Two funerals and an uppercut

I'm all geared up to finish the separation story! But first...

That electrician dude was buggin' me during the telling of the separation awhile back about being a cocktease (he may not have used that actual phrase, but it was implied) with regards to hinting around about the time I punched Brian in the mouth but then not telling the story, so I'll get that out of the way because I don't appreciate being called a tease.

It was March of 2002 and we'd been staying at Grace's house during the week but going our separate ways on the weekends. Though I do have some fond memories from this weird time, the majority of it wreaked havoc on my emotional state and everything else. I got down to 104 pounds (DAMN, that was cool! Not really. But sort of!) and I was becoming a card-carrying pill-popper. My dad had just passed away on top of everything else, so when I got the phone call that a good friend of ours had just died unexpectedly, it almost did me in.

Mario was thirty-three years old, had just married his longtime girlfriend and mother of his child, my good friend Arlene. We'd spent a lot of time with them; they were one of the only good things about our time in Lake City. We loved joking about us being the only white people to ever hang out at their house and their church. Mario loved leaving stupid phone messages to me pretending to be someone else and always made me laugh. Arlene gave me strength and inspiration during the shitty time just by telling me some of the stories she and Mario had been through only to finally be happily getting married and completely in love. God really has a cruel sense of timing sometimes. Mario had severe asthma. And was a smoker. He died from an acute asthmatic attack at home with Arlene and the kids around him. Before the ambulance got there he managed to tell their oldest son he would need to be the man of the house and help his mother take care of things from then on.

Brian was just as devastated, if not more than I was, as he and Mario were really close by that point. Mario told Brian once, "Why did you have to hurt Kim like that? Why couldn't you just have an affair and keep quiet about it like every other dude?" That was Mario's humor and it still makes me laugh to think about it now. I let Brian know I'd tell him when the funeral would be, and he could either come with me or go by himself. I did tell him bringing the girlfriend probably wouldn't be wise, as Arlene would have not minded one bit to interrupt the services in order to kick her ass, black girl style. (Her words) In fact, she told me that would be very enjoyable to her and all I had to do was say the word. And Brian knew Arlene well and was smart enough to take the hint seriously.

The funeral ended up being that weekend, on Saturday. I tried getting in touch with Brian to let him know the time and place, but he'd already left to be with Whorezilla for the weekend and I couldn't get him on the phone. I think I had a cell phone at the time but he didn't and of course she didn't have a home phone at her place - I mean why break stereotype like that? I left word with as many mutual friends as I could and stopped worrying about it.

I drove the almost two hour trip by myself and made plans to stay with friends for the night, knowing I'd be in no shape to drive back after all that (remember the pill-popping). The funeral was at their church, where we'd been to visit a few times, but was way out in the country, dirt roads and all. I impressed myself by remembering how to get there. I also horrified myself by barfing all over the inside of the car five minutes before arriving. (For me, heat + pills + nerves = vom) When I pulled the car into the long line of parked vehicles, I was glad to see one of Mario's cousins approaching. He was so sad, there in his dark suit, suffering from heat exhaustion, but then cracked a big smile when he saw me. And I was like, "Psst! Tommy! I need some help over here!" I showed him the barf chunks, which had somehow mostly missed my clothes and he ran to get me a wet towel. I made myself presentable, but I can truly say that was one long, hot, heartbreaking day. Brian never showed up which I thought was very weird, but chalked it up to the ditch witch not allowing him to go since of course I was there, and where better to reconcile oru marriage than at a good friend's funeral. I apologzied to Arlene for him and she told me it was okay; she'd slap him the next time she saw him but for me to tell him she loved him too. God, I'm freaking crying again right now. Awesome.

Back at Grace's house Sunday late afternoon, Brian showed up a few hours after I did and I couldn't wait to hear what stupid excuse he'd have for not going. But oh no - surprise, HE was pissed at ME! Um, excuse me, whatthefuck did you just say? We took our argument from the front yard, COPS style, into the garage/laundry room where we could fight in private. He started bitching - and he was seriously red-faced pissed off - carrying on about how could I not tell him when or where the funeral was, that no matter what was going on with us that was so selfish of me and he couldn't believe I'd do something that shitty. He said something like, "I wasn't going to bring HER, if that's what you were worried about."

