Ten minutes to blog, so here we are.

I’ve been thinking about, you know, my life, and I’ll tell you the toughest bits are some odd ones. I have this cognitive dissonance that just rings my bell sometimes. I’ll be grocery shopping, and out of a habit I taught myself, I appraise items based on if he would like them or eat them. I see his favorite treats and I almost toss one in the cart. I’m out with friends for hours and I reach for the phone to text a quick check in. And I have to stop and remind myself, over and over and over, that’s now how it is, anymore. It’s nice to not have to try so hard. It’s nice to not have to strain and reach and be so mindful. But it still hurts in a hollow way, like when you’ve a loose tooth and been pressing and tugging on it for ages and you’re so used to the hurt and the soreness and the irritation. Then, finally, it’s out and the mature tooth is coming into place. It hurts because it doesn’t hurt, and you press that spot a hundred times a day, so used to the pain it still hurts even when it’s gone, but it hurts BECAUSE it’s gone.

It’s so strange to still be in contact. He talks to me like normal, sometimes. We’re arranging the sale of our house and we email and text about odds and ends. And I don’t know what to equate it to, because it’s so odd. We’re breaking up, but we’re still working together toward this common goal.


He broke up with me in front of our therapist, said he didn’t want to try. Didn’t want to be married. Didn’t want to be married to me. It felt a terrible sort of right, that the year was dying and the light was dying and the marriage was dying. It would take two weeks for the light to come back. Two weeks of asking myself if I’m okay and I am but I’m not but I mostly am. This thing that I tried to keep alive for years was finally dead. And it was dead because I wasn’t feeding far more than my share. And he didn’t feed it at all, and so it died.

I feel good, in a way. I know for sure it wasn’t me. I know it was him. I tried. I tried incredibly hard. And when I asked him to try back, to come halfway, not even all the way, just half, he didn’t want to and couldn’t and gave up.

I don’t like not being wanted. It is, however, far superior an experience to appear as lonely as I feel. To not pretend and make excuses and hope and hope and hope for time and attention and to receive a fraction of what I give.

Now all I want is to be on the other side. I don’t like packing up my things and making arrangements and living in this half-place where we still own things, together, and still have things, together, but we’re not together. The house is slowly clearing out and it feels like a race. Like I need to prove that I really am okay with this, and I can not-care and be as relieved as he is. He found a place and is moving and will move out/in before me. I don’t like it. I want to win. But so far he’s winning. He has a place to take some of the bigger furniture, and the house keeps getting emptier.

I asked my friend if I should make my new year’s resolution be ‘get divorced’ but she figured since it was already in process, that doesn’t count.

I HAVE NO HOT WATER. This is not okay. We knew our water heater was having some issues, so Nikolai called the company, did their little test, and ordered the missing part. The best guesses, given some little education, were that one of the elements had gone flopsy and needed to be replaced. No big deal. Except, the part isn’t here yet, and the other one seems to be flipsy, rendering my post-workout shower (that I was totally looking forward to savoring) into more of a test of my sturdiness of character.

I heated water on the stove and washed in a sink. THAT IS NOT THE SAME AS A SHOWER. I’m clean, but it’s not the same. Gah. I will accept your pity and sympathy, now.

We’ll never find a house. I realize this is a globally ridiculous thing to whine about, but I don’t care enough to change right now.  This matters to me.  Around November of last year, Nikolai and I decided we felt comfortable looking for a house to purchase.  So, we found a great mortgage lady and ran the numbers to see 1- if we could even qualify for a loan, and 2 – what dollar amount we could look at for a mortgage.  I have never been more excited to look at 30 years of debt in my life.

We got approved, got a tentative dollar amount, she showed us what the principal and interest plus insurance would be, and we settled on an amount below what we could get.  Next up? All we had to do was find a house, right?

Well, it seems as if that is rather impossible.  I mean, if we’re willing to live in the worst parts of town, at least a 30 minute drive from work, friends, and church, or way out in the boonies, then yes we totally can get a house for our set amount.  But I don’t want to do that.  I want to find a house near where our lives are already happening, because if I have to pretend to be grown up, I am going to do at least some of it on my terms!

Our awesome realtor created a report that automatically sends us an email with any houses that come up in the area we want, in the price range we want.  It’s been like two weeks since something came up that wasn’t in a 55+ specialty neighborhood.  I’ve been trying to keep my head by imaginary-decorating, and “choosing” pets on the Oregon Humane Society website, but mostly I’m just getting sad in the face.  Basically, I am sad that my life is carrying on normally. Someone explain this to me.

I found a lovely knit sweater pattern which I knew would not fit me.  I made it anyhow because clearly I am smarter than a vintage sweater pattern.  I don’t even need to make sleeves.  I can make it a sweater-vest thing.  I can even add in extra panels on the sides and stitch them in at the end.  It won’t mess up the fit, it will make it perfect for me.  I won’t measure, I don’t even need to do that.


On an unrelated note, does anyone want a nice lavender sweater-vest?

I started a lovely sweater recipe that I found on someone’s blog (no really, I don’t know them at all) but it was for a vintage size, this weekend.  It was to be knit out of bulky yarn, that thick stuff that looks like skinny rope, or macrame` stuff.  It’s knit up quickly, given that I started it Saturday evening and it is now Monday evening.  My sad is not my pretty, soft, thick yarn or the speed of the project or my very obvious skill, my sad is that I took matters of sizing into my own hands, and now a lovely thing that ought to brush my hip bones is. . . looking like it will not.  Midway through one shouldery piece, which is at the top of the entire back of the thing that I’ve completed thus far, I have realized the sad truth.  this sweater will not work unless I undo the whole shebang and start again, this time being a good student and actually following the recipe.

(I say recipe because I can never seem to remember the word “pattern” in time to use it, and really they’re very similar in meaning.  I’ve given myself slack on this one, you should follow my good lead and do so, as well.  No, do it.  Go on, give me slack.  I’ll know when you do.  Ah, thank you.  Very kind.  Gracious, even.  Wise, benevolent, some would say.)

I have to rewind the yarn, and tug out all the soft, lovely stitches that I made using comically oversized needles that made such a nice clacky sound when I would hit a nice rhythm.  I am not great at rewinding yarn.  I make it too tight.  Also I wanted to wear my new sweater this week, and that is looking like less of a possibility.  I plan to dramatically sigh myself to sleep tonight, the better to impress upon Nick the desolation I feel.

Yesterday was day two of a huge mailing project at work. I had to (accurately) type addresses for every client, and then print them, then type return labels for them to . . .return things. And those had to be accurate, too.
I didn’t figure out that I could save the addresses, making a few minutes of typing into a three click situation until halfway through today, which was roughly three-quarters of the way through the entire project.
My whole work day was off balance, and that bugs me because I love creating patterns and structure in my work life but I couldn’t sort the mail until I was done with the mailing and then after the mailing were the stragglers that decided they needed to be mailed after all, and then when I did sort the mail I had to figure out who needed to be called and alerted to our new business and some people don’t put any phone numbers on their correspondence.

Today was spent calling those people, or emailing, or faxing them.

I want my pattern back.