The middle of May marked our 11th anniversary. Instead of gifts of steel, we decided to gift ourselves with separation. Again. We did this in 2013, and having lived as a child of divorced parents, and having divorced my first wife and leaving a daughter with possible "daddy issues", I wasn't too keen on the idea and leaving this time a round with a son whose on the high functioning end of the autism spectrum--I didn't want to be perceived as the asshole father who couldn't deal with a problem (I was there during the 2 to 4 year old range weathering the F5 tornado tantrums that only autistic children can produce), but trudged ahead with it anyway. I found that I really enjoyed being alone and doing what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it, and watching what I wanted to watch when I wanted to watch it. But we worked at the same place, so we saw each other for lunch, and we still had dinners with each other to have some sort of structure and normalcy for our son. We were on good terms.
Unexpectantly, once we got away from each other, the relationship and romance rekindled, an opportunity for her to get a house next door to her aging but healthy mother came along, and we moved back in together.
And the relationship slowly died.
We were once best friends with benefits, got married, had a kid, became friends without benefits, and finally just turned into roommates. Monday I sign the lease for an apartment, and we will be done. I couldn't be happier. And that is not a sarcastic comment.
I'm a sci-fi nerd who likes heavy metal music, aerospace and space exploration, and exotic European sports cars. My first wife was a biker chick, a petite skinny chick with a long nose and fucked up teeth who favored the wearing of spandex and Metallica T-shirts. I was introduced to her at a party. At that time she had a baby boy and an husband in prison for theft. She liked to fuck, and I like women that like to fuck, so despite all the red flags and nuclear radiation and biohazard signs, I eventually became husband number 4, until such a time as she met a biker and he became husband number 5, and has been ever since. Nerds and biker chicks are poor pairings.
My second wife I met during my senior year in high school. I had no interest in her. I never expected to met her again. I had just moved home from North Carolina after my life imploded and I needed to figure a lot of shit out. But through a mutual friend, our lives collided and we started hanging out. The cheap-ass trailer I was renting from my uncle (that happened to be the trailer my maternal grandparents lived it--funny how things turn out) became her sanctuary for the overbearing drama of her life. She liked me, and was taking me out to eat and feeding me and buying me beers. But as friends, you understand. These weren't dates. One night she takes me back to the trailer and before she is leaving, she has this hesitancy and longing look about her, and I'm like "what the fuck". She's a big girl. Not obese. She was fat in high school, too. Not really a pretty woman with her stern German genes--thinner than Melissa McCarthy, but not as cute, and certainly not as hot as Rebel Wilson. So I told her I wouldn't reject her and it was on. Best blow job I ever had. Told myself I had to keep this. She was a good lay, and loud.
I'm laid back. Aloof. More spontaneous. Never make big plans. She's a control freak, there is a plan for everyday. Vacations are booked months in advance, with daily itineraries, and contingency ideas. These aren't bad things, they worked out fine. The problem was in her expecting me to be just like her. I got with her during a transition period. I was getting my shit together and going through positive changes, bettering myself. I quit drinking, and got a good job and still have it. So I was becoming a different person that the loser goofball she fell in love with. I was good to her. Never cheated, didn't stay out late getting drunk, didn't yell at or hit her. What made her angry was me not doing chores when she wanted them done, and how she wanted them done. Okay, noted. When I stepped up my game to keep this marriage afloat, the bar got raised. My recent crimes have been not writing monthly checks five days in advance of being due. Because in her mind, if I'm not anticipating this bill and have to be reminded, then obviously I have no interest in the marriage. I've paid for things, on time. I just have not had a fucking check sitting around for four days waiting to be sent off. Somewhere along the way, somebody got crazy. According to my family (which she has nothing to do with) it's not me. Oh, and I'm a forgiving person. She's not. This marriage is coming to a close not because we hate each other, but because she can't let go of a bunch of trivial bullshit that she has allowed to pile up inside of her. She has told me she can't let it go.
I hope she doesn't expect a repeat of 2013. I don't want to be with a person like that. I don't want to be with her. Three times I've tried to make this work. I'm done. I think we were done back then. She never put her wedding ring back on, and because this is a small, two bedroom house, I still have things boxed up in the garage.
