Some of this feels like it may be stuff I've already said. If so, smile and nod and pretend like it isn't.
When I moved out of the house back in late January I knew I needed to find a cheap apartment, preferably on the other side of town from the ex and the kids so I wouldn't be running into them at the grocery store or whatever. I looked at the same place RS and Therese live, but they didn't have one ready, so I ended up renting one in the same complex where me and the ex lived when we first moved into town.
There's probably some interesting psychology there that I have no real interest in exploring. Because it's probably pretty screwed up.
When I first moved in here, I completely hated it. It wasn't home. It wasn't the house I had bought and worked on. My kids weren't here. My stuff wasn't here - or at least not all of it. It's tiny and my neighbors are loud and uncouth. I hated it and didn't see how I could ever NOT hate it.
But then time went by. I remember telling people (probably on here, if I looked) that it wasn't home and never would be - it is a place of exile. But, as far as places of exile go it's pretty comfortable and nice.
Then time went on. And I got the rest of my stuff here - which, as I talked about last week was a hard thing and had a lot of emotional baggage, but at least it's all HERE. And that's important. I found myself this morning, as I cleaned the place, actually feeling like it is home. And being proud of it. I think I have a nice place. RS and Therese can comment on that, because they've been here, but I like what I've done with it. Not that I'm going all gay interior decorator, like the Ex's new BF, but I think it's nice.
And it's now home.
I think for me that old saying is a bit different: Home is where my books are. They are here, and it's nice.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Talkin' about my generation
What the hell is wrong with us?
Next door to my office lives the girl who does all our configuration management. She stopped by to talk. She's going through a divorce, too, and wanted to hear about my experience with custody mediation. As we talked me mentioned several other people we know our age who are going through all this.
What is going on with us? Why can NOBODY seem to make it work?
Next door to my office lives the girl who does all our configuration management. She stopped by to talk. She's going through a divorce, too, and wanted to hear about my experience with custody mediation. As we talked me mentioned several other people we know our age who are going through all this.
What is going on with us? Why can NOBODY seem to make it work?
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Stuff
So, I finally was able to get the rest of my stuff out of her house yesterday. She made it a lot harder than it should have been. I could have gone over just about any time and got stuff, or sent someone else if she didn't want me there. But, no, the time had to be scheduled in advance, negotiated by lawyers, and she had to have "witnesses" there. I guess she was afraid I'd go crazy, running through the house, and taking all her stuff.
Since I'm so known for that sort of thing.
But we were finally able to do it, and got it all over here.
And that's a pretty big milestone, and it carries with it it's own emotional content. That place truly is no longer my home at all. Not only do I not live there, and am not allowed to go over there, but none of my stuff is there. It is all hers now. This place here is my home now.
It wasn't the nicest house in the world, but I still put a lot of work into it. Even more, I put a lot of dreams into it. And it has a lot of memories. And it's no longer mine because it was taken from me. I'm no longer family man living in the nice house in the nice part of town. Now I'm living in a bachelor pad on the less nice part of town. That's a hard transition, and this makes it all real now.
All I have is my life is what I have right here. I'm not a stuff person, in terms of finding happiness in things (well, except for books, but those are a bit different), but it's the simple fact that she has rather effectively removed me and cleansed the remaining traces of me from her life. The fact that my stuff is HERE was important to her because that means it isn't THERE.
Since I'm so known for that sort of thing.
But we were finally able to do it, and got it all over here.
And that's a pretty big milestone, and it carries with it it's own emotional content. That place truly is no longer my home at all. Not only do I not live there, and am not allowed to go over there, but none of my stuff is there. It is all hers now. This place here is my home now.
It wasn't the nicest house in the world, but I still put a lot of work into it. Even more, I put a lot of dreams into it. And it has a lot of memories. And it's no longer mine because it was taken from me. I'm no longer family man living in the nice house in the nice part of town. Now I'm living in a bachelor pad on the less nice part of town. That's a hard transition, and this makes it all real now.