Aaaaand, CRACK. Right-handed uppercut to the jaw, and it connected perfectly. Now I'm glad there were no witnesses (I exposed Elizabeth to way too much as it was; she didn't need to see my first foray into domestic violence) but at the time I remember thinking, Damn, that was a great punch! He just looked at me all shocked and shit. It says a lot that he didn't hit me back, because I believe anyone, ANYONE who hits somebody should at least expect the same in return. But he didn't. I yelled something original like You have some fucking nerve, expletive, expletive, bad name, expletive. And ARE YOU HAPPY YOU'RE SO FUCKED UP OVER THIS BITCH YOU MISSED ONE OF YOUR BEST FRIEND'S FUNERAL??? Hurtful. But I was so mad/sad/tired/insane by that point. Two funerals in under three weeks. My husband half living with me, half with another girl. I'm in no way trying to justify my hitting. It makes me ashamed when I think about it now, but these days if I bring it up he says I barely grazed him anyway.(FALSE)

I do remember another feeling along with the shock and satisfaction. And that was feeling absolutely sick. My fist connecting with the face of the person I love more than anyone in the world? It was nauseating. I'm so sorry and sad it even happened. But it did, so remembering it now just makes me really thankful (again) we made it through all that shit and lived to tell about it. I just called him to say hi because I was feeling guilty after this and said Remember the time I gave you that righteous uppercut? He said, No, I only remember getting hit if it actually hurt, so why would I remember that? Then he laughed at me.

These days are much happier and we keep the hitting where it belongs, in the bedroom.

God, the child support alone

'Jon & Kate Plus 8' Dad's Affair Confirmed


Took a little gossip break a little while ago (I enjoy spending my lunch hour doing productive and useful things) and ran across the above news. Now I know logically this should not have even caught my attention, let alone bother me as much as it does. But I always aim to be honest here.

This saddens me. I'm not a fanatic for the show but there were a few months there where I did get into it for awhile and would watch a few episodes here and there, particularly on a boring Saturday night. Especially after I started with the fertility crap - then all fertility stories and parents-of-multiples suddenly were fascinating to me. It didn't take long for my interest to fade, mostly due to all the hype it started getting (I like to jump on bandwagons either before or long after everybody else has) and also because I have the attention span of an tse tse fly right now.

But I couldn't help having a little flashback reading about this. Say Jon really is having an affair. Or hey, say he isn't, but is just acting REALLY stupid right now, because for chrissakes it's not good form to be seen hanging out with young women (multiple times) in the middle of the night sans your wife. Either way. I thought about my own marital crisis and how I would've felt had I woken up one morning in the middle of all the hell to see Brian's and the Harpy's face splashed all over the magazines. And the internet. Even CNN did a story on this I think. With someone hiding outside my house waiting for me to appear (all sad and ugly and no make-up) so they could take my picture and ask me idiotic questions like "How do you feel about your husband's affair?"

Whether or not Kate is truly the bitch she seems to be, this isn't what she deserves. Well, I guess you could argue that all fame whores deserve to have their bidness spread everywhere, but I just remember saying back then "I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone. Well, maybe Osama Bin Laden, but no one else." I still mean that. The pain of dealing with your spouse having an affair (whether or not you're also having one) is horrific; to me it ranked pretty close up there with losing my dad. And that was without the entire world knowing, talking about it, and sharing their stupid opinions about it.

And we didn't have eight kids when we went through it. Ugh, those poor kids.

I received a comment the other day from someone who'd just read all my posts about the separation and she told me I left her hanging and she needed to read the ending. Leave it to me to give everything I do my whole 95%. I have no excuse, except that I've always been really bad with the follow-through; just watch my golf swing if you don't believe me. But she's right and here soon I'm going to write the last part of it and get it over with. It's the least I can do for Jon and Kate.

I wonder if TLC is going to have a new show out this Fall: Jon Minus Nine.
Too soon?

Keep feeling fascination

Why didn't anybody tell me my boyfriend is in the new Wolverine movie?

It's Tim Riggins from Friday Night Lights! This is the man (boy) who has replaced Jim from The Office as my number one TV boyfriend but I don't know much about him surprisingly. As if Hugh Jackman's torso wasn't enough of a motivator. We may be back at the movies sooner than I thought. Rowr! And just in time to make with all the sex again too - tres convenient.

