subject for me. Call me crazy, but I was sort of looking forward to having my husband's baby. Then here comes Looce Lucy with a ready-made family, just looking for the next sucker to become Daddy. And that's where it got real bad. That first night when all the nightmarish details started getting revealed? He told me he was very attached to her and to her kids and didn't know if he could stop seeing her.

The room tilted on its side and time stopped.
So where the hell does that leave us? I asked.
He looked down and shook his head. I don't know, he said.

More from the implosion files

I'm fascinated and love hearing stories about how two people met; I'm a sucker for it and it never gets old for me. I've documented extensively and in great detail how Brian and I met (short version: random night almost thirteen years ago at a bar named Wings & Ale), so there's not too much more to say about that. On the flip side, I'm also morbidly curious about relationship problems, which is why I brought up a story from our separation the other day. As usual, it was therapuetic for me to write it even though it happened so long ago and I have at least one written journal full of the story and it happened so long ago. I guess what I'm trying to say is it felt good to barf some bad stuff up so I'm doing it again.

Have you ever seen a movie or a show or read a book with a scene where a partner finds out about the affair of another? Yeah, me too. And I've found not only is truth stranger than fiction, it's usually more interesting too.

This story actually begins on another famously shitty day, September 11, 2001. You know how every year on that date you remember whether you want to or not? Well so do I, but with the extra added bonus of remembering the next day as well. With pretty much the same emotions; I used to say the world changed forever on 9/11 and my world took one more day to catch up.

You know what happened that morning. I was at work and listening to the radio when the first plane hit. I worked as a bookkeeper for a small lumber company at the time, in an office where I was alone most of the day. As the news started to spread, the guys came in from the yard, I got online using their dial-up connection and we all gathered around my computer to watch the horror unfold.

Brian was in school during this period of time, and we had one car. About a half hour after the second plane hit, he showed up at my office. Nothing really struck me weird then; I was too busy wondering if World War III was starting. He was acting kind of funny, but so was I and everyone else. He stayed for a few minutes, asked me if I wanted to come home or stay at work for the rest of the day. I said I guessed I'd stay at work (a very fateful decision but I didn't know it at the time)and he said okay; he'd be back at 4:30 to pick me up, which he did. We went over to a friend's house to watch everything on the evening news. While we were there, he told me he wanted to call his parents and since neither of us had cell phones at that time, he told me he was going home to call from there.

If I was thinking straight, I would've questioned why he couldn't just wait until both of us left to go home for the night and call then, but again, I was still in shock over the day's events. He quickly left and was gone for two hours. So you don't think I'm a total clueless schmuck, I did ask him what the hell took so long when he got back, but I don't recall his answer. Understand - this man hates lying and liars and had never given me any reason not to trust him in the five years we'd been together.

Next morning, he drops me off at work per usual. Needless to say I was in no mood to work and as soon as I was done with what had to get done, I went online to read and write email to family and friends. I had a cousin who worked and lived in NYC, more family in upstate New York and a good friend who was (is) a flight attendant who was frequently there, so like everyone else, I wanted to touch base with everyone I could. I'll never know exactly what made me write to Brian's mom. I knew he'd talked to her the night before, but I guess I just wanted to say hi to her as well. I sent her a short email saying something like how I was glad Brian got through to them the night before and that they were okay. About an hour later I received a reply back from her that said she hadn't talked to Brian last night at all, but was glad to hear from me and that we were okay as well.

Writing that just now makes my heart start pounding like a fucking jackhammer, let alone the reaction I had at that moment. She hadn't talked to Brian last night. Which was the reason he'd left me at our friend's house. For two hours. And just like that, my blissful ignorance came to a crashing, crushing halt. I don't know how I made it through the next few hours waiting for him to pick me up. I suppose I spent most of the time making up plausible reasons for him. Maybe he'd talked to Dad and not Mom and George. I'd just misunderstood. Maybe one of our friends stopped by the house and he got caught up with them and just forgot to tell me. Maybe my life as I knew it was over and I'm the world's biggest dumbass.

