Today’s assignment places me with a doctor who rarely works at the hospital.  My colleague admits that she’s never worked with this doctor.  Every single patient we have is severely developmentally delayed. 

It’s time for me to shine.  One of my specialties is pediatric surgery, and I’m especially good with special needs kids.  My day will fly, even as the equipment acts up, and I crawl around on the floor working on the machine…my day flies.  My colleague and I save the day….all day.

I don’t think about D at all.  One of my friends asks how I’m holding up.  I shrug, “Fine, I guess.  I have a lot of things to keep me busy, though.”  Besides, the only contact he made was a Valentine’s greeting.  I’ve convinced myself that it meant nothing.  I’m not sure why he even bothered.  It may have been a gouge into my heart, to ruin my day and make me cry (which it did). 

Another friend maps out her plan for her birthday.  I’m fairly sure that she’ll find herself out of work soon, but she’s not listening to reason.  She’s upset that the pay scale is lower here.  I don’t tell her that I make quite a bit more than she does.  She knows that I get about 4 hours of OT every pay period because I often stay after.  That OT is time and a half so it’s pretty nice.  If they allow her to switch her education days then I will be able to finish the next class I have to take in the span of a weekend which is good for me (it’s D’s birthday weekend).  I drive her to her car (she was late this morning, again). 

When I drive away, I feel a twinge of guilt about being mean to D.  Angel me looks positively shocked, “After everything he’s done to you?  You feel guilt?”  I sit at a red light, feeling guilty.  I sigh, and snatch my phone out of my purse, scroll down to his number, and key in a text…

I’m sorry

No response as of 5 hours later.  I’m quite certain that I won’t get one at all, but it’s a way to be completely sure that he and I are “done”.  It’s felt “done” in the past, but he wasn’t ready to let go.  Often I wasn’t ready.  Now, I don’t see a reason to see him again.  I don’t even feel bad about the $150 helmet.  His problem.  I let myself off the hook when I spoiled the surprise and told him that I had planned to take him to a Brazilian steakhouse (that would have set me back $160 for the two of us).  Let myself off the hook, and it feels pretty good. 

I talk to my heart…gently…I tell her that he doesn’t like me, that he doesn’t find me attractive, that he despises me.  He doesn’t want me around at all.  It doesn’t hurt me, but my heart is a bit upset. 

That is how the guilt gets me.  I text and it feels like a failure.  It feels like I’ve tried to make contact.  Two words are not an invitation.  I won’t email.  I don’t contact him on the social networking site.  I’m not even sure that I’d respond if he made contact.

All I know now is that I’m dead tired.  The stress has gotten to me.  I’m exhausted.  I’m going to shower and go to bed…. 

Today is a beastly day.  Busy.  My supervisor putsmy cohort in a room with the poltergeist.  She looks miserable when shewalks away, but she’ll be fine.  In fact, by day’s end she’ll be shiningand the poltergeist will be avoiding me like plague.

What a blessing.

I have 4 assignment changes in 20 minutes.  I’m on my own.  Thesurgeon is one who everyone dislikes, but we get along fine.  He’s asarcastic sort, so we’re kindred souls.  I’m competent andcomfortable.  It’s good to feel like I’m almost ready to fly solo.

There are some flies in the ointment.  I get a call from my ex complainingabout my oldest son.  He whines and criticizes (which irritates me – whythe hell can’t he parent his kids).  He’ll call again later to scream atme to come and pick him up because he can’t him.  When he calls him a”momma’s boy”, I growl, “That’s enough!  I’m tired of youbullying your kids.”  I remind him of the parenting plan.  Hetells me that I’m not pulling my weight because I don’t drive them toschool.  I can’t, of course.  I have to be at work long before schoolstarts.  I can’t be in two places at one time. 

Unreasonable. They have a bus stop less than 1/8 mile from his house.  They could walk to the bus stop and catch the bus to school. They’ve done it in the past.  I know that he’s been drinking.  He’s always unreasonable when he drinks.  Something clicks.  I tell him that he wanted to be a parent for half the time, so he would have to deal with it.  I’m not going to save him.  I’m pissed.  When I answer he growls, “Where are you?”, as if I’m supposed to be there.  I’m home because it’s a Wednesday night.  I have to work tomorrow.  Where the hell would I be?  What an asshole to imply that I’m out partying at….7 pm on a Wednesday night.  He “tattles” on his son, “He said that he told the school nurse that he’s tired because I keep them up till midnight bitching about you!”  He smashed dishes in the sink because no one cleaned the kitchen. I resist the urge to tell him that he’s a fucking baby and a princess.  I hear the kids laughing at him.  He’s being such a fool.  They don’t respect him and it’s his fault.