All I have is my life is what I have right here. I'm not a stuff person, in terms of finding happiness in things (well, except for books, but those are a bit different), but it's the simple fact that she has rather effectively removed me and cleansed the remaining traces of me from her life. The fact that my stuff is HERE was important to her because that means it isn't THERE.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Another thing to think about
And this one is a doozy.
So, in the weeks right before and right after she served me with papers we did bits and pieces of couple's counseling. Invariably, she quit before anything could really get started, while I would continue to talk to the therapists and ministers we were talking with. But also, invariably, the counselors would come to two conclusions, that seemed rather obvious to everyone, apparently. Number one was that the two of us should simply never have been allowed to get married because it would NEVER have worked in the long-term between us.
That one I've thought about a bit. And it's true.
But the second one I've just ignored: that at some point, probably not too terribly far in the future, she would realize what all she was giving up and come asking me to reconcile.
That one I haven't thought about much, but I also know I have NO idea what I would say or do if it were to happen.
Because, on one hand, how can I NOT accept? Her coming back and saying, "Let's not break up our family. Let's try and make it work." How could I not try? How could I justify refusing her as the right thing?
Yet the fact that this might happen someday, and the fact that it would be the right thing to do to accept it doesn't negate the first point. And that one is pretty important. Marriage between the two of us will NEVER work in the long-term as long as she is who she is and I am who I am.
Over the last few months I've talked to a lot of people, and grown surprisingly close to some surprising people. There is one lady who used to work with Madam X. She and another woman worked very closely together, while the ex worked more by herself, but would stop by often to chat with the other two. After she would leave the two of them would sit there astonished and say, "Why would ANY woman talk that way about her husband? Doesn't she know how badly it reflects back on her?"
And these were pretty gossipy people anyway. And it shocked them.
The last six months before the divorce she would often come to me, angry, and say things like, "Nobody likes you, nobody likes to talk to you, everybody thinks your a jerk, I'm tired of people not wanting to hang out with me because of how badly they dislike you," and I would think to myself, "The people I talk to like me. It's just the people that know you better than me who feel this way. The problem isn't me, it's what you are saying about me to anybody who will listen."
But that's who she is. To this day she believes that NOTHING that ever went wrong in our marriage was at all her fault. At all. That all of it was my fault, and that all of it was caused by me being the wrong person. Her last grasp "attempt" to make things work before the divorce was to say to me, "The only way we can make this work is if you change everything about who you are."
What kind of person does that? What kind of person says that? About six months before the divorce she started seeing a therapist, and then she insisted I see one. But it was obvious that, to her, the reason I needed a therapist was because everything with me was wrong; and the reason she needed one was to learn how to deal with me.
That's a level of messed-up that's pretty amazing. I guess if I was some really, really awful guy that might be all justified. But I'm not. I may not be perfect, but I also know I'm, generally, a good guy.
But, then again, she never really wanted to be married to me at all. She's told me that, too.
So, when she comes back asking me to reconcile, what do I do? I know the first time she does it, she'll try to make it on her terms: "If you change everything about you then we can get back together." Sorry, but no. But what if -- and this possibility is a lot less certain -- she actually comes back more contrite?
I don't WANT to have her back. I'm really OK not being married to her. I mean, it is going to take YEARS to heal from how much she would tear me down constantly, but already I feel so much better about myself. So much more comfortable being me. When you don't have someone you love telling you all the time how much you suck, the world feels a lot better. I can't go back to that.
I can't go back if her attitude is still that everything was my fault, that she was perfect, and that all the change needs to be in me. That I will never sign up for.
So, in the weeks right before and right after she served me with papers we did bits and pieces of couple's counseling. Invariably, she quit before anything could really get started, while I would continue to talk to the therapists and ministers we were talking with. But also, invariably, the counselors would come to two conclusions, that seemed rather obvious to everyone, apparently. Number one was that the two of us should simply never have been allowed to get married because it would NEVER have worked in the long-term between us.
That one I've thought about a bit. And it's true.
But the second one I've just ignored: that at some point, probably not too terribly far in the future, she would realize what all she was giving up and come asking me to reconcile.
That one I haven't thought about much, but I also know I have NO idea what I would say or do if it were to happen.
