Got What I Wanted And It Doesn't Feel Like A Relief

After twenty minutes of failed attempts to convince Given that cuddling under the warm covers was much better than exposing my half-clothed body to the crisp, morning air, I decided to face the day.  When nose to nose, sissy-lala Monday should have been man enough to warn that the day would be filled with an unexpected contact, non-stop, disorganized packing and a fear that homework would only be a missed opportunity to succeed.  Instead, Given and I ignorantly ran to the kitchen, grabbed our coffees (she's never too young) and sat down to let the caffiene run its course.

Tomorrow I leave the nest once again.  You would think they would unravel the twigs of that thing, or at least get a one bedroom cottage after all the times their children have come home for extended "visits".  I being the greatest offender.  Two and 1/2 years ago I was asked to come home because I was alone, sick, pregnant, and doubted to survive the birth.  The Hallmarks that flowed in for that situation was overwhelming.  The stay was to only be a couple months, according to one Paula Jo Foster, yet I knew there was no way I could start over in California with a child and no support after just giving birth.  So the months continued on, I did my part to cover expenses by acting as their failig memory and they paid for the roof over my head.  Every once in a while I dusted as high as the tallest person we know.  The situation worked for us.  We had a good thing going.

The problem with living in Phelan, with your parents, without a license, and a growing child is that there is no opportunity for progress.  Ideas swung back and forth, but nothing surfaced, so we finally came to the decision that it was time to move on; all the way to Hesperia.  At least there I could have help with Given, more time for studies, and a much better opportunity to come in contact with those humans I hear so much about.  Tomorrow is the day, which meant today was the packing day.

Packing for one woman and one child should be simple enough.  Given's belongings took up much of the time, then I realized I could downsize my side by throwing away the jumk I never saw or used.  The process, however, took longer than expected because a monkey repeatedly jumped on my broken neck and demanded I twirl in circles, or she would throw poo.  Well, we all know who would have to clean that noodle-laden mess up, so I twirled.  Then vomited.  Though giving away many of Given's baby blankets brought some tear moments (no actual crying, there is no proof), and having my own sadness over leaving the comfort of what had become a daily, geriatric schedule, nothing turned my stomach in to the meat grinder like the email I received.

After months of trying to file for divorce from a man who thought "hide-and-seek" was a real-life, adult game, I received an email with his current address and the willingness to sign, let go, and let God.  A, "Woo-Hoo!" shoud follow this moment, yet all I could do was shove my stomach back down from my throat and contemplate how getting what I wanted to could still hurt so much.  I have fallen in love once, with my best-friend, and married him (we are talking about my husband, stay with me here).  To know that it will be over without a fight is a relief, yet a kick to my self-confidence.

I am the one who got away.  I will always be the one who got away, from every body.  At least that is what I have told myself enough times to believe.  While I think of people from my past, my imagination allows me to know they lay there at night, wondering how they could have missed out on that opportunity to spend eternity with me.  This is only a fantasy, however, because committmennt is my kryptonite and fables my xanax.  But when it comes to my own husband, I do not want to know that he is so happy with whomever he has moved on to, that any desire to fight for our marriage, or to be a father for that matter, doesn't interest him.  Here's the girl-mind part, I don't want to reconcile, I just want to be wanted for reconciliation.  I spent the day passing along baby items and packing up clothes, then trying to once again sever the reality that I have a failed marriage, yet wouldn't change it one bit. 

Monday, oh Monday, you never warned my eyes would burn, my stomach churn and my mouth become silent by the end of day.  You never insisted I eat, and therefore I failed to digest even a burrito, peanut butter, or chocolate chip.  My trust in Monday is in limbo, as Tuesday is about to begin, and may prove Monday to be my best friend.