Which reminds me. Annette sent me an article the other day about how Hugh Jackman's wife sometimes makes him wear the Wolverine costume when they do it. Now there's a woman after my own heart. I've often lamented (hey!) Brian's refusals over the years to be Darth Vader, Brett Favre (all he'd need there would be a simple GB helmet), Spiderman, Batman and Captain Jack Sparrow. I mean really; I don't think it's asking too much. Then again, I've never actually bought him a costume to wear and I know half his problem is he has a shopping phobia, so maybe I need to look into that a little more. Either way - Hugh Jackman's wife = my new hero(ine).

Here are two things currently making me feel old (in addition to all the usual things): Grace and my 23rd anniversary of friendship is tomorrow (we use the first time we went out together to mark the date) and her daughter just made it on the high school cheerleading team for next year. This is the same kid who was JUST BORN. Or so it feels like. Holy hell. We always joked by the time I had a kid Elizabeth would be old enough to babysit, but now it's more like she's old enough to be its mother. Not even close to funny. But technically true. I predicted she would be a cheerleader for our alma mater; it wasn't hard to imagine since she's been involved with it since the time she was four years old. The first and only cheerleader I've ever loved.

So...what else. Uh, oh yeah. Brian, who is in charge of giving me my fertility medicine shots (I do not stick myself with needles; it's a personal choice), was all ready for me yesterday afternoon, saying cheerfully "Isn't it time for your shot?" Why yes honey, how strangely responsible of you to remember. I stand there all smiley, thinking how thoughtful he really is. He opens the fridge where it is always stored. And then he asks me where it is. (Insert needle-scratching-across-record sound)Me: "Why are you asking ME where it is; I don't touch it, that's your job, where is it, what the fuck, aaaaggghhhh!" Or something like that. Turns out he had left it out on the dining room table last night after shooting me up. Which should tell you the state of the table that we didn't notice the bright red hazmat container, needles and medicine. He started making apologetic noises as I dialed the on-call nurse. Got her on the phone and quickly and panicky explained the dilemma to her. At the end of my rant I added, "I'm going to kill my husband; this is his fault." She laughed and said "Honey, you're fine. Take your shot now and put the medicine back into the refrigerator. Don't kill your husband yet; we still need him for the process. You can do that afterwards." I think more medical people need to get a sense of humor. It helps.

Glad for the end of this work week; it's been about as much fun as a punch in the throat. The next IUI is either happening Monday or Tuesday; we won't know until the follicles get measured Sunday morning - I'm hoping for Monday, but it's not up to me. I'm not even going to speculate what my mental state is going to be like after this one. I do know I have lots of fun questions for the doctor though. Things he is likely not able to answer, but damn it, I'm asking him anyway. Starting off with WHAT IS THE MAJOR MALFUNCTION, NUMBNUTS? (Anyone else a Full Metal Jacket fan? I love that movie.)

That's all for now.

Fight the power.

Sunday, bloody Sunday

This post is coming to you from a remote corner of Siberia, where I ran away to escape reality. Just kidding - why the hell would anyone go to Siberia? I'd go to Alaska. But I can't afford it right now.

I got my period yesterday. Yeah, it sucked. What really sucked was Saturday morning when I was in the middle of hurredly making an apple pie and playing with my new haircut and picking out what I was wearing to the cook-out and I went to the bathroom, wiped and saw a wee bit of color on the toilet paper. I thought I would be able to hold my shit together but before I could tell Brian what happened he noticed I was shaking. Way to betray me, whatever bodily system causes you to shake. I had a small breakdown then, and told him sorry but there was no way I was going to the festivities when I figured I'd be bleeding any hour now and he totally understood and went by himself. He knows my limit.

So when the blood did eventually arrive yesterday morning, I was already post-freakout and it wasn't too bad. Of course I spent the entire weekend reading and watching mindless TV (I LOVE the Real Housewives of NYC now) and now I'm at work and feeling okay. I am thankful again that I work in a fairly isolated location and can hide behind a closed door most of the day. Sometimes for me it's best to keep human contact to a minimum.

I was reading a collection of short stories by Alice Munro yesterday and in one of them the husband/father was just this total dick. MEAN, mean man. The wife loved the kids completely, but led a miserable life with him. I got up to get some grape juice and passed Brian in the dining room. Without saying anything, he just gave me this awesome and much-needed hug. Timing is everything. I'm going through something that is just flat out emotionally draining right now, but I have an amazing person helping me through it and I need to tell him that more often.

