Things are so different now.  I have removed any photos of Ex-Husband from my albums.  Now I want to make an album of just him on there.  I have removed any photos of me with any past or present love interests and kept only the forever men, the male friends I have had forever.  I haven’t downloaded photos from my computer to that site in almost a year.

When I joined the site, I didn’t know what a smart phone was.  Are you saying I had a stupid phone?  Huh?  Are you?  I knew people would update statuses from their phones, but how did they do it?  I now have a smart phone and send photos from my phone to the website.  Amazing!  I swear it does everything but clean my house and cook dinner and take care of my child, which makes me wonder what good the damn thing is afterall.

I know three years doesn’t seem like a long time.  My life has changed so much in that time that sometimes it feels like 20.  I refer to my married life as my past life.  We were together 10 years and married for 8.   Something like that.  I prefer not to think in too much detail about it.  Since then, it’s been a whirlwind of change that leaves me thinking a lot about what I want in life and where I want to live and why I don’t make impulsive decisions about much of anything.

Life before I had a child falls into past-past life, a life when I was married and worked all the time and did theatre and dance classes and went running with two different running partners at least three times a week, and sometimes we all three ran together.  God, I had so much freedom!  Yet, I still had my hands bound by that marriage thing and having to consider (or not) another person.  Usually I did whatever I wanted to do whether he liked it or not.  He was so controlling that he usually didn’t like whatever I chose that took me out of the house.  Another play?  Another class?  Another job?  Another haircut?

If I hadn’t felt like such a caged bird, I may have wanted to fly less.  If only I had realized that I wanted to be away from him so badly, I would have left earlier.  I flew when I was ready, and I had regrets on all sides.  I had gains on all sides.  Now, it is my life and I have the freedom (aside from that full-time parenting thing) to change it to what I want, and it is what it is.  May as well make the most of it.

I have found my grief has taken the form of a knife or something else sharp that stabs me when I least expect it.  (I still have my elephant sometimes.)  It doesn’t hurt long.  I have had moments of guilt that pass like clouds on a windy day.  I find myself bargaining with me.  If only I hadn’t left him, this and that and that wouldn’t have happened.  But I would have stayed married and miserable, so I know I did the right thing by choosing my own happiness.

I used to know for sure that he would end his life.  Maybe I have more past hope that he would have gotten help for his depression and found treatment that worked.  He could have tried harder in life in so many ways.  Oh, am I trying hard enough?  Maybe I don’t try hard enough at some things.  No, I really do all I can do, all I can handle for this one person, and from what I hear, I do it well.  It might take me longer than usual to complete certain tasks, but I get them done….sometimes a few years later.

Oh dear god, the first sip of coffee tastes amazing, even though it has lost most of its heat.

I have started running again this year.  It falls into the category of something I do just for me.  It gives me time alone and time to think or zone out or think of funny things or focus on my breathing and appreciate my own strength.  I can run faster and longer than I thought I could.  I only have my lunch hours on which to run, but I make the most of them and still get to eat lunch afterward.  It makes me feel strong and like I take care of myself and do something I like to do.  Yes, I’d rather be dancing, but that takes way more fineagling of my schedule and finding someone to watch the wee one, and it takes me away from him.  I already feel like we don’t spend enough time together, and I’m pretty sure he feels the same way.

Little Guy and I spent Wednesday and Thursday of this past week at home together while he had something contagious that I have not caught so far.  We had a wonderful time.  We read books, played outside, walked the dog we’re watching, and even though I didn’t want to touch him much, I still held his hand and snuggled him to sleep each night like I always do.  I cooked a lot and pre-made dinners for two nights for us, cleaned the kitchen, washed all the dishes after I used them, and ate ALL of the chocolate chip cookies I had left for us from baking five or six dozen in the middle of the night, early Wednesday morning.  Oh yeah.  They tasted good.

I made cookies for the teachers for Teacher Appreciation Week.  I gave half the batch to the teachers and kept the rest to do with as I chose.  Gulp.  Grin.  I shared some cookies with Little Guy and gave some away to a few friends.  Well, I baked a whole batch and no one needs five dozen cookies when a whole school of parents has made other desserts and sandwiches and whatever else the PTO asked them to bring.

Anyway, even though Little Guy and I couldn’t go anywhere for two days, we had fun at home and had the fortune of weather warm enough that we didn’t have to wear mittens with our coats and hats.  Not wanting the fun to end, Little Guy asked, really tried to convince me, that he could come to work with me yesterday.  Awww, buddy.  I love you, too.

It appears that I have the good fortune of a son who has not woken up before 6 a.m. on a weekend morning which has allowed me to write this and have some quiet before we start the day.  Thank you.  Some mornings, I need this and steal it away like all those precious moments I steal with him.  One day, he will not want me to snuggle him to sleep.  I intend to eat up every wonderful minute we have together where he wants to be near me, as if each moment were a bite of homemade, chocolate chip cookie.