I wish he realized that his whining, running to me, and immature behavior cause the kids to lose respect.  I wish D could see him like this.  Maybe then he wouldn’t be so quick to take his side. 

Then I remember that D and I are no longer together.  There’s no hurt or emptiness.  It just is.  I had a lover and now I have none.

I hang up and call my youngest child’s cell phone.  My oldest answers.  I tell him to get cleaned up, pick up his dishes (no need they’re all broken), get a shower and hit the hay early.  I told him to call 911 if it gets bad.  I tell him that I love him and his brother.  They’ve been told to channel energy into counting down days when they get to come back to mom’s house.  They nod, but they both reiterate that they will not return to visit their dad once they are legally adults.

I won’t win that one.

My oldest tosses the clinic call up in his dad’s face.  The nurse called the house, both parents…I called back when I got the voice mail.  My son seems to be clinically depressed.  She’s talked to my ex, and she’s glad I’ve called back.  He is, to put it kindly, a putz.  We talk for 10 minutes.  I fill her in.  She arranges for a consult with another therapist.  Then we talk shop.  I’m ready to cry when I hang up, but I don’t.  I hear my ex scream at my son (our son), calling him a liar.  It breaks my heart to have to leave him there. 

H is like a chain gun, peppering my son and me with a barrage of insults and hateful things.  He screams at both kids that he’s moved on.  He crows that he’s had two girlfriends already.  My oldest laughs, and says, “Moving on is about getting your head on straight and your life on track, not to have a couple of girlfriends.  Who cares if you have a 20 year old girlfriend?  It doesn’t make you a better person!”  I’m struck by his maturity, even as H squeals, “YOUR MOTHER TOLD YOU MY GIRLFRIEND WAS 20?”  My youngest speaks up, “No, dad.  YOU told us she was 20 when you were drunk one night,” he continues, “Mom has a house and a new job; SHE has moved on.  Dating shouldn’t be important now.”  He hangs up on me when I try to talk to him.

It’s sad.  He sucks at parenting.  But he fools a lot of people.  He talks to me on the phone and tries to be my friend.  Tells me that dating sucks.  Hints at getting back together.  The horror!

That weighs heavy on me.  I hang it up next to the other things I worry about.  My aunt and her befuddled state, my licensure requirements, the job (especially HR), the endless list of classes….There’s a cryptic voice mail from a guy I went to school with:  He’s afraid that he’s spoiled the friendship of me and another girl because we both want him.  He doesn’t want us fighting over him.  I can’t believe my ears.  I’m pretty sure that the other girl wouldn’t know what to make of this either.  I haven’t spoken to her in months because we’ve both been busy, nothing more.  Considering that this guy hasn’t done anything more titillating than post Bible verses on my page I can’t imagine how he got the idea that I had a thing for him.  I’m a weirdo magnet.

When I walk the halls at work….especially when I’m heading to the parking lot….I think of all those things.  It’s like a list carved in stone.  Everything is equally important and needs attention. 

The one thing I don’t stew about is D.  I don’t give it much thought.  The message yesterday meant nothing.  It was just a dig to make me cry (it did).  Now he’s pursuing someone else (maybe), or smoking fake pot, or hanging with the fair weathers.  I can’t talk to him about the problems I’m having.  If I can move soon, then I don’t think he’ll come to see me.  I’ll be too busy with work and the kids.

I don’t want to date anyone.  I really want to be alone.

Not on Monday, because the old guard welcomed me into the inner circle.  Wicked fun.  One of my tormentors had acted as if I was inexperienced and had make an ass out of herself.  The old guard had a field day with that.  “I had a notion to tell her that YOU had FORGOTTEN more about the operating room than she would ever know…”  For all the mean-spiritedness, it was nice to know that I was accepted by the seasoned professionals.

It did wonders for lifting my spirits.  I left feeling like my heart was calm and my world was at peace.  I felt confident and …. able.  I wasn’t happy, but I wasn’t unhappy.  It was like riding a bike on flat terrain in mild weather…pleasant and easy.  I was aware that I wasn’t smiling, but didn’t think anything about it.  One of the radiology technicians jogged after me in the hall, “Turn that frown upside down, ____!  You’re going home, Woman!”  We laugh.  My reputation as a happy person is set, and already well known in certain departments.  I’ve worked on this job for 10 weeks.  Not bad.