Just being out of the house I already feel more human. And there's certainly not a lack of things to do here to keep busy, so best get to 'em. Thanks for all your words of support; they really do make it so much easier. And laughing is good right now, so if you get a chance, I wouldn't mind hearing a joke or two. I still can laugh and that is good.

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.

From zero to bitch

Today is one of those days I feel like my fight or flight instinct is on high alert and I either want to punch someone in the face (myself would suffice) or get in my shitty car, start driving in any direction and BE GONE. This doesn't happen very often, I have no idea what brought it on and I know it will pass soon. Having this much pent up unprovoked rage isn't healthy, so tonight's exercise might have to include more than just a nice neighborhood walk. A punching bag would prove very effective, but I don't own one of those. Not sure why.

I thought the work day would be pretty laid back, as the boss isn't here and I have a light week scheduled. Don't ever go into work thinking that - I should've known better. My phone hasn't stopped all day and at the other end of the line is some asshole asking me not relevant or else calling to bitch to me about shit that's out of our control.

Brian picked the wrong day to also call many many times. Not totally his fault, but uhhhh....

Rage. It's not good for the skin.

The repeat performance IUI went well on Saturday. This time we made the trip without his mom tagging along which was much cooler - she doesn't make me feel pressure per se; we just can't totally relax and be ourselves in front of her. That puts a strain on people who curse a lot.

We got there right on time at 10:00 and they immediately called Brian in to do his thing. He mentioned he wished he had a t-shirt made up that said "Super Stroker" that he could wear for these occasions but I took it in stride, knowing that's how he deals with being nervous - the stupid jokes. I never really thought about it, but unless you're in the porn business, semi-public masterbation must be a little bit stressful. But like last time, he handled his business (literally!) like a champ and was done in less than fifteen minutes. Whoever said Hustler magazine doesn't have its useful place in society has never gone through fertility treatments.

So thank you, Larry Flynt; you provided us with enough time to go grab some Egg McMuffins before it was time for me to have to be back in the office for my part of the procedure. That McDonald's right across the street from the clinic must do a ton of business from the infertile portion of the population. Just saying.

I had a different doctor than the one I've seen previously and this one wasn't young or cute, but he was a little old and weird. I liked him all the same. He reiterated my follicles looked good, that there were three big ones this time and 95 million sperm. Not to get too graphic, but he also noted my cervix gave obvious signs of ovulation, which nobody said last time. I know better than to be all hopey this time, but it was encouraging to hear that everything was as good if not better than last time. We also topped off the procedure with some more activity of our own, because you know - if 95 million is good, 190 million is better. And activity in our case usually begets more activity, though I had to remind him last night he accidentally deposited everything in the wrong location.

Okay, that was just gross. But true!

The doctor did say something weirdly comforting; that all we can all do is our best with trying for this and then let God and/or magic take care of the rest. I completely agree. But here's the thing. I don't want to hear from well-meaning people who tell me maybe it's not meant to be. I know this to be true, but I'm not ready to give up yet, so I'd rather not even enter into that line of thinking or conversation yet. My aunt told me that on the phone yesterday and I know she means well, she's just stupid sometimes.

That's like a comment I read somewhere not too long ago on a fertility site where someone chimed in that people who aren't able to have kids should probably take it as a sign that God is trying to thin the herd and keep from breeding too many idiots. I wanted so badly to get ahold of that person's contact information. Just to explain some of the examples of awesome parenting I've seen in my time - because in thier opinion everybody who currently has children must certainly be of high intelligence and background. Okay, that's enough of that - not in the right frame of mind to really be discussing this subject AT ALL.

Other than this, I sadly missed the cousin's girlfriend (baby mama) while she was here; she flew back to Florida yesterday. When Brian was over there Saturday night, she told him, "I wish Kim would've come with you - I really wanted to show her the baby!" Ahaha! I bet you did, honey! DARN IT ALL! What's awesome about that is that his cousin, aunt and uncle are still here for another week so I'll definitely make a point to visit them; they weren't the ones I was trying to avoid. Yeee!

The next couple of nights we're having our last hurrah of frozen overnight temperatures. While at first I was begrudging having to bring all the plants back inside, I just realized this is a good opportunity to have a couple more fireplace nights. And there is nothing like the fireplace (besides actual real sedatives) to calm me, so this couldn't have come at a better time.