He picked me up at 4:30 on the dot and it was all I could do to wait until we pulled out of the parking lot to confront him. I'm sure I looked psycho because I felt like I was not so much shaking as vibrating. I was also being unusually quiet, waiting for him to ask me what was wrong. Which of course he did. I said, Are you seeing another girl?

I will never forget his reaction as long as I live. God help my husband if he ever has to be in another situation where he needs to lie because holy shit does he suck at it. He didn't say anything right away, but immediately jerked the car over to the side of the road. I watched as he blushed purple from his neck up to his hairline. I didn't know until then he was even capable of blushing and I haven't seen him do it again since that day (damn good thing, too right?). But right then? That was really all the answer I needed. As all the justifications and stupid excuses flew out of my head, I opened the car door and the contents of my stomach flew out of my mouth. Not that I'd eaten much that day, but I would soon learn you didn't need food in your stomach to throw something up.

I love a good cliff-hanger, don't you? Heh.

Tale from the dark side

What an awesome response I got from yesterday's post; I was humbled by it. Not only did people say some very nice things in the comments, I also got a couple of emails that made me laugh, cry and pretty much get a healthy renewed faith in humankind. I think sometimes all it takes is having someone say, "I know what you're feeling; I went through the same thing." Relating and connecting with another person who knows exactly how you feel. It's like how I feel with people who've had a parent pass away, in my case a parent I was extremely close with. Unless you've gone through it, you can't come close to imagining how it feels.

That last phrase is something I said a lot during the Bad Time in our marriage. For about eight months there, we didn't know what the hell we were doing or feeling. We were both with other people, yet neither of us wanted to take the final step and divorce. Certainly there were times when I felt close; don't get me wrong. It wasn't exactly shits and giggles during those months. There were some serious knock-down drag-outs, to be sure. Navigating the emotional roller coaster in a situation like that is pretty effing treacherous to say the least, and at times it felt like I was in a day-to-day, sometimes hour-to-hour survival mode. It is not for the weak, I can assure you.

An example: One day while driving through the main road of the small town we lived in at the time (I like to call it Hell's Portal) and was enjoying a rare moment of actual peace. Singing along with the radio, windows down, sunroof open - I was feelin' fine. I stopped at a red light and happened to glance over to the car that was stopped next to me on my left. Wouldn't you know it - there was Brian and the other woman, She Who Shall Not Be Named. You may choose to believe this or not but I have no reason to lie. My first reaction? I started laughing. Which believe me, when I think about it now, all these years later, I still can't believe it sometimes. But I think I understand why. For one thing, I was obviously a little in shock. I'm sure I was thinking something like "There is my husband. With a woman in the passenger seat who isn't me. This might actually be one of the top ten worst moments of my life. And seriously, God? Did you think I was having too decent of a day or something? Had to put me back in check? Because that's some messed up shit right there."

I remember Brian had the weirdest expression; he was looking at me with this sickly smile that I think was a combination of shock, sadness, guilt...and irony. We both have a healthy appreciation for dark humor and it really doesn't get much darker than that. She on the other hand, was looking at me with pure unadulterated hate. Because I was with her husband or something? Because I was married to her boyfriend? I don't know. But I think that was the part that actually kicked in the laughing.

Our friends of course knew what was going on with us, and they were way more informed about everything than our families were. I mean, we'd only been married two years at that point; isn't it called the Seven Year Itch? We were five years early on that. And as we started to reconcile, you better believe some of my family members were full-to-burstin' with well-meaning advice. There were those who said divorce, period. No looking back. This is ridiculous - how could you ever trust each other again? There were some who said don't even think about getting back together unless you go to counseling. You need to find out why this happened and prevent it from ever happening again. Then, there was a select few (VERY few) who offered their support no matter what I decided. I still remember quite clearly who said what, trust me.

And I repeat: Have YOU ever been in an almost brand-new marriage and separated but still in love with your husband? Guilty of the same thing he's doing? No? Well, then I'm sorry but you don't understand. Not only do you not understand, you have NO IDEA. So while I appreciate all your unsolicited advice, kindly shut yer piehole. I am very careful now with offering relationship advice. I myself went through a crisis and luckily came out on the other side with a much healthier and stronger relationship for it. That certainly wouldn't work for everyone and I'm still by no means an expert on the subject. Nor would I ever claim to be.