I’m working Same Day today with R.  That’s generally a nightmare.  The surgeon is a whiny and demanding person, but even though we have numerous setbacks – equipment that fails, an anesthesia emergency, an extremely late start – she’s calm and happy.  The procedure that follows starts an hour late.  The patient is very nervous.  It’s a bumpy start, but it’s smoother than the last time I worked in Same Day. 

R and I despise working Same Day.  The supplies aren’t stocked.  They keep rooms locked so we have to run for keys.  The computerized charge system won’t take my log in ID.  In short….it’s a clusterfuck.

Our radiology technician is a very flamboyant and openly gay man.  He’s funny as hell, and very good at his job.  He makes me laugh when he flirts with the male anesthetist (who’s very quiet and has a very dry sense of humor).  I’m giggling at his jokes when my phone vibrates with a text.

It’s a randy little devil who is fishing for a date.  I smile and key in a reply, “Spending the holiday with the kids.”  A text comes in from the therapist with the appointment (Saturday at 10 am).  I go back and forth with the randy devil, but finish with a reminder that I AM working. 

The phone buzzes again, and I ignore it.  I’m busy hustling around opening trays, sterile supplies and sutures.  I’m a bit chagrined that he’d be so bold as to continue pestering me.

I pull the phone out of my pocket when I’m hiding behind the radiology tech. 

It’s D.  Happy Valentine’s Day!!

I take my time replying.  Part of me wants to put my heart aside and rip him a new one.  Part of me want’s to scream…and cry.  As it is, my heart feels like it was on a roller coaster.  Without warning, my eyes blur with tears.  I slip out and grab paper towels to dab at my eyes….

I key in a nasty response.  Then I stop and delete it.  If it’s meant to be nasty, an olive branch, or nothing at all, I alone control how I respond.  I let it rest for hours.  Eventually I key in…

“Not so happy for me but thx I guess”

I look like I’m okay.  I’m not.  I’ll come back to this tomorrow and repair it.  Sleep is sneaking up on me now…

But I do call K in the end.  He’s seeing a new girl.  I fill him in on the weekend, but he’s not listening, so I may as well be talking to the cat.  I end up not telling him everything.  There’s no point.

I won’t be hearing from D for awhile.  He mentioned going to watch Polo.  He talks about the “horsey people” he sees in the grocery store.  These are the elite members of the equestrian society.  They have money.  More money than I do.  Some of them work for it; some of them just spend their husband’s money.  They show up in their riding boots and jodhpurs and white blouses, their short hair pulled back in a band.  They never are friendly and they frequently look bored.  They’re grocery shopping, and they wish they were elsewhere.  He talks about them a lot.

It’s not lost on me that he’s just as much of a gold digger as my dad was. 

It hurts to know that I don’t make enough money, that I’m not high enough on the food chain. 

It mostly hurts because D is nearly 47, balding, working a blue collar job and weighs close to 300 lbs.  The women he’s lusting after wouldn’t give him the time of day.  He’s not good enough to shovel their horses’ shit.  I don’t tell him that, but I tell him I have no interest in going to see a Polo match. 

I told him to take the chili we made to work.  He texted back that he wouldn’t feed it to a dog.  I told him to throw it away and forget the money he owed me.  Then I tossed the paragraph above in his fat, gold digging face.

I’m free….but I knew I would be.

I had wanted to take

When I pull into the driveway, I’m still talking to my colleague.  She’s looking for another job, sick of the politics and the bullshit and the pecking order.  The old guard has worn her down.  They haven’t decided if they’ll grant me admission to their club.  I’m not worried.  I’ll stay as long as I can.  It doesn’t matter to me if I’m part of the club or not.  Honestly, I know that admission takes 6 months to a year.  My colleague won’t wait. 

I snatch groceries from his truck bed and navigate the piles of garbage in the garage.  He soon becomes irritated that I’m on the phone.  I cut it short, hang up.  Too late.

The digs start…

He’s not interested in eating dinner.  He had a late lunch.  Okay.  I reheat chili.  I don’t finish it because he’s relentless.  I finally grab my bowl and scrape it into the trash.   I make a snide comment about it looking like he wasn’t interested in sex tonight either.  He sarcastically asks if I’ll put it in writing.  I snatch up a pad and write “You don’t have to have sex with me again.  It’s okay.  Really.”  Then I draw a sad face. 

He says, “Don’t bother writing a note.  I don’t read the emails you send.  Why would I read a note?”

