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Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Sometimes Being Right Just Ain't All That.

Yup. It is a hollow victory. Exxie is thrashing, and it is painful to watch. The death throes of a marriage are always excruciating, and always completely unpredictable. Wait, let me amend that. Always directly related to the amount of time it takes for the different parties to move on. Get laid. Get over themselves. If one partner, whether the divorcer or divorcee, happens to move along much faster than the other, there can be much discontent... to both parties, caused by the left-behind, carnal-knowledge-wise party. She's just pitiful, and I predicted much of this. At first, FL seemed a little surprised by it all, but I think he realizes that this is just how she is right now, and how she needs to deal with it all. She has convinced herself that this relationship started way, way before it did, and will not be talked out of it. Well. I can pass a lie detector on this one, the surprise was just as big for me that things happened the way they did back in December 2013. I feel like she needs to know this, so she can stop chewing on the supposition that she was in some way wronged by it all. Because as long as she clings to the victim paradigm, there is no moving on, and she'll continue to gnat us at any given chance. I really do feel sorry for her; this is not a good place to be. It is, however a place that you can determine to get out of in good time. What is the roadmap? Are you ready for this? Get out there. Get social. Get a boyfriend. Get laid. Get on one of those goofy dating sites. Wait, on second thought, don't. But really, enough with the thrashing. It's dead, Jim. Time for a new attitude. And take it from me, a few hundred non-self-inflicted orgasms can do wonders for a girl's perspective. Just sayin'.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Constant Life, Variable Reaction

I have found that life’s ups and downs seem to be more or less constant. There is always some tiny aggravation, always a big thing to be in awe of, or anticipate, or feel Something about.  Somebody gets a check in the mail, somebody loses the key, somebody has a baby, somebody dies. Emotions flow in a constant stream. What I find fluctuates the most is my ability to react, develop and process these things. Depending on factors as basic as sleep, or the amount and quality of food in my body, even the point at which I am in my cycle (yes, the ovaries continue to refuse to die…) can affect me. Now, I like to think that without too much falderal I can buck up and get the good process going, but sometimes things grate, or hurt, or strike me in an odd way, while a similar thing, a week ago, or yesterday, or a candy bar and a half ago, did not hit me in the very same spot. I recognize this, which they tell me, is the first step. I do score pretty high on the self-awareness scale. I am working on becoming more even in reaction and tolerance. Reaction is my hardest struggle. You see, I was born without a poker face, and I tend to cry at the drop of an onion or a good AT&T commercial. I also seem to blurt on a regular basis. So grimacing, leaking and blurting, this may be the reaction you’ll get from me at your big/small/happy/sad/angry news, but in a minute or so you may also get some insight or encouragement that may be worth something.


Be patient, I tell myself, the fluctuation is sometimes so subtle that those beyond the Elle Inner Sanctum may not even notice it. (Although some inside the circle have become hypersensitive to these flutters and do tend to notice, saying so simultaneously. I just read an article about the psychic cords that stretch between folks, interesting and really woo-woo if you’re not living it…) I temper that first reaction that might have threatened to go over the top with mass quantities of hey, what is this really? Where should it go in the big picture of things? and carry on.  What I am saying is, give me thirty seconds. There may be a slight grimace, perhaps a small tear or the peep of a blurt, but I will work to maintain an even keel and process the information presented. You may want to keep a protein bar in a pocket nearby or if I am particularly weepy, lead me to bed and instruct me to sleep on it. (and FL, Mr. Inner-Inner Sanctum, you already know and do these things. None of these instructions pertain to you. But that article – it was on the Internet, so you know it’s true--was really quite striking.)Anyway, just the observation du jour from the suburbs of my mind….

Monday, August 18, 2014

I Could Just Howl at the Moon

I could. And you know, I might. What could they do to me, after all? I mean, I already have a reputation of sorts, in the neighborhood. I have the chief emo loud guitar player on the block. People come and go from my house at all hours of the day and night. My mail goes uncollected for sometimes days, as my garbage cans stay in public display for extended periods. We've left the garage door open -- no one home, just wiiiiide open, on a few days-long occasions. Halloween treats tend to be more plentiful and either really really gross (yes, mine is the house at which your child accumulated the gummy zombie eyes) or very chocolate. Christmas lights do their breaker-tripping best, without tipping the tackiness scale (too much...). My garden best describes chaos in nature.

All of this I say, because, well, I just feel like howling at the moon. Howling with joy, at life, at the amazing wonderment that I get to know right now. And all that other stuff, I can howl in anticipation, because I have someone finally to share them with me, to work on them with me, or encourage me in blowing them off. So if you're in the vicinity of Chez Elle-FL, don't be surprised if your tender ears get accosted by (A) loud emo guitar playing and/or (B) howling at the moon. In two-part harmony. Aaaah-oooo.

Thursday, July 31, 2014

We Now Interrupt this Honeymoon...