Three days have passed, and I find myself grinning from ear to ear over how much fun I had and how much I needed and appreciated a night to do whatever I wanted.  I also realized that I have a few talents that go unappreciated and wondered what the hell am I doing in a career that doesn’t spotlight singing, dancing, and music playing?  Seriously!  Think of all the time I would have for reading and running and playing with Little Guy when he wasn’t with a tutor.  Wait, why would I want to run if I get to dance?  Okay, cross-training would be good.  Anyway, it’s something to consider in the next 2 years.  Tour bus, here we come!

For some reason I have The Beatles in my head singing, “Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly.  All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.”  I have been waiting for this moment.  I made it happen.  It feels so good to let go of some anger.  I feel unbound.

I have relationships on the brain in my anti-commitment state-of-mind.  I can commit to me and Little Guy and that’s about it.  I had to break a heart or two in the last month, okay week, okay same damn day.  Talk about needing some space.  I feel like it’s all in the air, moving like water.  I’m not going to obsess about it.  I’m going to just be.  No jumping, no impulsiveness, and no over-thinking.  Yeah, right.  I’ll give it a whirl.

I need space to think and grieve.  I went to a grief group tonight.  No regrets!  I needed that.  It’s going to get better.  I’m going to get better.  It will take action on my part to clean house and move forward.  We did some work on releasing the trauma of seeing my dead Ex and the intense sadness I felt over his death.  I felt almost buoyant afterward.  It was helpful to learn about healthy grieving and not feel like the biggest dork on the boat.  We were all on the same boat, so I didn’t feel dorky.

I’m still not drinking, and with all the crying and things on my mind, that’s been a good thing.  It is a change.  I threatened to give up sugar next because of my skin troubles, but one thing at a time and that may be taking things too far.  What would I eat during times of stress without my trusty chocolate bar at my side in my desk drawer?  Well, I’ve survived this week, so far…  Maybe it’s because I have spent a lot of this week in fantasy land.  It’s very pretty there, and I have control over everything.  La la la…

Seriously, though.  People in Japan have lost their entire families, and that’s gotta suck.  I have nothing to complain about in comparison.  On the other hand, it’s not fair to compare, and loss is loss.

I am thankful for my life and, this week, special thanks goes out to my parents who raised me right.  I am thankful for my mom who supports me no matter what.  I am thankful for my friends who are not afraid to discuss my grieving with me.  I am thankful for the peacefulness I felt when I looked at the stars tonight and listened to the clucking stream.  (Yay, the ice is melting.)  I am thankful for the bed I sleep in.  Good night.

The last restaurant dream, a week ago, involved reopening the restaurant after a semi-annual closing and working the dinner shift.  The owners had revamped and simplified the menus.  I was unfamiliar with it all.  Everything was not back in its right place yet, so I couldn’t find the tickets on which to write the orders.  I had a busser who did not know to fill the water glass of each guest.  We had no ice.  I went to get a glass, and the whole shelf of them fell on the floor behind it, then in front of it.  None of the glasses broke.  The owners watched me.  I felt like I did everything wrong or not well enough on my first night waiting dinner tables with no preparation.  It was awful.

In the dream, I left the restaurant at mid-day after working the night shift, wearing a sari of white that faded into light blue and had many layers to it and nothing sparkly.  I passed current co-worker of mine going the opposite direction who had on a dark, turquoise sari with purple accents.  I was headed toward a town square that had grass and lots of people and small hills.  When I got there, some people tried to kidnap me.  My mom was there, too, not wearing a sari, but dressed in regular Americana clothing.  I stayed away from her to protect her.  I woke up before anything happened to me.

I remember when I started my current job last August.  It took weeks to stop having restaurant dreams.  The last one involved serving people outside, and again I could not find the tickets on which to write the orders or the bill holders, and the restaurant was a block away for some reason from the tables, or the tables took up a full block on an incline, and I wore the wrong clothes.  Lots of anxiety.  Lots of fear of failure or feeling like I wasn’t set up to succeed.  Lots of people yelling at me in that dream.  I have no regrets about leaving the restaurant business.

Mostly, I feel validated in that I have pain (don’t we all?) and that is okay, and I’m feeling the double-whammy of my relationship ending and having the space and time, now that I live alone, to grieve over Ex-Husband and deal with everything else, the estate, mothering, work, etc.  I have a road ahead of me in getting to a better place with the image that haunts me, but I can do it.  I’m going to do it in celebration of Ex’s life and with Little Guy.  It almost sounds like fun.  I also learned that when I think about Ex, I think about his death.  When Little Guy thinks about him, he thinks about his life.  I will focus on Ex’s life.  I will heal on my own timeline and however long that takes is okay.  After reviewing the stages of grief, I know that I’m nearing completion.

The counselor also told me that with the changes of the last year-and-a-half, any relationship would have been lucky to survive three moves in 6 months, going from joint custody to full, and both Ex-Boyfriend and I changing jobs, plus a grieving partner.  Okay, it was harder than I give myself credit for and maybe I feel less surprised that our relationship ended after hearing that.  At the time of the breakup, I was surprised, but after seeing it from the counselor’s point of view, not so much.  Hm, thinking, thinking, thinking.  I also felt how powerfully I dig my heels in against getting back together with Ex-Boyfriend.