And no, I haven't thought of her all the time. I'm an artist. I need to be in love with another artist. I need to draw, and write, and play guitar, and world build for stories and the sci-fi RPG me and a friend are developing. I can't turn off the creative process. My mind is busy all the time thinking of various subjects and various projects. I can't devote all of my thoughts to another person all the time. Should I be expected too? I can't think with distractions, so I have a small window of time at night when son and wife are asleep to work on things, if I have the energy.
This apartment is going to be a blessing. I really cannot wait to get my life back. I've sacrificed it for greater things. But those things aren't working and I'm no longer asked to sacrifice.
I'm a sci-fi nerd. She's becoming an old maid. Not a good pairing. I need another sci-fi nerd. My daughter suggested going to the DragonCon in Atlanta when it comes around. I've been to any of those comic conventions. The headbanger in me decries it as a bunch of poseur losers. But really, it's the crowds. I suspect I'm on that same spectrum my son is own, so I have a strong antisocial streak. Large groups of people I don't know make me anxious.
But I'm not out the woods yet. Cupid is little shit with an evil sense of humor. As I was apartment hunting, I found this affordable and nice looking complex and I had a good feeling about it. I didn't get this feeling looking at any other apartments. I go out to look at it, and the feeling intensified, as if this was the place where great things were going to happen. (I happened to catch an evil bacterial infection in my left elbow and arm that kept me out of work for a week as I was apartment hunting, so I spent time doing that and visiting urgent care centers). That Monday I went out there and the cute young woman with the engagement rock and wedding band on her finger (we men all look for this) showed me around and gave me an application. The next day I was supposed to go look at two other places, but I did not want to. Antibiotics had me feeling like shit, but what I really wanted was that apartment. Trouble was the washer and dryer are mine, and I planned to take them, but the apartment I wanted required the stacked washer/dryer, which I could rent from them. I did not want to go look at another apartment and settle for it because I got to keep my new washer and dryer I had to buy for the apartment in 2013. I felt sick to my stomach thinking about these other places as if I was on the verge of making the worse decision of my life and it was going to cost me. So I filled the fucking application out and called for an appointment, and felt better. The woman I had spoken to on the phone every time I called was not the same as the one I met at the office. When I arrive, the woman I have spoken to on the phone is outside the office wearing these Jackie Onassis sunglasses and is about to show this mother and her children around, and she apologizes for running a little late. No problem. I have a smart phone and suicidegirls.com to keep me company.
She finishes up with the mother and beckons me inside, and just as I get a good look at her, bare finger and all, Cupid jets out from behind her and hits me right in the heart. What the fuck, dude! I'm planning on being single for while and doing my thing without having to answer to anybody, and your little fucking arrow staggers me back to the very edge of falling in love. You little bastard! So now I've been two weeks thinking of this beauty, with a slender body, and long dark hair, and dark eyes, and long nose, and a smile that lights up the room. It may be a professional smile, but I like to think she is genuinely happy to see me. Subtext can sometimes confuse me, so I'm not always sure if there are signals to pick up, or if I'm receiving signals they way they are intended. I had to go back and sign something concerning the security deposit that forgot to get signed when I dropped the check off and remarked that I did not know which apartment I had applied for; I was shown the model apartment because my apartment was still occupied. She points out the window across the way telling me that it was "close to the office" in a tone I like to think said "so don't be a stranger." In normal circumstances, I can't foresee a lot of reasons of needing to visit the office so its proximity to my future living space should be of little importance. So why the mention? (By the way, my response to that was "And the pool.")
I feel like I'm circling the airport in the holding patterning waiting to either land or fly off. I hope to see her Monday to sign the lease, though it could be with the other girl. What I really want to do is ask her out to lunch or dinner...
But, I'm beginning a separation...and she will be my landlord (and because of pay stubs she know what I make)...if I do cough up the balls and ask, I come off as a rebounding douche. If I don't, I remain in the holding pattern, waiting for some signal for traffic control as to what I should do next. I like to think she is the reason for the strong feeling of providence, but I could be reading the whole thing wrong.
It's a fucked up situation. I won't know what to do until I'm there. Maybe God and Cupid will shove me in the right direction.