500 Words, Day 17 - In Which I Start to Bore Myself

That feeling when you want to go to bed but you know your kid is gonna need a ride home.  He’s being a little inconsiderate, but I’m going to give him a pass because he turned in his final paper today, last day of sophomore year, huzzah!  But the little shit is really vague about it, saying  “call ya later mom.”  So I have to stay awake until he calls to let me know at what point “later” becomes “now.”

That feeling when you toy with the idea of asking his dad to be on call for the call, so to speak.  But you realize that (a) he’s probably already halfway in the bag and (2) that would be asking a favor, which you won’t allow yourself to do because martyr.  And excuse me, but isn’t it the weekend and time for him to be the weekend dad he always was even when we were still married?  And while we’re at it, why *isn’t* he taking The Gamer for weekends like he insisted he was going to?   But I’m not about to facilitate that or even ask about it because again, I’m playing the superior card, and I’m simply refusing to comment on this very odd reluctance on his part to have time with his son.  

I’m starting to bore myself with my agonizing over my ex.  I need to let that shit go but I’m still mourning the loss of the family life we once had.   It’s true that I exhausted myself trying to spread a cloak of normalcy around it even though in retrospect it was massively fucked up.  It really is time begin to make a new life and all the other optimistic things I talk about when I have the energy.  The truth be told, I’m a loner these days, having isolated myself from almost everyone I know.  It’s too painful to have to stop and explain everything.  It’s embarrassing to confess that I left my husband to flail about in the whirlpool of his own making, that I cut ties with my oldest because she hurt me beyond my ability to heal, at least for now.

I’m lonely, I guess, but being with people is exhausting.   I mostly just hole up at home because the calm and quiet environment is surcease from decades of being on for other people, with a partner who gave zero fucks about what I needed to thrive and grow as a person and a mother and a wife.  It wasn’t malicious, although at times I think it was purposeful since I always stood in the way of what he wanted to do.   

I’m gonna wrap this up kind of abruptly right now.  Eyes are closing. No photo, even. If you’re counting words, it’s slightly less than 500.  Sue me.   

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