Because, on one hand, how can I NOT accept? Her coming back and saying, "Let's not break up our family. Let's try and make it work." How could I not try? How could I justify refusing her as the right thing?
Yet the fact that this might happen someday, and the fact that it would be the right thing to do to accept it doesn't negate the first point. And that one is pretty important. Marriage between the two of us will NEVER work in the long-term as long as she is who she is and I am who I am.
Over the last few months I've talked to a lot of people, and grown surprisingly close to some surprising people. There is one lady who used to work with Madam X. She and another woman worked very closely together, while the ex worked more by herself, but would stop by often to chat with the other two. After she would leave the two of them would sit there astonished and say, "Why would ANY woman talk that way about her husband? Doesn't she know how badly it reflects back on her?"
And these were pretty gossipy people anyway. And it shocked them.
The last six months before the divorce she would often come to me, angry, and say things like, "Nobody likes you, nobody likes to talk to you, everybody thinks your a jerk, I'm tired of people not wanting to hang out with me because of how badly they dislike you," and I would think to myself, "The people I talk to like me. It's just the people that know you better than me who feel this way. The problem isn't me, it's what you are saying about me to anybody who will listen."
But that's who she is. To this day she believes that NOTHING that ever went wrong in our marriage was at all her fault. At all. That all of it was my fault, and that all of it was caused by me being the wrong person. Her last grasp "attempt" to make things work before the divorce was to say to me, "The only way we can make this work is if you change everything about who you are."
What kind of person does that? What kind of person says that? About six months before the divorce she started seeing a therapist, and then she insisted I see one. But it was obvious that, to her, the reason I needed a therapist was because everything with me was wrong; and the reason she needed one was to learn how to deal with me.
That's a level of messed-up that's pretty amazing. I guess if I was some really, really awful guy that might be all justified. But I'm not. I may not be perfect, but I also know I'm, generally, a good guy.
But, then again, she never really wanted to be married to me at all. She's told me that, too.
So, when she comes back asking me to reconcile, what do I do? I know the first time she does it, she'll try to make it on her terms: "If you change everything about you then we can get back together." Sorry, but no. But what if -- and this possibility is a lot less certain -- she actually comes back more contrite?
I don't WANT to have her back. I'm really OK not being married to her. I mean, it is going to take YEARS to heal from how much she would tear me down constantly, but already I feel so much better about myself. So much more comfortable being me. When you don't have someone you love telling you all the time how much you suck, the world feels a lot better. I can't go back to that.
I can't go back if her attitude is still that everything was my fault, that she was perfect, and that all the change needs to be in me. That I will never sign up for.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
This is my life????
Not that it's bad. It's just surprising. Everything is so new.
So, this morning, I was asked by Father to serve again at the altar. That is now the second Sunday I've done this: Palm Sunday and Easter. Those are kind of big, as far as Sundays go. I still have no real idea what I'm doing. But he has confidence in me. And so does most of the congregation. They are always so supportive and complementary.
But it's just really new. The whole vesting myself is new enough. But so is all the rest. And I still don't understand all of it. It's not bad, just new and different and kind of weird. So, still scary.
I had my kids on kind of a weird schedule this weekend in order to keep away from what, to my ex-wife, would be the worst thing conceivable: me taking my kids to church. The handing back and forth got a bit tiring. But, still, my kids are very happy and are very affectionate with me. They love me. And I love them dearly.
I continued my weekly dinner party thing, this time having RS and Therese over for an Easter dinner: leg of lamb, a pilaf with kind of an Azerbijani flavor, and a cream of spinach soup for an opening. Complex. Kind of difficult. I broiled the leg of lamb and the amount of smoke it poured out was astonishing - I thought for sure someone would call the fire department on me. But it all turned out very nice.
A nice night with nice friend and good food and good wine, and it was fun.
But all this: this is my life? So very, very different from what it was just months ago. So different that you would have never convinced me then that this is how I would be living. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it all - even as I go forward rather boldly with all of it.
Does that even make sense? I'm not sure. Yet, here I am.
