Coping.

I was reading my friend, Therese's blog. (I don't know her; she just feels like a friend.) This part struck me:

Coping your way through life is not a way to live ... I had incorrectly assumed that coping is what everyone did. No one actually wants to be alive, I had always believed (and still do when I get depressed). They just pretend they like they are having a good time on this excruciating planet because no one likes to hang out with a downer. “La la la la la … Sing a happy song …”

I consider it more of a slog, but I assumed everybody thought living was a chore. My joke in high school--and I was a teenage girl at the time so everything was dramatic--was that I'd like to speed things up and get this life over with. That was sooo long ago. And I'm still here.

Coffee with Ex on Sunday. It's good because the more I see of him, the more I realize that we shouldn't be together. Apart, I can spin these fantasies that maybe we could still work things out and never have to pay another lawyer $400 to read an email. A little face time with him clears that up. On the money issue, he says there isn't enough. He has to dip into his savings to take vacations. Doesn't everybody?

Cheaters never prosper.

They get divorced.

I did something to fuck up my marriage and I paid the price. I haven't been open about it because I was ashamed and thought people wouldn't like me. (Not remarkably, these are the same fears I had when I first joined AA and guess what? Everybody who knew me was aware I had a drinking problem.) My guess is that everybody also knew I was a lying, cheating spouse but was too polite to say anything-- except for my friend S who vehemently told me I was an idiot and fucking up, that if I wanted to end my marriage this was no way to do it.

I've been reading this blog and feeling awful because it's written from the view of the cheated on, which in my case would be Ex. (I hope this means I have some a speck of empathy left in my shriveled soul, which is even more shriveled after writing some recruiting ads for a pawn shop company.)

I hate the person (me) who felt entitled to make herself feel better at the expense of Ex who held his vows, even though things were crappy before I cheated. For a long time, I justified my actions and felt entitled to my bad behavior. Here's a news flash:

THERE IS NO EXCUSE FOR BAD BEHAVIOR

I must have been sick the day they taught that in preschool, although I went to preschool on the Naval base in Mare Island where it's possible that particular life lesson was ignored in the interest of national security.

The only thing good about the whole affair is that I now know that I never want to do something like that again--to me or anybody else. I took a new vow, not unlike my now-broken marriage vow, to be true to and honor myself.

If you're thinking about cheating, stop what you're doing and call a marriage counselor. You are too far gone. The time to think about cheating is way before you begin fantasizing about people who aren't your spouse. In fact, the best time to think about cheating is before you get married. And this won't make any difference because I had the opportunity to counsel a close friend who was married and attracted to another married man. She had watched my entire Lifetime drama unfold and had listened to hours of my bullshit. Did this stop her from stepping out on her marriage? No. Unbelievably. People will do what they are going to do. Her marriage survived by the grace of a few white lies and lots of work.

Staying true to myself is an ongoing struggle because I am an addict and when I feel an emotion (and not just an uncomfortable emotion--even happiness will do) I want to yell Halt! and drown it in alcohol or drugs or new shoes or men. You know where all these roads lead to? Guilt and shame. Fuck. My hair-shirt-wearing self feels guilty about feeling entitled to feel hurt about the divorce. You feel me? Like I deserve all the pain so suck it up, lying sister. And so I'll take this moment to apologize for this entire blog.

Brick walls.

A woman I respect greatly quoted this piece of wisdom which somebody had shared with her: "Keep moving forward and when you come to a brick wall, turn."

Sounds easy, right? This is something I rarely do. I curse the wall. I try and climb it. I bang my head on it, kick it, and punch it. Then I camp out at the base and fume and stew and try to convince any passers by to join me.

My divorce is a brick wall. I need to turn and leave it behind me, but I have a hard time letting that shit go. Partially because it's not final yet and we'll still be tied together financially until we sell the house, but also because I keep going over why, why, why things didn't work, as if it matters now.

I'll just have to keep putting it out to the universe to remove my fear, obsession, and tenacious, sick desire to beat myself and ex up.

Here's to turning and walking on.

You're like so funny.

Have you seen this site? Do you have a couple of hours?

But You’re Like Really Talented, Terry Richardson.

 

Still no job.

Archangel Uriel is gonna burn away your bad shit. You feel me?

I found out on Friday that I didn't get the job that was mere blocks from my house at a successful, pre-IPO start up. I was sure the stars and planets were aligned on this. How could it not be God's will? The rejection hit me hard and I've been fermenting a stew of anger, shame, resentment, and guilt for feeling these things. Then ex called to report he hired a lawyer who told him he'd been overpaying support for the last three years and I owed him money. This did not bode well for the stew. In fact, I fell into the old pattern of me doing my Warner Bros. Tasmanian Devil and him clamming up. It would be funny if it weren't happening to me.

I couldn't calm myself enough to pull an Angel card until this evening. Here's what I got:

Archangel Uriel
Your emotions are healing. I will help you release anger and unforgiveness from your heart and mind. I simply and lovingly ask them to be willing to release toxins from their mind and heart. If they are willing to do so, then the release will occur. In this way, the person retains their dignity and control, while choosing to be clear of lower energies.

I have the dignity and control of a tired two-year-old, along with this desperate need to feel secure and, for me, security means a full-time job and money. It's a false sense of security, really, because both of those things are paper and ephemeral, and yet I am beholden to them. I am clinging to them as if they were my lifesavers. I've been down this road before. I know these things, but then I forget.

Then--and here's God at work--a friend forwarded me this piece by one of my sisters in spiritual progress, Anne Lamott, who describes losing it Tasmanian Devil-style like this:

But eventually I am too tired to continue and my head has become too uninhabitable, and I realize I’ve been driving this rickety temperamental old bus of my mind around for too long. I’ve lost all sense of direction and am feeling confused and pissed off and bitter and resentful and nuts; but then finally, finally just tired. I begin to worry that I have had or
am having a complete nervous breakdown, and that I am about to start weeping or barking and won’t be able to stop. Sometimes I still look more or less okay on the outside except for the tics, which can actually be pretty unsightly but inside I’m feeling a little bit more like Ted Kaczynski than I like to. And I realize I’m just crazier than a shithouse rat; and that it’s all hopeless. And that the sun is burning out.

She always makes me feel better about being crazy and this makes it easier for me to forgive myself for feeling scared and acting like a little kid and for picking up that rock of money fear AGAIN. And AGAIN, I am stating that I'm willing to have this fear removed, that I'd like a few angels with bleach and sponges to go to work on my psyche. Thank you. Good night.

Bad ad placement.

I was doing a bit of research and came across this page. Really? Does anybody pay attention to this stuff? I hate to think it might have been purposeful. If you can't read it, it's an ad for guns on a website for suicide prevention.

Dude, we have an agent.

Now I can say things like "I'll have to check that out with my agent" and "I'm having lunch with my agent." She's bi-coastal. She repped Wally Lamb. I know this is her job, but she loves my writing. I sign the contract next week. She asked me what my dream was and I realized I didn't have one. I'm too scared to dream. How pathetic is that? So she helped me out and tossed one out for me: "Would you like to be a bestselling author? To get paid to write novels?" Yes. That's my dream. It was just too out-of-scope for me to ever imagine. This is just the first step. The odds are that dream will stay a dream but, as my friend Tracey puts it:

YIPPEE!