Oh, and I haven’t even heard from him today, so I think the feeling may be mutual, and I didn’t get invited to birthday dinner because how can I do anything with Ex-Boyfriend if I have Little Guy with me and need notice to have someone watch him?  At 4 o’clock today, Ex-Boyfriend hadn’t decided what he wanted to do with just his mom for his birthday if anything.  She said it was good that she didn’t have any set plans tonight, otherwise there’d be trouble.  With me, no notice = no plans.  I’m relieved that I didn’t get included.  It sounds as uncomfortable as an atomic wedgie.

I probably didn’t get invited because he heard that went all impulsive and shit last Wednesday night, in front of his mom and all the girls and the rest of town.  Yep, that’s the truth.  And I was supposed to be willing to try to work things out with Ex-Boyfriend and tote a large satchel of hesitation.  That’s what I said the week before anyway.  My actions proved how I felt about that.  I had one beer down, and I went out of my element and smooched someone (DUMB, DA-DA-DA DUMB!), not even with tongue, just on the lips, but it’s a small town, and I’m sure the story goes differently now than what really happened.  We’re probably getting married and having kids next week, but I don’t know it yet, since I don’t go to the bar.  After that night and the panic attacks, I decided not to drink in mixed company until I know I can control my impulses, and therefore decided to not drink at all for a while.  Besides, I just cry more when I drink, so how ’bout I hold off until I stop crying so often?  It’s been going on sporadically since the Super Bowl, and since I seem to cry once every few months, more than that seems odd, but I have been grieving over Ex.  I think a glass of wine with my mom would be acceptable.  That would not be mixed company.  Then, I could ask her to hold me until I feel better, if I do cry.

I have grief counseling tomorrow.  I have a haircut appointment right before too.  Logic: I may be a wreck after counseling, but at least my hair will look fabu!  Hahaha.  I still want to go to counseling, and I still don’t want to go.  I know I’ll be better off by going.  I’m going to pack a box of tissues for the car ride home.   I wonder if my counselor’s a Gemini…

I have the opportunity to move into a Gemini’s home.  I have made a pro/con list about moving to a this new home.  I would have more space and room to entertain, a washer and dryer (how convenient!), and could have my crap and Ex’s crap out of storage.  It sounds therapeutic getting all my stuff in one house and going through it.  I would also have to tend a fire in the winter, and the worst part, move, but that’s only one day.  I promised that I wouldn’t move for a year, and that year’s up in a week.  I can afford it, but I will be as stretched as I am now financially.  I can’t make a damn decision and have almost flipped a coin to decide.   I can’t make heads or tails of it.  (Insert knee-slap here.)  I guess it makes sense to move.

Thank you, Cele, for telling me to walk from this dragged out relationship.  I know I need to, but working up the nerve to walk for good takes a lot of courage on my part.  I am a Leo, and I should have plenty.  I will find it, and let it roar with gentle fierceness.  Tomorrow’s his birthday, dammit, and it seems like every time a final decision comes around, the timing sucks.  I guess I could stop taking so long to make decisions, but that wouldn’t be like me.

So far tonight I have not washed my dishes, changed my sheets, or cleaned the cat box, but I have stress eaten through numerous healthy and unhealthy but all very satisfying foods.  The lightly salted cashews tasted great after the double chocolate muffin.  I put away all the clean dishes, hand-washed and dishwasher-washed and danced in the kitchen.   Now, I have blogged, and that works wonders for my mental state.

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I have to wonder if Ex still communicates from the netherworld with me and Little Guy.  He showed up in my dream a couple weeks ago.  Yes, it was THAT kind of dream, and he whispered sweet things in my ear.  Ever since I went to counseling, Little Guy has not needed to express any dad issues.  I read into the dream and Little Guy’s non-dad playing that I’m doing things well handling our grief.  I don’t know what to make of it all really.  Maybe I’m still looking for Ex’s approval or encouragement or forgiveness when I need to give them to myself.

Without making note of it until I read “The Hour Before Dawn” blog, I noticed that the last image before I go to sleep is still of Ex’s dead body in the woods.  It’s about the last thing I want to think about, especially then, but a year-and-a-half plus one day (but who’s counting?), here I am.  I hope the image stops resurfacing and I can stop being so fucking mad that he did it.  I’m less mad these days but still mad a little, not too much, more than I think.  I have reached the point where I just feel cold when I think about it with a little bit of mad.  If I had to give it a color, it would be a deep blue, like navy but darker, almost blackish grey-blue.  Okay, I’m ready for my mom to come hold me now.  Please.  Except that it’s snowing, so I would have to go to her, and it’s already 11, so I wouldn’t get there until 1 a.m.  Okay.  Well, I’ll be okay.  I always am.  I’m strong like that.  I have to go deal with some shit.  No really.  The cat box stinks.

Without further adieu,

Jenniphur a.k.a. Pro Pooper Scooper