So, this morning, I was asked by Father to serve again at the altar. That is now the second Sunday I've done this: Palm Sunday and Easter. Those are kind of big, as far as Sundays go. I still have no real idea what I'm doing. But he has confidence in me. And so does most of the congregation. They are always so supportive and complementary.
But it's just really new. The whole vesting myself is new enough. But so is all the rest. And I still don't understand all of it. It's not bad, just new and different and kind of weird. So, still scary.
I had my kids on kind of a weird schedule this weekend in order to keep away from what, to my ex-wife, would be the worst thing conceivable: me taking my kids to church. The handing back and forth got a bit tiring. But, still, my kids are very happy and are very affectionate with me. They love me. And I love them dearly.
I continued my weekly dinner party thing, this time having RS and Therese over for an Easter dinner: leg of lamb, a pilaf with kind of an Azerbijani flavor, and a cream of spinach soup for an opening. Complex. Kind of difficult. I broiled the leg of lamb and the amount of smoke it poured out was astonishing - I thought for sure someone would call the fire department on me. But it all turned out very nice.
A nice night with nice friend and good food and good wine, and it was fun.
But all this: this is my life? So very, very different from what it was just months ago. So different that you would have never convinced me then that this is how I would be living. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it all - even as I go forward rather boldly with all of it.
Does that even make sense? I'm not sure. Yet, here I am.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Church
So, I really have no intention of this blog going like the last one where it became primarily about debating theology, but I thought I'd mention church a bit, because today is the first day of the Triduum and I had a lot of fun tonight, and because it is actually a rather relevant topic when it comes to my divorce and most especially to the complete reboot of my life.
I am currently a part of a small Anglo-Catholic community. It's a little church, and for years I would drive by it and say, "I wonder what they are like? I ought to go see sometime," but never really did. There was a lot of reasons for my interest, not the least being that I was already (at the point of time I'm discussing) daily doing morning and evening prayer out of the Book of Common Prayer.
Then, late last spring, things were getting SO bad at church where I was that I decided I NEEDED to go look around a bit. So, I went by myself and visited. It was the Sunday before Ascension, if I remember right. It was nice. I liked it. Then, a few months later, I visited again, this time with Therese and, of all people, my ex's current beau, Bluto. (Who was so uncomfortable he looked like he thought he was being mentally raped just being there.) That was the Sunday before July 4th.
On both occasions, Father was just awesome and welcoming and made a great impression on me. It's a little church, but beautiful. And I loved the liturgy.
So, when my relationship with my old religious affiliation all came to a head and I HAD to choose to go elsewhere, they were the first place that came to mind.
Now, it isn't perfect. I have some ecclesiastical issues with them - and with the entire continuing Anglican movement since it is all so fractured. I may not stay there forever. But, for right now, it is what I need. Father is one of the most pastoral men I've ever met. He's awesome. And it's a very little place, so I quickly got to know everybody.
And having sat down several times to talk through stuff with Father he cleared it with the Bishop to have me be involved and help out even though I haven't, officially, jumped through all the required hoops yet.
So, on Sunday, the guys that normally help him out were all either sick or out of town. So, as I was about to sit down he came up and asked, "Can you do me a big favor?" And I said, "Sure, what?" And he said, "Can you serve today?"
And I answered, "I have no idea what to do?" But he walked me through it and it was fun.
It feels really good to be involved again. To not be just someone who shows up and sits in the pew, but to be a part of it all. OK, so it is all new and different and kind of weird, but it's good.
And he that sat upon the throne said, "Behold, I make all things new." --Revelation 21:5a
I am currently a part of a small Anglo-Catholic community. It's a little church, and for years I would drive by it and say, "I wonder what they are like? I ought to go see sometime," but never really did. There was a lot of reasons for my interest, not the least being that I was already (at the point of time I'm discussing) daily doing morning and evening prayer out of the Book of Common Prayer.
Then, late last spring, things were getting SO bad at church where I was that I decided I NEEDED to go look around a bit. So, I went by myself and visited. It was the Sunday before Ascension, if I remember right. It was nice. I liked it. Then, a few months later, I visited again, this time with Therese and, of all people, my ex's current beau, Bluto. (Who was so uncomfortable he looked like he thought he was being mentally raped just being there.) That was the Sunday before July 4th.