Signing off now.
Click click boom!

Perspective

I've made an effort to try not to bitch too much over the past few days...oh, a little escapes here and there because I am still myself after all, but I've mostly tried to keep the raging, obscenity-laced, whiny, tearful, irrational and almost unrelenting feelings to myself and a few lucky people. I don't get like this very often, I don't like it and I don't want to spread my misery around.

Obviously I am really disappointed with the unsuccessful first IUI. It took a few days I think for me to get over the fact that even though everything happened as it was supposed to and that there are no obvious problems, it just didn't happen this time. I also had to get used to the idea of round two, which started this morning. When you start riding the Fertility Express, all the experts advise not to live your life in thirty-day increments and to keep living your life as normally as possible. Well I tried that, but it is hard not to think about it every single day, when most days involve either peeing into a cup, getting prodded in your baby-hole, taking this pill, taking that pill, taking this shot, etc. Inspecting your underwear, for the love of God.

This morning, for instance, started with the special treat of the Day 3 ultrasound, which is a bloody mess of a good time and fairly painful as well. Again, a new nurse in training was there in attendance with my regular hole-poker and she was teaching her how to read the screen and pointing out where my eggs and whatever were. All while putting intense pressure on my girl region with the large phallic Wand of Invasion; it was a bit much today. It also caused the exam to take a full five minutes longer than most times and five minutes is a long time when you're in pain. I thought about farting on her for spite but then figured I better not. It wouldn't strike her as a revenge thing so much as it would just look like an accident and then I'd have to act embarrassed and who has that kind of energy at 8:00 in the morning? Anyway, starting tonight it's back to the pills and shots and in another week we'll see what kind of follicle action I have going on.

Which just so happens to completely screw any plans I had for going to Florida. Even postponing it for a week wouldn't really work, as Brian's truck is going to need tons more money thrown at it before it will run again. Tons. And as anxious as I was to get away for a little while and go be with people I love, I can't come close to justifying it. "Okay Honey, you stay here and deal with all this shit by yourself while I go traipsing off on vacation. See you next week!" That's not me; I guess I don't qualify to be a Real Housewife of Whatever County, because I'm quite sure any of them would have no problem with it. That's the problem with having a conscience. And a soul. And not starring on a Bravo reality show.

So yeah, I was feeling pretty poopy thinking about all this on my way back into work this morning. Then I sat down to the computer to read a few blogs while drinking some coffee (YES, I AM DRINKING COFFEE RIGHT NOW; DOES ANYONE HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT???) and got a shock. A blogger I've read for awhile and really enjoy, well, her husband passed away last night from heart failure. Right around the time me and the dog were taking our nice nightly walk. It was almost a screeching tire sound effect that happened in my brain as soon as I read that. My heart broke for her. And I felt like a complete and total schmuck. THESE are the problems I'm bitching about? Not getting pregnant on the first try, postponing a vacation and car trouble? What the hell is wrong with me. Yesterday when I was at a low point, I called Brian and burst into ugly, hiccuping, hysterical tears. He does what he always does and helped me to get a grip and even made me laugh before we got off the phone. That? Is everything to me. I'm so lucky for that. I'm done complaining. I'm sure it won't last forever, but that was a little wake-up call right there.

For that lady's husband, for my Dad who passed away seven years ago Sunday and for my friend Lisa who has been gone one year this coming Sunday:

"and, when he shall die...
take him and cut him out in little stars and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night" - William Shakespeare

"Turn around and say good morning to the night/For unless they see the sky/But they can't and that is why/They know not if it's dark outside or light" - Elton John

Distractions

Have you ever socialized with a couple who couldn't help but to have raging, screaming arguments in front of you? Whether in a double date situation or in a larger group, it's just no good for anyone involved. Sister and I were just talking about married friends of theirs who do it fairly frequently in front of her and her husband and then last night the Rednecks had it out in front of us. Awk-ward. I'd like to know if there's a proper ettiquette in handling it. Ignore it? Try to steer the conversation toward a more neutral topic like politics or religion?

