What!?

Getting divorced can actually be bad for your mental health?

A stream on AOL news feed today posted an article about that very subject.

REALLY?

Yes, really.

And an anvil falling on your head still can kill you, Trix are still for kids, and Donnie Darko is still freaky as hell.

I have been wondering since the beginning of the end why this all has to be so hard. Why getting divorced has to be sooooo much more expensive than getting married. Why it has to hurt so much more, take so much longer, cause such a stir.

It's because we're supposed to be smarter than this.

We are supposed to take our time and think things through and not get wrapped up in people who are not wrapped up in us.

And I will.

Next Time.

But first, you must finish on chapter before beginning another, I suppose.

But I always did like to read ahead....

Love, life, and the pursuit of The White Picket Fence.

The Boy and I have been imaginary house hunting.

We have been looking at houses in the 212## in the pursuit of the perfect pad. And we have become increasingly discouraged.

Oh the houses we've seen are very nice. We have made it a point to scout out places with three to five bedrooms, .20 of an acre or more, 1.5-2.5 bathrooms and all other good things. We have found a ton of houses that are in a reasonable price range and that offer both the freedom of stable home with the need for renovation and with it, personalization.

What, then, could be the problem? The hitch? We have no money. Irony or ironies, It is a buyers market and we aren't buyers. We aren't even in the same market. We are outside, looking in, thinking, "My what lovely peaches you have there."

It is difficult to think that we could, if we were making what we will be in 1-2 years buy any one of the houses we have looked at and start painting the walls and hanging the pictures immediately. But we can't. Because we're not making money. We are waiting to make money.


Boo, Economy. You tricky little scamp you.

There is no "Up” in appreciation, Women, and other fallacies.

As the date draws near, I am more and more tense. I am overwhelmed by a sense that when all is said and done, life will be so perfect, so felicitous that the proverbs about being too good to be true will all manifest themselves in the worst possible way.

"When you're divorced,will that be the end of it?"

Oh Boy, one can only hope. But I have such horrible nightmares based on real live threats,accusations and insanities that I met with during my brief marriage to Beelzebub himself that I just do not know.

What if he does something crazy? I won't give you any ideas, just in case, but just think- what if?

In other troubling thoughts, I feel so grievous that I could not accomplish one of the only good things that could have possibly come out of my marriage. I didn't save anyone. I didn't convince anyone of their worth. I didn't show anyone how much more they could have out of life.

Watching people get beat daily by discouraging words from an uneducated, unfeeling dictator is hard. Walking away from that situation without having done the least bit of good is even more difficult.

I know that we can't expect everything to work out the way we want, that God works in mysterious ways, and that people chose their own destinies, etc.

But I still feel helpless.

I still feel like there was something I could have done, some encouragement I could have given, some protection I could have offered.

I know I should have called the police a dozen times or more. I know I should have pled with more than one person to free themselves of that wretched place. I know I should have been less tolerant of the dark and more shining myself.

All I can do now is live with the same of deserting the only shred of good that could have come out of my poor decisions. All I can do now is allow God to rebuild my life in a manner pleasing to Him and pray to be rid of the terrible memories- of the late nights, of the drug abuse, of the tyranny, of the dread.

And the rain, and the beating of feet upon the ground, and a finish line.

She looks behind her with tired eyes and marks the distance with a sharp mind.

Two year, too long, too weak to remember.

Dear Super Footwear Girl, when will you rest and send up a surrendering flag?

But she won't and she can't and she will finish this to the last. You just wait and see. All you former loves, you high school flames, and flimsy kisses, and evening romps, and missing matrimonies- you watch and wait for a glorious final show.

The countdown comes closer to a crescendo.
The Girl sheds the last few tears and beads of sweat to shake you off.

Tomorrow I fill out papers, I get information, I get my final push.
Ninety days hence, Lord willing, this is all over.

And then what shall be your next finish line to race to, little one?

Perchance, a beautiful baptism of love.

In my mind, I hold a string of blessed beads. I am the holder. He is The Boy.
I nurse dreams of sweet peace, with you, My Brown Eyed King.

Finis, absolutmente