I head for the bedroom and crawl into bed.  I’ve had two drinks, so I’m not safe to drive, but in a few hours I will be.  I feel shitty beyond belief.  Is he acting like this because Valentine’s day is coming?  Does he think I expect something? 

I don’t.  The only cards I ever got in the past were from the kids.  I had gotten D a card, but I gave it to him early.  I didn’t see it laying around.  It was a funny card but he never said anything about it.  Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten him a card. 

Bullshit.

A card is nothing more than a card.  If he wants to read more than that into it then he’s a fucking idiot.

I doze off.  He comes to bed later.  I don’t know if he ate dinner or what, but he pulls me close and kisses me.  He kisses me quite a bit.  I initiate a little foreplay which is good for him (to put it nicely).  Then he pulls away.  I’ve been quietly crying the whole time (not even sure that he noticed), but when he rolls his back to me, I feel lower than I have in quite awhile.  I stare at his back in the dark for a few moments. 

When he begins to lightly snore, I slip out of bed and grab my clothes.  I dress quickly in the dark bathroom, tears coursing down my cheeks, staining my blouse.  I slip out through the garage and drive home.  I send him a text telling him why I left (even though I doubt he’ll read it). Then I pop two benedryl tablets to assure sleep will return.  My bed feels so cold, but the tears have stopped.  I wake at 6:00, feed the animals and go back to bed.  I wake at 8:30 to the kitten attacking the bed monsters which are my feet.  She tries to decapitate the bed monsters but in reality she’s biting my toes.  She launches herself onto the dog.  It’s time to get up anyway.  Even if I feel so inexplicably low I can’t spend the day in bed. 

I’ve received a text from K overnight.  He wants to talk.  I feign illness.  I really feel bad today. 

It’s more than just D.  My aunt called last night, people have been in her house again.  They turned her photos upside down.  She doesn’t say as much as she usually does.  It’s the beginning of decline.  I’m as powerless against this as I was against my mother’s illness.  She has no children.  She possesses a graduate degree in education, brilliant.  Her two brothers weren’t gifted academically, but she took great pride in her education.  One nephew and one niece possess college degrees….I think of how my cousin and I are the same.  He’s more of an adventurer than I, we’re equally level-headed and strong.  We both live very far away from our aunt.  I wonder if he even knows.  Something else to worry about.  I’m not even certain that there’s anyone who will be able to help her.  I dread the thought of hopping on a plane to take a long weekend to help clear piles of rubbish from her house.  She’s a hoarder, and I’m sure she’s got the house packed to the rafters again.  Last time my dad, uncle, and people from her church went in and cleared rubbish from the house there was enough to fill 3 dumpsters. 

The work week was hectic and emotional. 

I didn’t need D to make it better or even listen.  He wanted to pick and gouge.  If he didn’t want me there, then he should have told me not to come. 

I’m not going over tonight, even if he asks.  I’ll tell him I’m sick.  He’ll have overtime.  I’ll be working.  Next weekend I’ll have my kids and maybe I can move.

If I’m not living 5 minutes away from D, maybe it will be easier to say “no”.

I don’t even want to talk to K right now.

D texts:  “Could you come over for a little while on Wednesday?  After you get the kids settled in?  I miss you.”

I miss him too.  I pick up the kids, field phone calls from a very pissed off colleague while I rush to the store.  We fix dinner and they eat (I’m having dinner with D).  I hang out with them for a little while, and they’re happy.  Then I fly out the door to go see D.  I’m exhausted, but we have dinner watch a show on Netflix and snuggle.  It’s nice, but we don’t have sex.  D’s concerned about how tired I am.  I get home at 10 pm.  I feel shitty.  I’ve had no time with the kids and no time with D.

When the alarm rings I’m so exhausted that I very briefly entertain calling out, but I know that would be a big mistake.  I crawl out of bed, get the kids up, drive them to their dad’s (a 20 min drive west – if luck is on my side and I hit all green lights), head towards the highway which is getting crazy by 6:25 am.  I arrive at work to find that I’m assigned to a room with an inexperienced nurse (who will be my preceptor).  I’ve skipped breakfast because I didn’t have time.  My first case is booked for 5 hours.  The preceptor bitches non-stop that she hates the specialty that we’re working in today.  She can’t pronounce the names of the procedures and acts as if I just got out of school yesterday.  When she follows me into the locker room, I wonder if she’s accompanying me to give me a tutorial on how to properly wipe my ass.  She goes into the stall next to mine, continuing her rant about how much she hates the specialty she’s had to work in for the past two days.  I’m appalled that she can’t leave me alone to go to the damned bathroom.