Redneck Wife and I were leaving to go to the grocery store to pick up frozen pizza for dinner. Because we like to bring the klass on a Friday night. We've done this plenty of times in the past without incident. Except most of the time she brings her kids with us, which...I sort of hate and also doesn't make much sense when you figure Brian and Redneck Husband are there at the house, perfectly able to keep the kids from burning anything down, killing small animals or other things of that nature. I know it's possible, because I've seen it. But last night the kids had another friend over and the Wife figured (correctly) we could get the errand over with a lot quicker without bringing them along.

We went outside to where the men were working on Brian's truck and told them. You would've thought she had just announced the end of life as we know it by the way he reacted. There was cursing. There was throwing of large heavy tools. There was a very loud, heated and insulting exchange between them. Brian and I made eye contact for the briefest second and I quickly got into her truck. She got in, shut the door and said I hate him sometimes and I had no idea how to respond. I pretty much just agreed with her and quickly and awkwardly changed the subject.

I thought of how I could've maybe handled it better. I couldn't really commiserate with her and talk shit about Brian because he's never come close to acting like that. And she's known Brian since they were little kids so she already knows that. We're not close enough friends for me to give her any advice, not that I usually would anyway. If I could say what I am thinking whenever this happens: You're too good for him. You're too smart for him. You have a college degree and he's a functioning illiterate. I know he was the first real boyfriend you ever had (Translation: the first real good sex you ever had), I know you accidentally got pregnant when you were on the verge of breaking up and then figured you were screwed literally as well as figuratively so you did the "right" thing, but it's never too late and you know your parents would be thrilled if you divorced him and would probably buy you a new house. I don't think he's ever going to change and I don't think you're ever going to be happy unless you leave him.

Maybe some people could say it. I can't. Maybe I should though? She told me last night she only has four close friends and that I'm one of them. So if that's how she feels about me, do I OWE it to her to say it? All of the above is true, but I just don't feel it's my place to butt in when she's never asked me what I thought about it; she mostly just complains a little and then we move onto a different topic. Eh, who knows. All I know is whenever we're around them and something like that happens, I have the insane urge to go home and blow Brian to show my appreciation for him not being a douche. Maybe someday I'll actually act on it.

One of the responses I got back yesterday via text when I sent out my Bad News Bulletin was from my excellent friend Kristen. It said, "So, we just keep continuing to have baby prayers, that's all. What do you think about going bowling this weekend?" That ranks up there in the top five messages I've ever gotten in my life. And yes, I think we are going bowling tonight. Because when life hands you lemons you should always turn them into balls.

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.

Wifely Knowledge

L.L. Cool Joe came up with a great little meme; albeit one that's had me thinking about it for over a day already - mainly because I don't feel all that knowledgable in anything. What's that saying; Jack of all trades, master of DUMB? Yeah, that's pretty much me to a T. But I really enjoyed Heather's take on it and wanted to play with the cool kids.

The rules:
1. You’ve got to post a link from the person who tagged you.
2. List 8 things that you know about on your chosen subject. You get to choose the subject.
3. You don’t have to tag anyone but you can if you want. If you do, let them know on their blog that they’ve been tagged.
4. List the rules.

I love a good list. But this was challenging for me; I never realized how much thought goes into listing eight things on one subject. Okay, enough with the disclaimers; my subject is being a wife. Okay, one more disclaimer. This by no means means I feel I'm any kind of expert in marriage or relationships. This is solely based on my experience as an almost ten-year veteran of wifehood.

1. Realize the marriage itself is more important than any wedding. When we decided to get married, he was in school and my parents were struggling with trying to sell their business - pretty much all of us were dead-ass broke. At first I was stressing out about appearances; would his family be disappointed we didn't do the fancy thing like his brother had just done five months before? Would all our friends be pissed they drove from Florida to South Carolina to watch a five-minute outside ceremony and then go to a golf course for not-very-fancy-food and drink? Then my favorite cousin put it all into perspective as usual. He said, Kim, nobody remembers anything about a wedding except whether or not they had a good time. You're having music, you've having alcohol - they'll have a good time. And the end result is that you'll be married to Brian, which was the goal to begin with. Ah, perspective. And now, almost ten years later, people still talk about our fun wedding.

2. This sounds so anti-feminist and old-fashioned, but whatever. Men are fairly simple creatures who really enjoy creature comforts. Unless they're weird. Having a good dinner ready when the guy gets home really goes a long way in showing your love. I am married to someone who loves food, so it's very satisfying to watch him do the anticipatory happy dance when something is smelling good and he's hungry. Even though it does get annoying when he's lurching over me in the tiny kitchen, lifting pot lids and stirring shit that doesn't need to be stirred, trying to make it cook faster. But I'm sorry; it's fun to cook for someone who loves to eat. I even get leery and suspicious about women who brag about never cooking for their husbands and how if he wants to eat, he can do it himself. Wha? You're mean.

