The World's Shortest Marriage

I was married for about five minutes to a guy disguised as the Man of my Dreams. However, Dear Husband had a Secret Life. Watch in horror as I deal with the fallout of the World's Shortest Marriage.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Sad Parting

My friend K and his dog Floyd left for Florida this morning.

Getting him ready to go has left me physically and emotionally exhausted. The physical exhaustion is easy to explain - K is a packrat whose two-bedroom house was stuffed to the gills with stuff - both sacred and mundane. Although I've been working furiously for the past two months to help him sell, give away or toss his belongings, the past couple of days have been marathon work sessions.

Although K tried to help out as much as he could, his contribution was minimal - besides being blind and suffering from chronic, debilitating pain, he was nearly paralyzed by anxiety over the upcoming move.

My emotional fatigue is a bit more complicated. What started two years ago as an effort to help out a neighbor who seemed to have no one else has grown into one of my most valued friendships. K often jokes that we must have been married in another life, but given my track record with marriage, I don't think we'd be this close now if that were the case.

Our bond was so tight that we often sat for hours in K's patio - once a magical space filled with verdant green light, now ravaged by plant buyers seeking bargains - without saying much, content to sit and smoke and toss tennis balls for the dogs and enjoy each other's company.

Over the last couple of days, the realization that he was really leaving finally sunk in, and I've been in tears more often than not. Yesterday, as I finished hauling the last of K's 29 boxes to the local mailbox store for shipment, I looked so demented that the owner steered me to a chair and handed me a bottle of cold water, and his simple gesture of kindness brought on a new spate of tears.

When K and I said our weepy goodbyes, we promised to visit each other often, but the truth is that I'll probably never see K or Floyd again. It's another casualty in a year that has been marked by crippling loss - not just my marriage to Dear Husband and Bob's death, but also my plans for the future, my faith in others, and my sense of self.

Bon voyage, K. I miss you more than you'll ever know.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

A Visit to the Ex-Laws

My friend K is moving to Florida in a couple of days, and needed a crate big enough for his chocolate lab, Floyd, to fly in. After he priced them at $160, I remembered that I have one that's big enough. The only problem that it was in my ex-laws garage.

The ex-laws, Gruff Patriarch and his wife, Wilting Violet, live in a provincial little farm town about an hour away from my home. I called earlier this evening and WV told me it was ok to come over.

I parked behind their house, and oddly enough, WV was waiting for me at the back door. It took me a minute to realize that she was trying to prevent any contact between me and the Evil Stepsons, who were visiting for the weekend. She charged out the back door the minute I drove up and escorted me to the garage.

As we walked over together, she surprised me by putting her arm around me and telling me she missed me. Then she brought tears to my eyes by telling me she loved me.

While I was there, I decided I'd better retrieve the rest of the crap I'd hidden there. I showed her what I was taking, and then sent her inside because it was about 30 degrees outside.

While I was outside trying to figure out how to fit my enormous pile of crap into the nazimobile, I got another surprise - WV had sent Evil Stepson #1, Surly Brat, outside to help me. I assured him I didn't need any help, and he immediately headed back toward the house.

Then came the biggest shocker of all - he stopped momentarily and asked me how I was doing. For some reason, this sent me over the edge. My voice cracked when I said I was fine and asked him the same question. 'OK,' he grunted, and shot back into the house.

I cried for half an hour after I left there. Every time I think I've plumbed the depths of my grief, I find the well has grown deeper.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Cleaning House

I woke up in a funny mood this morning.

My eyes snapped open at 6 am and I immediately realized that the mess in my apartment was crippling my chi.

I started rummaging through drawers and cupboards discarding things, shredding old paperwork, and boxing stuff to send to the Goodwill. Although this type of cleaning always seems to create more of a mess than it resolves, by noon I was really happy - I had divested myself of about four cubic feet of crap.

Best of all, I decided to take another stab at gettting rid of the evil chef's evil KitchenAid mixer, and this time I succeeded within the hour. I posted it online (this time I left "priced for revenge" out of my ad) and a happy couple came immediately to take it away.