At one point, I ask the anesthesia provider to do me a favor.  He asks me what I need done.  I reply, “Kill me.  Kill me now.  Please.”  He laughs and offers to kill the preceptor.  She’s driving all of us crazy. 

Honestly, after a week of heartbreaking diagnoses and one very fragile infant “coding” in PACU, I’m not in the mood to deal with a nurse who apparently has learned very little in the five years she’s worked in this department. 

It shows on my face when I leave.  It’s with me in the grocery store while I pick up nearly $100 worth of supplies for D.  I’m making pepper steak and a big pot of chili.  He’s going to be working for the next 6 days (two of them are overtime days), so I’m helping him out.  I’m also spending the night.

He’s a little testy, which I chalk up to fatigue.  He’s been working on the house, and just paid the balance due on his drainfield (which was a nightmare in itself – a 3 day job stretched out for a month).  He mentions my ex, H.  He’s sympathetic to his sob story, his lack of funds – siding with the “man” while he prepares to dine on food I’ve purchased.  I’m a bit testy myself when I reply that H has a $15K mortgage to my nearly $130K mortgage.  D owes about $77K on his house.  I can’t hide the disgust in my voice when I say, “He has a 5 year loan that’s completely manageable.  When he pays it off, he has no mortgage.  Why is that a bad thing?  He doesn’t pay me support on the kids or alimony.  Why should he be pitied?  Why is he special?….”  D cuts me off to tell me that he thought H got the house free and clear in the divorce. 

That’s what H had said all along.  He had said that he was going to get the house and leave me with nothing.  He couldn’t do it legally, but that’s what he always said.  He was narcissistic enough to believe that it was possible for his fantasy to be reality, and when he was wrong it seemed as though a great injustice had been done to him. It occurs to me that D was talking to H quite a bit when the divorce was pending.  Now I’m really puzzled.  I really don’t understand why he continued to talk to H; he asked me recently if H blamed him for breaking up the marriage.  I could understand D believing H’s lies if he himself had never gone through a divorce (and his was completely different – no children were involved, they used the same attorney, there was no rancor).

Then he makes a dig regarding sex partners.  I’m REALLY not in the mood and I snap that in his former (salad) days he had plenty of questionably clean partners; reminding him (snidely) that he was the one who spilled the beans there.  He snarls that if I’m going to be that way…..I switch gears, “What way?  Just giving it back.  I just bought groceries and came over to cook you dinner and have some time with you.  I wouldn’t have come over if I didn’t want to be here.  It gets old when you imply that I’m looking for something else or someone else.  I’m here.”  He switches gears, too. 

I truly don’t believe that he’s had as many partners as he’d like me to believe.  For less than a year, he was relatively fit.  Most of the time he’s been heavy.  He started dating L less than a year after his divorce.  He was with her for most of a decade, with the exception of the 18 months he spent dating B.  I suspect that when he and B were on the outs, he would date L.  He’s talked about A, who lasted a month and sounds like a lie.  She was part of his fair weathers, but when I mentioned her to a few of the long timers (I was snooping, pretending that I’d known someone and lost track), they were puzzled.  T and O shake their heads, “I don’t know anyone in the tri county area that fits that description.  She DATED D?  No.  He was with L then.  She came to a few events, but it wasn’t for her.  She was pretty uptight, too high-class….”

C wasn’t a fair weather.  In fact, I’m not sure she ever dated D either now.  She may have slept with him once or twice, but she resides in the clouds, steeped in alternative medicine and yoga.  She never contacts him.  She’s world’s away from the world.  She was involved with a friend of his, who dumped her for another woman.  At best, D was a friend and a mercy fuck, but now….she doesn’t give him the time of day.

It’s posturing.  Defensive.  He’s always waiting for me to leave.  He’s always surprised when I don’t.  We’ve gone a few months without a blow-out and a breakup.  He’s waiting for the shoe to fall.  That’s why he’s picking shit.

I sigh, make salads.  We eat and watch television and go to bed.  We don’t have sex.  At midnight his cat gets into a fight with another cat under the bedroom window.  I jump out of bed and run for the door, calling her in to safety.  She streaks into the house.  I crawl back into bed.  D is snoring already.  In the morning he jumps up and dresses, wakes me up so I can dress.  He offers me coffee, but I decline.  I have to head home, feed animals and I want to go back to bed.  He tells me that he tried to wake me for sex but I was too tired.  I remember laying next to him, listening to him snore.  I think he’s full of shit, but I don’t call him on it.  He seems surprised when I tell him I’m coming back tonight.  He didn’t expect it.  Even in my early morning fog, I realize that he’s spoiling for an argument. 