3. If you are someone who likes things neat and clean yet are married to someone who has to be prodded fairly regularly to do his share of housework, you're not going to have a happy life. Either learn to let go of some of your clean leanings or be prepared to constantly pick up after someone. Constantly. Like, you are Sisyphus and the chores are the big rock and the house is the huge hill. I've put a lot of thought into this one, apparently.

4. In relation to the above, realize that if you have a messy house, no matter what the reason, it will always reflect worse on you than it does the man. It's just the way it is.

5. Blowjobs.

6. This one is a biggie. Make him the primary or even sole male person you give the majority of your attention to. Yes thank you; I am Captain Obvious, and I just said that. I made the mistake long ago of thinking it was cool to have close guy friends and that Brian was cool with it - we were so cool. Until I started doing things like having marathon phone conversations with the other guys and spending more time with them than I did with Brian and he wasn't so cool with it anymore but didn't say much and I didn't notice and then everything went to Hell in a handbasket. Hey, I never said I was too bright; I'm just glad to have learned some big lessons along the way.

7. Depending on the man, he'll need some amount of male company; dude time, if you will. Some men need a lot; Brian needs a fair amount and I've always tried hard not to begrudge him that, because he's never begrudged me my girl time. Yes, a round of golf takes almost all day. Yes, hunting means he leaves the house at four in the morning and comes home twelve hours later dirty, smelly and with a bloody carcass in the back of his truck. Yes, a bachelor party is going to involve titties. I'm sorry - it's important for them to still be one of the guys. I have enough girlfriends to do girl things with; I don't need or want my husband to be another one of them. As long as the man isn't spending every night away from you involved in questionable activities, give him some space - damn! Nobody wants to be around your nagging ass 24/7! Yes, I'm projecting; I know several women who are Smotherers and I want to slap them.

8. As a wife, you're expected to play many roles: lover, friend, encourager, number one fan and cheerleader (sometimes you're even required to dress the part of the cheerleader) and sometimes yeah - it can be overwhelming. But in my experience, it's also been really rewarding and I would recommend it to near just about anyone.

I'm not good at tagging people, but if you want to do this, I'll read it and love it! Thanks, Cool Joe; that was fun.

*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.

Busier than a hooker working on commission

So here I am at work on another Friday. Remember a few months back when I was all excited to have gotten my schedule changed to get Fridays off? I don't know about you, but it sure seems like a lot of Fridays off lately have been at least partially spent with me coming into this godforsaken place just to keep from drowning in horseshit, which is something I never want to drown in. Not exactly what I was envisioning few months back.

Today though, I have ulterior motives. See, I haven't told anyone here about what's been going on Re: my ovaries and the fertilization thereof. I figure (A) It's too early to discuss a pregnancy that has yet to begin and (B) it's none of their damn business. However it IS their business when I take time off and why. I've been lucky thus far in being able to finagle around appointments so that no one here is the wiser, but all that's over with now.

Tonight and tomorrow night I get shot up with Follistim. Then depending on what's revealed at the ultrasound Sunday morning, I will have to go down to Charleston (really Mount Pleasant, but no one's probably heard of that except Johnann who's been there for a golf tournament but it's close enough to refer to it as Charleston and really who gives a shit) either Monday or Tuesday; there's no way of knowing which day at this point. If the follicles are good in both number and size and I'm ovulating, Thundercats are go for Monday. If the follicles are right but I'm NOT ovulating, I have to shoot up a different drug on Sunday, one that induces ovulation and then I won't go to Charleston (Mt. Pleasant!) until Tuesday. Obviously, the goal of the fertility people is to do the insemination on the absolute best possible day for the successful meeting of Mr. Sperm and Mrs. Egg. But all this waiting and this depends on that and that depends on the other thing is pretty much causing my brain to melt.