On both occasions, Father was just awesome and welcoming and made a great impression on me. It's a little church, but beautiful. And I loved the liturgy.
So, when my relationship with my old religious affiliation all came to a head and I HAD to choose to go elsewhere, they were the first place that came to mind.
Now, it isn't perfect. I have some ecclesiastical issues with them - and with the entire continuing Anglican movement since it is all so fractured. I may not stay there forever. But, for right now, it is what I need. Father is one of the most pastoral men I've ever met. He's awesome. And it's a very little place, so I quickly got to know everybody.
And having sat down several times to talk through stuff with Father he cleared it with the Bishop to have me be involved and help out even though I haven't, officially, jumped through all the required hoops yet.
So, on Sunday, the guys that normally help him out were all either sick or out of town. So, as I was about to sit down he came up and asked, "Can you do me a big favor?" And I said, "Sure, what?" And he said, "Can you serve today?"
And I answered, "I have no idea what to do?" But he walked me through it and it was fun.
It feels really good to be involved again. To not be just someone who shows up and sits in the pew, but to be a part of it all. OK, so it is all new and different and kind of weird, but it's good.
And he that sat upon the throne said, "Behold, I make all things new." --Revelation 21:5a
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
My kids are here...
And all is well. I love my kids. They are so different and both so very fun.
The whole way home my daughter had this Star Wars ship, pretending it was some video game controller and the game was to blow EVERYTHING up. So, she's make laser noises and then inform me that the car in front of me was blown up, so I could go. Meanwhile, my son is discussing with me (or attempting to) H. G. Well's The Time Machine. She's 8 going on 4 and he's 11 going on 30.
When we got home, my son started working on homework. He had math and spelling and stuff, but the big thing is this big project his class is working on. They each had to pick a country in the world and then research it. They have a paper due, a poster, and several other things, including a "country in a box" which is just a decorated box filled with things either from or representing that country.
My son chose the UK. Which is just awesome, since I am a rather pathological anglo-phile. Not sure why, I just always have been. Even in high school, almost the only music I would listen to were various British imports, from the Beatles to Clapton and the Kinks.
And, of course, since I am now Anglo-Catholic in religion, I get it all even more deeply.
So, we sat down and talked through a lot of stuff tonight. He's just starting the project and was really just making a list of what he needs to research. He's mainly using encyclopedias, so I basically helped him put together a massive list of people and places and things to look up. That was fun. When he presents this he has to do an oral presentation, in costume, and bring some typical food item to share. He's has already asked me to make some scones, and help him brew up a nice pot of English tea. This was fun.
So, a good night of bonding with my kids. It's nice to feel like a father again.
The whole way home my daughter had this Star Wars ship, pretending it was some video game controller and the game was to blow EVERYTHING up. So, she's make laser noises and then inform me that the car in front of me was blown up, so I could go. Meanwhile, my son is discussing with me (or attempting to) H. G. Well's The Time Machine. She's 8 going on 4 and he's 11 going on 30.
When we got home, my son started working on homework. He had math and spelling and stuff, but the big thing is this big project his class is working on. They each had to pick a country in the world and then research it. They have a paper due, a poster, and several other things, including a "country in a box" which is just a decorated box filled with things either from or representing that country.
My son chose the UK. Which is just awesome, since I am a rather pathological anglo-phile. Not sure why, I just always have been. Even in high school, almost the only music I would listen to were various British imports, from the Beatles to Clapton and the Kinks.
And, of course, since I am now Anglo-Catholic in religion, I get it all even more deeply.
So, we sat down and talked through a lot of stuff tonight. He's just starting the project and was really just making a list of what he needs to research. He's mainly using encyclopedias, so I basically helped him put together a massive list of people and places and things to look up. That was fun. When he presents this he has to do an oral presentation, in costume, and bring some typical food item to share. He's has already asked me to make some scones, and help him brew up a nice pot of English tea. This was fun.
So, a good night of bonding with my kids. It's nice to feel like a father again.
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