I’m not biting.

He’s going shopping after work today.  I’m going to finish my work here and then I’ll go to his house early.  Not to snoop, but to prep dinner.  There’s no reason to snoop.  He’s not going anywhere.  He doesn’t even hang out with the fair weathers like he used to….

The text arrives this afternoon….from D….”You are coming over later, right?  I’m stopping at the store on my way home, Baby!  I’ll see you later!  xxxxxooooo”

D mopes because he can’t see me tonight.  He knows I don’t have the kids but my oldest son has an appointment with the therapist.  I beg off.  He asks if he can see me on Wednesday and Thursday, “You could feed them dinner and then come see me for awhile….”

It’s sweet.  He tells me that he misses me.  He’ll send an email or a text when he hasn’t heard from me.  Status quo.  It’s a comfort after the hectic day I had.  To my dismay, I’m taken to task by the same supervisor.  My judgment is sound, and she’s rude and out of line.  Witnesses nearby comment.  It’s not my imagination.  Angel me says, “I don’t NEED this shit!”  I record everything. 

After the therapist appointment my oldest and I talk nonstop all the way to his dad’s house.  H meets me in the driveway. 

He apologizes.  Can I talk for awhile?  I’m exhausted but how can I say “no”.  For 40 min I listen while he unloads.  He’s broken it off with the girlfriend.  I wave away the reason why and tell him that there is no hurry.  I tell him that his finances bother me.  He promises to do better.  He talks about dating and bills and general bullshit and I listen with glazed eyes.  I plead fatigue and he gives me leave at 10 pm.  I’m nearly wall eyed from lack of sleep. 

Tomorrow, like today…I’ll be alone at work.  It’s scary and exhilarating at the same time…but mostly…I’m yawning.  His birthday is this weekend.  I’ll have to get him something nice from the kids.

think think think think think…

My children sit me down, serious and somber-eyed.  They’ve bellyached about their father before, so I steel myself for the injustices and gripes.  They don’t enjoy the time they spend with him.  No amount of me assuring them that it will get better comforts them.  H is bitter and nasty, but eventually he’ll find his way.  I talk to other male friends who have divorced, and they assure me that once he starts dating (and getting laid) that he’ll calm down.  G tells me, “He’ll brag to his friends about how much better she is than you.  Sounds immature, and it is, but it’s getting his pride back.”  I ask how long it will take for him to stop being an ass with his finances, but G shrugs.  He knows H, and thinks I’m being untruthful.  G asks if I’ve started seeing anyone.  I shake my head, “A few dates, nothing serious.  Moving on for me has mainly involved getting a house and getting a better job, making sure that the kids stay sane…”  G probes about the financial distribution, “You got a lot in the divorce.  You pretty much took him to the cleaners.”  I don’t hide my disgust at that comment, “I got what the state said I was entitled to…50%.  We were married for 20 years, G.  He also got 50% of my marital assets.  And he got the house and a $15k mortgage.  How much is your mortgage, G?  Mine is $130k.  I’m handling it, my taxes, my insurance, my bills, plus I’m raising the kids without child support from him.  In fact, I’m not taking in room-mates and I don’t have some man supporting me.”  G backs off, apologetic, he didn’t realize.  I tell him to be sure to run back to H and tell him everything.  G backpedals, but I hang up.  He calls back and leaves a message, and I respond by deleting his contact information.

I’m brooding over that when the kids sit me down.  My youngest told me that H confessed to them that he was seeing someone. He wanted her to come over and watch a movie with him and the kids.  They weren’t ready to meet her and said so.  H flew into a rage.  Abusive and nasty to the kids, but she didn’t come over (maybe he told her and she wisely reminded H that she wanted to be on good terms with the kids – no need for her to be pushed on them).  I told the kids that they needed to be polite and kind.  They have no problems with her, after all.  She’ll have her own hands full with their dad the first time she pisses him off.

My oldest begins, disgust and contempt in his voice, telling me that his dad told him that I hated tattoos.  I roll my eyes, because I really have no opinion on them.  I won’t get one, but I don’t condemn others if they have them.  “The girlfriend has tattoos.  I told him ‘So what?  A lot of people have them.’  Then he started acting like a douchbag, saying that you hate them.”  I tell him that it’s more make believe drama.  I prepare to wave it away, but he says, “He tells us that he’s getting lots of pussy now that he’s got a girlfriend.”