As far as work is concerned, they know I have Monday off. They have no idea I might be taking Tuesday off as well and if that's the case, I'm just calling in sick. Because isn't that what sick days are for, having your husband's sperm injected into your uterus? All this stealth is a pain in the buttocks but it'll be over with soon. It's just happened to coincide with an ever-increasing workload lately, so as is the usual case with my life there's either nothing happening more strenuous than what's lined up to watch on the dvr OR everything that possibly could go on is going on.

A little stressful. But I think I'm handling it pretty well, especially considering I HAVEN'T SMOKED SINCE SUNDAY NIGHT!!! I'm sorry to keep bringing it up but I'm pretty freaking proud of myself. Brian is also kicking ass with it; he's sort of supplementing with those skinny little fifty cent cigars you get at the convenience store but only like one or two of those a day and just a little puff here and there. I'm AMAZED at how well he's doing. Dude has smoked cigarettes since he was FOURTEEN. We're both horrified at how long we've done something so stupid. And expensive! We're going to be saving between two and three grand a year by doing this and I have the actual figures written on a Post-it stuck to the computer to remind us of how much money we've wasted over the years but more because of how yippy-skippy we feel knowing we won't be anymore. We're a little slow sometimes but eventually we do catch on.

So wish us luck tonight sometime around 8:00, because that's when we'll do our Sid & Nancy impression and he'll shoot me up with a drug-filled needle. So romantic! I have my Sex Pistols cd all ready to go to help set the appropriate mood. Hopefully afterwards our bathroom won't look like the one Nancy OD'd in at the Chelsea hotel, but we are amateurs after all, so anything's possible.

Funny too; that's been my mantra for the past week - Anything is possible.

Premature conversations

Spent the afternoon at the inlaws' today and it was, as it sometimes is, what one could call somewhat trying.

As the date quickly approaches for the first attempt at insemination (By the way, I've been referring to our procedure completely wrong for awhile. We're not to the point of having to do in vitro fertilization; what we're doing is called interuterine insemination. IUI, not IVF. I'm sorry if I've mislead you, but when we first learned everything about this stuff there was so much information thrown at me, I got a little overwhelmed with trying to understand everything. I won't go into specifics, but this procedure is used for people like us, seemingly healthy and with no obvious obstacles, but for some reason haven't caught pregnant. The idea is pretty much the same, the procedure is slightly different. In that it's not painful, I won't have to be knocked out and it takes about five minutes. Win win win.)...ANYWAY!

We filled them in on what's going to happen over the next couple of weeks with regards to the procedures and when we can expect to find out if the procedure was a success, which should be sometime around the middle of next month. They had all kinds of questions and we answered them. But then the conversation went a little awry.

As I've hinted, on the very small chance my eggs go gangbusters and too many happen to get fertilized (something this fertilization place goes to great lengths to avoid), there are several kind of scary options we'd have to make decisions about. I'm certainly not going to get into the politics or ethics of it here, but I'm sure you can figure out what I'm talking about. There's no way in hell I'm prepared to have any more than twins and even that would be considered a high risk pregnancy, especially at my age. I just hope it doesn't come to that. Especially since his mother turned pale when we just discussed the possibility of that.

Then things got even more uncomfortable when they brought up the fact they expected us to raise the potential child in the church, starting the baby off bright and early in Sunday school. Oy. I sat on the hearth of their fireplace as far away from everybody as possible thinking, Are we really having this discussion already? A little premature, right? And so I didn't want to, but sort of felt backed into a corner; I pulled the Jew card.

Yes, obviously they know I'm Jewish. But they've also seen me willingly go to church many times and know my beliefs are pretty wide-ranging on the subject. I just felt like it was the right time to remind them that hey - we respect what you're saying, but remember that it is going to be our kid. And the only people who need to agree on the type and intensity of religious or spiritual training the kid has are me and Brian. And we've had plenty of years to discuss it amongst ourselves and feel the same way. The last time this issue was even an issue was for our wedding and I squashed any potential bullshit by having our ceremony performed by a friend of mine who was a notary. I'm sure certain people had stuff to say about it, but we didn't have to hear any of it. The goal was to get married and we achieved the goal.

So we're home now and I'm starting to unwind a little bit and to get the feeling back in the left side of my body that went numb a few hours back. Not that it's not important, but for the next week or so I have to try to concentrate on being calm, healthy, getting enough sleep and trying to grow my egg holders to the best of my ability. The goal is to have a baby. Let's see if we can achieve that as successfully as we did the wedding and then we'll talk specifics.

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.