For a slice of reality. FL has had to go to work in Houston, and I have managed to get some nice people pissed off at me for daring to have a life. The hydroponic towers are dried up because the pump got turned off during the long weekend, and hell, I have no idea what to make for dinner. The cats are on strike, and I am more pitiful than I thought I'd be without FL. Oh, and I have PMS. The good news? It's almost quitting time, I can go directly home and rest a bit tonight, and FL will be back home tomorrow afternoon, for another lovely weekend. So. Throw a blanket over my sorry butt until the piteous whimpering ceases, and I can enjoy the loveliness once again. It'll be just fine by four or so tomorrow.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Timing is Everything.... or Nothing

I have this odd heart. It tells me so clearly things as they are. Or how they seem to be, inside the human condition. I believe the reason it can do this is because my odd heart is paired with an unusually perceptive and inquisitive brain. I feel, but also think. I think, but also feel. Therefore, before one side gets the upper hand, both (and hopefully, all) sides of a particular situation are considered, analyzed, felt through, thought through, sympathized and empathized. I turn the rocks over for perspective on all sides, or a human attempt to do so.

All of this explanation, courtesy of the huge brain (I've had to grow some serious red hair to hide it...) is concerning an affair (so to speak) of my heart, something concerning it seems a larger group of people than originally considered. You see, after several months of growing out of a painful grief, and finding that there is such a thing as a soul mate, a perfect fit to one's nooks and crannies after all, I married the first man I ever loved (FL) this past Saturday and we begin our romantic, sweet and forever life right now, only 32 years after running away from each other.

Now, this has caused quite the stir, in both positive and negative light. Legion are the friends and family who have come forth with wonder and joy at our reunion and impending future. There are, however, those who don't share that joy or well wishes. I understand this, and I understand why. There is no guide for any of this. For instance, I did not have the meeting I wanted to have to tell Chuck's parents about my situation. I just didn't know how to tell a couple who'd just lost their son that I'd fallen in love and was going on with my life for myself and for my son. I wanted to, I planned to, but I just didn't know how.

 While Chuck was alive, I was wholly his, a good and faithful wife and mother. Because Chuck's prior employer showed no loyalty to those who had built the business, he was forced to take low wage work when they terminated him. Rather than complain, I supported him and our family by taking a series of jobs because my marriage and family were more important to me than my comfort. Chuck suffered a loss of confidence when he lost his dream job. But I didn't care. Despite his angst, I did what I needed to do to keep things together.  I knew that was what I wanted to do, and I loved him enough to do anything I had to do to keep my marriage afloat. I knew I'd done all I could do. When he was suddenly killed, I was sad and grief-stricken and I desperately missed him.  We had had sixteen years together. They weren't perfect, but they were our years.

Some time after Chuck's death and a period of mourning, I realized that I had to go on with my life for my sake and my son's. I had been in communication with FL because he had been through a similar situation, vis a vis the death of his son. I turned to him for information and his thoughts as to how to help Max deal with the loss of his father. Months later, I met FL in New Orleans after years of not seeing each other and realized that those deep feelings I'd once had for him had not completely vanished. In fact, what I found was someone who still understood me and had matured into someone who understood how badly poor choices can hurt the ones we love.

There is no book to tell me how to handle this situation, no road map, no sign in the sky pointing to The Right Thing. I've gone from widow to bride in ten months. There are those who think this disrespectful or in some way a sign of a lack of propriety. The fact is, my love for FL in no way signifies a lack of love, affection or respect for my dead husband. I have grieved and I continue to grieve over the life we had and could have had into the future. But I must follow that odd heart of mine.

Yes, FL came into my life again at a time when people might say I was vulnerable. But instead of taking advantage of me, he helped and supported me and would have done anything I asked, including going away again forever. Instead, what I found was someone who still had deep feelings for me and who purely by coincidence would make the proper loving stepfather for Max. They bonded almost instantly; in fact, it was Max who first said I should marry him.

So, to those who in any way feel slighted, offended or that I have been disrespectful to Chuck's memory, I say that such was not the intention and is not the case. FL even told me that he knows he will always have to share me with Chuck. This is the level of understanding, love and care that he brings to us. He knows that he is not here to replace Chuck in the eyes of Max, but here to assist me in raising Max to be the fine young man his father would be proud of.



Tuesday, July 22, 2014

I Am Living with the Human Beat Box

The Boy has always been fond of making noise – singing, tapping on things, etc. I can always tell what mood he inhabits by the noises emanating from his person. These days, the joyful expression of this has manifested in beat boxing. For those of you elderly enough to scratch your head over the term, (like the Boy’s mother….) just think that cool black guy in the Police Academy movies who could reproduce any sound with his mouth and hands. Drum beats, cymbal crashes, weird voices, other sounds that go along with music, explosions, animals, you name it. And it is all coming from Max, along with this horrible sythro-noise in a bucket they call dubstep. I realize I come perilously close to becoming my mother with my complete rejection of this as a legitimate form of music, but dayum.  It makes me want to stick my toothbrush in my eye from three rooms and closed doors away, this is how much I cannot relate.