My jaw hits the floor, “He didn’t say THAT….those words….to you!”  My youngest nods.  He did.  And flew into a rage and kept everyone up until midnight on a school night telling them to grow up and realize that he’s allowed to fuck his girlfriend as much as he wants.  My oldest says that he’s

He’s crazy, of course.  He’s never going to get better.  I’m distressed, because I wanted him to get over the divorce and leave me the hell alone.  I wanted him to just be a dad.  I wanted him to be happy, and I knew he wasn’t happy with me.  Honestly, I could give a shit who he dates, and I’m not surprised that his new girlfriend is some tattooed, single mother of unruly little ones.  She’s working for minimum wage at the reception desk at his job, collecting food stamps to feed the kids (leaving her a little money for beer and cigarettes – according to P).  She probably thinks he’s a cash cow.  I’m sure he’s giving her money regularly and then stiffs his own for lunch money.

So much for the old adage:  Don’t shit where you eat.  I wish I cared enough to watch the train wreck that will signal the realization that he’s not Mr. Moneybags.

I sigh deeply and tell the kids to write it up, dates, times, what was said.  Then I call the therapist and leave a message.  He needs help, but he’ll never seek it.  I don’t know if I can force it, but I can sure as hell have the kids report it.  I can’t believe he’s become such a dirtbag.  I think about what my attorney said about H’s criminal attorney (he’s expensive, but very good, probably set him back $6000 for the little bit of work he did).  His friends referred him to that attorney; he’d helped a few of them out in the past.  I was a bit put out over that.  What kind of people was he hanging out with?  Other dirtbags.

Kind of like D and the fair weather friends.  They aren’t pillars of society either. 

I don’t tell D any of this.  I stop by to see him on Thursday night for supper and a snuggle.  He knows I’m preoccupied with something but when he asked I simply told him it was “family issues”.  He’s not a good person to discuss things with.  He’s too close kin with H. 

D asked me once if H thought that he had broken up our marriage.  I told him that H blamed everyone.  D didn’t break up my marriage.  I’ve stated the reasons until I’m blue in the face, but no one really believes.  They don’t believe I didn’t take H to “the cleaners”.  They don’t think that I had adequate reason to divorce H. 

They don’t think that much of me.

I really don’t give a shit.  I’ve dropped so-called friends like hot potatoes, and disappeared from their radar.  My family is still civil to H.  H’s family doesn’t speak to me, so much for the pedestal I put them on (I’d think they’d have no energy to waste on hating me since they’re in the process of being foreclosed on house number 3).  Didn’t even offer condolences when my mother passed.  No great loss.   A few of my own friends questioned my intentions, my integrity; I reminded them that they shouldn’t waste time on people they don’t consider to be a friend.    Most of them backpedaled.  A few agreed and severed ties.  No great loss.

Moving on for me is about living on my own, answering to no one.  It’s about independence.

I didn’t text D last night.  I just spent time with my kids.  In fact, I didn’t call J or K (the later isn’t speaking to me since I called his cheating ex girlfriend a parasite – apparently he was trying to rekindle the relationship….my comment was enough to create a Jerry Springer episode.  I apologized, deleted comments, got my ass chewed.  I deleted K’s number from my phone, but stopped short of deleting K from my contact list per J’s request).  D dropped me a note, short and sweet.  I like that, because it feels equal.

This week will be hectic. 

One of my kids called last night.  He needed to know what setting he needed on the stove burner to boil water.  He was making macaroni and cheese (bleah).  I talked to him a little while.  When I asked him about the size of the pan, he gave me an approximate diameter.  I thought he was making a box of mac and cheese and told him to use a larger pan.  None were clean.  I told him that he’d have to wash one.  No problem.  “Wash the one you need, then you can tackle the rest of the dishes while you wait for the water to boil.”

Five minutes later H calls.  He’s screaming, in a rage.  I tell him that it’s no problem for the kids to call me with questions on using the stove.  He’s pissed at my utter FUCKING AUDACITY to ASSUME that the pan was too small. 

Apparently, this has to do with the kitchen sink which is overflowing with dirty dishes.  He howls and screams and postures.  So dramatic. 

What.  A.  Princess.

Then he growls that he’s happy to be divorced from me (not as happy as I am), and announces dramatically (and so effeminitly) that he’s moved on (meaning he’s seeing a 25 year old).  I tell him that I’m glad.  He rages some more and dramatically hangs up. 

What…a…..FUCKING…..girl.

