I have so many posts in drafts. It’s sort of ridiculous when you think about it, because I’m paying to keep this blog around, but I’m not actually using it.
I think it’s going to take a turn, though. I started out writing about my kids & my family, but maybe it’s time to start writing about who I am now that I am a separated woman, who has done some really difficult things in the past few years, & is desperately working towards the funds to make this damn divorce final. [Sorry, Gram. I’m frustrated & there will probably be a lot of swears.]
So here I sit, glass of wine to my left, three kids playing in the living room of the house where we’re staying [those of you who don’t know that framily is a legit word are missing out; I have been blessed with the most amazing framily in the entire world], preparing to pour my heart out about . . . stuff.
The frustration lies in not knowing exactly where to start.
I’ve written about it before, but M & I split in January of 2018. I moved back to Virginia to be closer to my mom because a girl needs her mom when she’s struggling, damnit. It sucked, though, because I was away from the boys. They’re my entire world & I hate that people thought moving away was an easy choice. It absolutely was not. I hated every single second of being away from them & sometimes the only reason I was even able to get out of bed was because I knew I had to go to work to be able to afford the week long trips I made back to Delaware each month.
The living situation wasn’t ideal, but it was what worked for me. Because I knew the boys would be down to visit in the summer, I chose to live 45 minutes away from my job. I knew my mom would want to be able to help by watching the boys while I was working, so I didn’t think it was fair to make her drive an hour plus to my apartment every time I needed to work. [Side note: I am so entirely lucky that my mom even agreed to do that.] It wasn’t ideal for more reasons than that & maybe I’ll eventually get in to them [when I’ve had an opportunity to ask whether I have permission to share that part of my story since it intertwines so thickly with someone else’s].
Every time that I went to work, I had to drive through a tunnel. If you’ve ever seen or heard about Hampton Roads traffic, you know it is no joke. I’d start stalking Waze two or three hours before I even had to be at the restaurant just to make sure traffic wasn’t horrible. Spoiler alert: it usually was. There was one holiday weekend I left for work two hours early & skated into the pre-shift meeting three minutes late.
It was BAD.
I got a cat. Actually, I got three cats, but only one of them is technically mine. The rest just suck up to me because I’m the one who feeds them most often. Actually, the cat [my cat] was a birthday gift from the guy I eventually started dating. He knew I was sad about missing my boys & when he was being a good roommate & dragging me out of the house to make sure I actually got a shower on my days off, we usually went to pet stores. He’s got a wicked obsession with all things aquatic & would try to steer me to the fish section. I usually veered off to where the adoptable cats were because fuzzy animals are the best. [I said what I said, J.] So the day before my birthday, we went to a local shelter. We met this cat & he was aloof & wonderful & pretty much everything I needed in a cat. I adopted him the next day. So it’s kind of cool that his gotcha day is the same day as my birthday.
So, as J so fantastically pointed out, this is getting long. I’m going to update again soon [I swear I mean it this time]. I’m going to work through the rest of my drama in another post.
If you’re reading, thank you. If you’re not; whatever. I don’t actually care at this point. I went from wanting to be a big name Mommy-blogger to just wanting to get my thoughts down somewhere. They’d probably be more suited to a private journal, but I type way faster than I write.
Hope you’re all doing well. I’ve missed this little corner of the internet.