I am becoming unraveled.
I’m coming apart at the seams.
My kids will be almost home in 48 hours.
Thank you God, Jesus, Allah, Isis, and
whoever the hell anybody else worships.
I have realized that my children are my stitching.
The plasma holding my blood together.
The nerve pathways in my brain that make me
capable of coherent thought.
Without them, I am a fucking mess.
I saw pictures on FB of them at a family party
there today and I cried a half hour.
It isn’t just missing the kids.
It is grieving the loss of the intact family.
I’m mourning the fucking divorce again.
There were pics of all of the great grandkids on Stanley’s side
posed with their Great Nan who is 94.
There are 8 great grandkids surrounding this little woman
and not one of them have parents who are married.
His brother also has 3 kids and is recently divorced
for much the same reasons we are, plus his sister’s two kids.
His sister is with her partner still, the father of her kids,
but they never got married. Their oldest is 12.
Maybe they are the smart ones although I think
she has always wanted him to marry her and it has
hurt her that he has not.
Then I see a pic of
at the family party, with her curt little smile
like she knows she has won this round.
Then I slide down the slippery slope of wishing
I had been more tolerant of Stanley.
Wishing I could go back and screw him with
my eyes closed and act delighted about his beer
hobby and consumption.
“Sure, I’ll do the everything, you just go have another beer, Dear.”
In addition, Al and I aren’t great.
I am unraveled on one side by kids and partially unraveled
on the other following our trip crap.
Everything he says hits me wrong.
Plus he is irritable because he is stuck in his apartment
and it isn’t his kid weekend.
1 part irritation + 1 part unraveled = Shit Show City
Long Distance relationships are impossible.
Almost as impossible as it is for me to be that
Stepford Wife up there.
I’m pretty mad at all men.
Stanley for obvs reasons and for taking my kids
out of the country for 2 weeks and Al just
because he can’t make it better and keeps making it worse.
I’ve told Al that until my kids gets home
we need to have loving, peaceful conversations only.
So we are texting and not talking at all.
I guess I have 48 hours of this unraveled feeling.
I’m not completely insane, I just can see insanity from here.
And it ain’t pretty.
Bear with me.