Um, Excusez-moi, I Didn’t Want to be Single.

I’m getting divorced. I didn’t want to get divorced but seeing as my husband has split (it’s been a few years now), it is probably time for me to face the music. I don’t want to be single but there’s no dignity or integrity in staying married to someone who has created a whole new life for himself.

Roughly 2/3 of divorces are filed by women. It’s easy to read into this that women are the initiators of divorce but that may be a convenient stretch. How many of those filings are attributable to the simple lack of physical filing on the part of the husband (as in my case)? I’ve witnessed numerous husbands who border on despondent yet stay married. Is it possible that men just don’t take the initiative to file for divorce even if they are in sex-less, life-less (I don’t generally believe in love-less*) marriages?

At some point maybe I’ll reduce myself to articulating, on this blog, the ridiculous lengths I went to to “save” my marriage. Well, it’s saved! I’m still married but I have no husband in the flesh. He’s gone and we are only a partnership in that we share children together (whom he sees when his schedule allows) and we still share a bank account. For starters, the book Divorce Busting by Michele Weiner-Davis was my main resource and I spent a great deal of time on the forums of Divorcebusting.com . Go ahead, check it, get a good laugh at the expense of desperate left behind spouses seeking communion, support and advice from virtual strangers. Once in a while a couple makes it back together and the gaggle of hopeful romantics (translation- delusional broken-hearteds) dine on crumbs of evidence that maybe, just maybe it will all work out. Continue reading

Advertisements

My Pseudo-Bio

I am a mother. I care deeply about being present for my children. Though I feel scattered and faltering much of the time. I miss nature. I am lazy at heart unless intrinsically and overwhelmingly passionate about what I am doing. I miss nature. I feel beautiful sometimes but not beautiful enough. I love to write, but mostly so I can be “heard,” understood. I love men, want a man in my life, want to soften and fall into one, but am terrified of surrendering. I want a garden. I want a kitchen with concrete countertops and stainless appliances. I want an audi. I want to get parenting right. I want to be divorced but I don’t want to be a divorcée. I like to edit, motion pictures, text, words, life … I like to research, analyze, dissect (concepts, not creatures). I liked being vegan, felt cleaner and clearer but I crave meat. I’m an easy crier, a sap, a dreamer, a cynical romantic. I hate being looked at but want to be recognized. I’m starting to feel jealous of young people which is just awful. I love acting but feel ugly when I do it. I still feel like a dork. Stupid. Maybe not stupid, but lame and secretly genius but socially inept. I think that none of this really matters but every detail means something. I want more friends but so many people irk me. I don’t believe in true altruism but do believe I should be more generous and charitable. I want to be special but I really believe everyone is special which means no one is really that special. I thrive on approval and accolades but the establishment can fuck itself.

I don’t want to care about what people will say about me when I’m dead. I’ll be dead!

I care about children, nature and the environment, movies, literature (wish I’d read more and would read more), education, women’s rights, men’s rights, human rights, animal rights. I care about clean air, healthy food and water, the truth about medicine and how we sicken ourselves.

I want to travel. I want enough money to do what I want when I want. I want to do big or do nothing.

Single-ish

In a perfect world, you know what to say when someone asks you if you’re married. I concede that in the scope of things, my inability to answer that simple question is only a meeger indication of how unfair life can be. However, as the profound literary reference known as “Facebook” so succinctly expresses, sometimes “It’s complicated.” Continue reading