I text a friend and unload on her.  She can only say, “Wow.  Are you sure he’s seeing a woman?  Because it almost sounds like he’s become one.” 

I tell her that I’m not impressed, “When I was 25, I didn’t have to date an old man.  I was able to score a date with someone my age.”

Today feels like a victory.  I’m comfortable on the job.  Everything clicks into place, and I breathe easily.  It’s not the perfect position; there’s no such thing.  Today, I felt like I was ready to work alone.  Big shakes for a facility that can’t even update a damned preference card so I can get the required equipment in the room.  That’s how the old guard stays “superior” to the new hires.  I’m confident enough to take a proactive approach, “We’d have fewer delays if we knew what we needed in the room.  If the preferences were listed on the card, that would be a step in the right direction.  Why I bet that we’d have less equipment conflicts if the required items were reserved when a procedure was booked!”  That’s not the way they do things.  I shrug.

It’s not rocket science.  I won’t change the world.  I hardly need that kind of migraine.  I was called to my supervisor’s office over a misunderstanding.  “He said that you told him that item was the only one we carried here.”  I told my supervisor that I would never say such a thing; I had the Supplies Coordinator with me and she said that the order hadn’t come in.  I, however, had said nothing; hell, I hadn’t known where the item was kept until the Supplies Coordinator showed us..  She tells me that the preceptor assigned to the room claimed that she wasn’t there.  I stated that she was not only there, she was actively helping the other staff working in the room while I tackled the paperwork and charges.  She looks away and tells me that she had to write me up. 

I’m given nothing to sign.  THAT is unlike any reprimand I’ve had in the past.  When I talk to a colleague about it, she scoffs, “That’s not even a verbal warning!  They’re giving you the business because you are a new hire!”  She gives me the name of the Union Rep at work, “You’re entitled to representation.  Sign a card!”  I did that today.  The Union Rep cautioned me about letting the supervisors know that I’m a union member, but any of us are allowed representation.  I’ll gladly pay dues to keep these supervisors remotely in line.

D sends a text that I get when I’m leaving.  He’s sweet, flirtatious.  He wants to see me tomorrow after work.  I think about how it used to be.  Highs and lows….like a roller coaster.  Waiting for him to become fickle and morose.  Only now I think about New Years….and the long conversation at 3 am. 

It’s still surreal.  When I think about it….I was exhausted….but it was important for him to lay it all out…all the boundaries and expectations.  When I asked if it could wait, he said it couldn’t.  He had to talk to me.  I didn’t say anything about the hour, but I figured he was blowing smoke out of his ass.  I couldn’t tell if it was a drunken soliloquy or if he was sincere (I didn’t think so at the time, but I nodded a lot so that he would continue). 

It IS different this time.  I make no demands, no requests, and I’m apt to shrug when plans go awry, “Oh well, it doesn’t matter.”  He surprises me by becoming a bit upset and by going out of his way.  It’s amusing as hell.  I hardly act like some bored woman, but the apathy is real and apparent.  I don’t demand that he prove his feelings.  I shrug, or worse….I don’t respond.  When he bemoaned the fact that he’s not scheduled off for any of the days he has an event to attend, I shrugged and said, “So?  Then you take vacation and go.”  Then I shook my head as if I were dealing with a really stupid person.  I had turned away, was leaving the room, when he said, “I’m not going to anything this year.  I’m not wasting my vacation days.”  I shrugged again because there was nothing to say.  I turned away and walked to the next room.  D followed me.

I didn’t ask anything else.  No need.  I don’t ask about the fair weathers.  I don’t ask about the one who sent the notification.  When he offers anything up, I listen, but ask no questions, I just nod.  He doesn’t go out with the fair weathers three or four days a week like he used to..but it doesn’t phase me…..  I don’t comment.  I also don’t try to jump through hoops to see him.  THAT bothers him a little.  He recovers  a little, but it’s apparent that I don’t give a shit.

It’s not a game.  I seriously don’t.  He knows that it’s the last chance.  There are no do overs.  When it doesn’t work this time, I’ll whistle while I pack.  He knows that.  It’s a driving force.

…..it’s pretty amusing to watch him pick out the perfect “thing” for me. It’s sweet, and I tell him that.  I also have no issue saying that I’m around for as long as it lasts.  He protested and joked about being smothered.  I backed off, turned away, while saying, “I can go if you have other plans…”  I wasn’t joking.   He knew I wasn’t.  It distressed him. 

Beyond caring about shit like that….Not being cruel, but I’m done playing games.