So this morning, a rare morning after a refreshing thirteen to twenty-hour sleep for the adolescent, he was loaded for bear in the beat boxing-singing-tapping-making growling voice noises department.  He howled, he whistled, he clicked and clucked and repeated inane lyrics in their twenty-four to eighty-six times sequences. All while I was closed up in the master suite frantically getting ready to go to work. Several times I raised my voice in attempt to connect with him to make this cacophony abate, to no avail. As soon as I was relatively decent, I emerged from my den and yelled, “Cut it OUT!” No response, the caterwauling continued. Walked up to said boy making said noise, lifted an earphone can and hollered directly into the brain area, “STOP THE EVERLOVING SOUND YOU ARE MAKING!!!!”  He took back the earphone, made a big pout and said, “You could have just asked me nicely…”



Really. I know, right?!


Wednesday, July 16, 2014

The King Poster, or Divorce Hysteria: it could happen to you.

As we ramp up to the wedding, there are so many magical things happening. We are filled with joy and anticipation for our new life together. One of the only draggy things, the proverbial fly in the ointment, a real potential 'I told you so' moment between FL and me: His Ex.Exxie has developed what I like to call Divorce Hysteria, which can threaten to take over normal, sane, perfectly reasonable women when an ex that they really don't want anyway, seems to find happiness and fulfillment with another woman. Now, these two people have been apart happily from each other for more than five years, living separately, the whole schlemiel. Granted, there had been no official moves to cut ties for various reasons through the years, but nobody had any money on them getting back together as a married couple. Well. Along I wander into the equation, last December, and after much prodding and inquisition, decide that yes, it is safe and okay to begin this loveliness with the FL, five years, ya dah ya dah. Eventually (okay, almost right off the bat) we decide that yes, we need to be together, we belong that way, and let's move to make that happen. Which precipitates the actual officiating of the split between FL & Exxie. She immediately turns from semi-benevolent non-issue into Divorce Hysterical Wronged Woman. Everything is now an issue, and there are claims that I am making things difficult, depriving her of her rightful whatever, and generally trying to pretend that 'she never happened.' She whines, she complains, she demands and sulks. SHE TOOK MY KING POSTER, I WANT IT BACK! Stuff like that. Ooh. Not very pretty.

Whoa, Chica. 

This, my friend (and I use this term as loosely as humanly possible, since one of Exxie's declarations is that we should not, under any circumstances, expect her to be my Friend... this after a disastrous faux pas during which my FB account sent hers a (gasp) Friend Request. I, in half a second, rescinded the request, but it still showed up on her radar.)  Anyway, where was I? Oh. Yeah. This, my friend, is Divorce Hysteria. Please understand that this is something I know, having been on both sides of this particular condition. And further, please understand, I want nothing but the best for you and yours. All love and honor to you for the years you put in as wife and mother. You on the whole did a lovely job, and in specifics, put up with an amazing amount of shit to do that. Unfortunately, somewhere in the process, you did realize that maybe it was more of a job than you were willing to do, and you didn't have the feelings that necessarily went along with keeping your heart in it. The bad outtipped the good, and the marriage was called for lost emotion. You knew the two of you had given it all you had, and made effort after effort to stay together, after which the tender feelings were diminished if not completely gone. So you moved out, moved on, got your life back to a tolerable level.

Well, nothing dregs up those loose scraps of tender feeling flotsam than realizing some other woman wants, desires, yes, even loves your castoff, makes him happy, gives him the will to jump tall stacks of newspaper in a single bound. Gah. So this is what you are experiencing now. Like that dread and anger you may feel having some other woman show up in your carefully-chosen outfit for the ball. Or losing Homecoming Queen to the team mascot. (sorry, couldn't think of another girlie reference past the wearing the same outfit thing) All I ask is that you take a good deep breath, and get past this. I will even loan you a picture of myself, or 50 xeroxed copies of a picture of myself, so you can fold, spindle and mutilate to your heart's content, until you do get past it. But you really need to shake it off, and recognize it for what it is. You really don't want to be married to FL, you've had five years to prove that. You know you and he are both happier in your new lives. I certainly am not on a tear trying to scarf up your precious stuff (I mean, how precious could it be, having been left for dead five years ago, just sayin',) and no, I did not demand the King poster, it was one of the things that came with FL when he moved. My wedding invitations and the wording of said had nothing at all to do with you, and were not meant to reference your story at all, nor to hurt or embarrass you in any way. I am sorry you've chosen to take these things as slights and hurts, and I hope we can at least co-exist peacefully without too much more hostility. It is my fondest hope that you, too, find your person in the very near future, and that you and the person can live your lives together happily. May the person also have an Exxie, so you can in turn pass this advice on to her. Divorce Hysteria passes, but it will block any other feelings you may develop until you let it. Time's a-wastin', and you may have your King Poster back as soon as Saturday.