Although I thought I had already disposed of most of the reminders of Dear Husband's and my wedding, I found more - photos, leftover invitations, some of the crap that graced the head table, and a couple of hideous wedding presents. Luckily I was in one of those fabulous purging moods, and everything went into the giveaway box or the trash without a shred of emotion.

I don't know where this mood is going to take me, but I hope it's out of the doldrums that I've been in for weeks.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Flip Side

You'd think a person who has been so recently crushed would know better than to trample someone else.

But no. I've dragged someone's feelings through the dirt just as effectively as Dear Husband did to me.

Not intentionally, of course. But what started as a casual thing shortly after my marriage exploded had turned suspiciously into a relationship, despite all arguments to the contrary. A relationship that I didn't really anticipate, wasn't ready for, and ultimately don't want.

Of course my explanation came out all wrong. It was a dolled-up version of the 'it's not you, it's me,' speech that we've all given and received at least once in our lives. But in this case, it was true. I just don't have anything to give right now.

The experience has given me some insight, though. It's helped me to understand how you can hurt someone terribly even though you care deeply. I've learned that doing nothing out of a desire to protect someone's feelings can cause much greater hurt in the end. It's shown me that I can desire someone, yet want no physical contact. And it's shown me why it's a bad idea to jump into something when you're still trying to get your bearings after jumping out of something.

Ultimately, I've dealt a crushing blow to someone I love. I'm sorry.



Saturday, February 10, 2007

Back Aboard the SS Sorrow

After cycling through the whole range of emotions about the end of my marriage several times, I'm surprised to find myself feeling sad again.

It started a few days ago when I read a piece by Chris Erskine, a former sportswriter who pens a column for the LA Times about his family life. Erskine is one of those writers who manages to enthrall me even when he writes about things I care nothing about - his daughter's little league games or the condition of his lawn.

He and his wife have been married for 25 years, and even when he describes the inevitable squabbles that occur between couples, their mutual affection and respect and commitment manage to shine through.

While reading his column the other day, I realized that that was the kind of marriage I had always hoped to have - a true union of souls where the other person's happiness is just as important as your own. The kind of marriage where you feel like you know the other person almost as well as you know yourself.

The melancholy I felt reading Erskine's column has been simmering for days, and finally came to a head tonight at the supermarket, of all places. The Trader Joe's near my house is normally thronged with single gay men, but for some reason tonight it was packed with happy couples, straight and gay.

It's impossible to tell what goes on inside a relationship, especially when you pass a couple briefly in the cereal aisle, but everyone tonight seemed totally content to be grocery shopping on a Saturday night with their significant other.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the piped-in music, which I never even notice, started playing the song Dear Husband and I danced to at our wedding. It was one of those moments when you realize that you're truly alone.

I hate feeling sad. I'd much rather be angry. Hell, I'd even prefer bitterness at this point. Not that I don't have plenty of that.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

After Dear Husband ignored my last two emails about his outstanding hospital bill, I placed another call to my former father-in-law, Gruff Patriarch.

GP and I have definitely had our differences since he and his wife, Wilting Violet, boycotted the wedding on religious grounds. I've probably only spoken with him five times since then, and the conversations haven't been that pleasant.

But GP has been unfailingly polite and helpful both times I've spoken to him about DH's hospital bill. When we talked today, he seemed suprised that DH hadn't paid the bill in full, because he told GP he would 'take care of it.'

I'm thinking he doesn't know his own son all that well, because DH rarely does what he says he will, and almost never takes care of anything.

Ultimately, I didn't have the stones to ask for what I really wanted - for GP to pay the bill himself. It's an unfair request - GP isn't any more responsible for the bill than I am, and my rationalization that he can afford it isn't all that convincing, even to me.

But I need to get this taken care of, and not just because of the money. It's the last thread that ties me to DH, and I want it snipped. But I'm starting to think that GP has no more influence over DH than I do, which surprises me. When I first met DH, his family manipulated him like a marionette. While I'm glad he's finally stopped caring what they think, he picked a hell of a time to do it.