NURSE! HANG ANOTHER BAG OF PRINGLES, STAT!

Dear January,

You are one mean jerkface.

$#!!!!**&****%!{!},

- J

We are now HOME after being forcibly evicted to a two-starish hotel with no room service and a questionable concept of exactly what housekeeping is hired to do. Prepare yourself for a future post on the after-effects of bedbug attack.

Since the kid and I left in a rush with one clean outfit between the two of us, with me covered with toilet water (*see below), I had the pleasure of a WalMart trip in the middle of ten inches of snow, in a none-too-scenic part of town, so that I could buy us both hot-pink-synthetic-made-by-third-world-sweatshop-children tracksuits to sleep in and 99 cent flip-flops to guard against foot ick in the scary hotel shower.

For no apparent reason, I suppose because I do not have enough stress in my life right now, my house went all Amityville Horror on me about two weeks ago. For those checking your day planners, you are correct in noting that this was not soon after The Husband (as he will herein be referred, until he is promoted to The Ex) moved out, the very same Husband who used to deal with things related to leaks, toilets, vermin, and sewage. I got married, in part, so I would have someone in my life who could deal with leaks, toilets, vermin, and sewage. I deal better with matters such as high-heeled boots, gourmet cheese dips, sunshine, and wine pairings.

Since The Husband left, The Kid (as he will herein be referred) and I have endured ten full days of no functioning bathroom plumbing -- and we have four bathrooms -- in addition to periods of no kitchen water, a basement ceiling leak which soaked the downstairs carpet, furniture, and me with "maybe" toilet water, per the 24-hour plumber who could not come until three days after-the-fact, and a Shining-like icy blizzard, complete with flickering power outages. Did I mention the TWO rounds of stomach flu? No? The only thing that was missing was the blood leaking down the walls and the windows speaking at me in tongues.

Because the house decided that it was not yet done toying with the very last shreds of my sanity, last night at midnight, while I was carrying our luggage in (read: WalMart plastic bags), the Amity House attacked again. I fell on ice on the steps, sprained my wrist, and cut myself in all manner of odd place.

Initially, I thought the wrist might be broken. I attempted to seek late-night weekend medical attention for an x-ray and stitches in my left hand and elbow, but had to settle for paper towels and some Scotch tape, not because the bleeding or throbbing wrist were OK, but because I could not find anyone to stay with The Kid at midnight on a Saturday. By then, all I wanted to do was lay down and bleed in peace in my own bed, on my own dirty sheets. A doctor friend reassured me no break today, though she did say that I "should see a doctor" tomorrow.

Right now, I have my wrist wrapped, and am whimpering whenever I have to move it more than an inch. I had big plans to scrub, launder, bleach, and fluff-and-sort, but I suppose it will have to wait while I make out with my third canister of Pringles in as many days. (This winter, I am substituting food for love, so far that is working for me.)

Ten minutes ago, the Demons of January decided to push one last little button, and I watched as the cat threw up a partially-eaten kitchen sponge, right after he knocked two Christmas ornaments off the tree and then stared at me as they shattered on the wood floor. Did I mention our Christmas tree was still up? Yeah.

February will be better, right?

RIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?!

(just humor me. please, please humor me.)

Purge

The dust has yet to settle around here, but for the first time in two weeks, I feel less like I am suffocating. It's something. I am in the middle of the big house purge. What do I do with the things left behind? Confronting my past in object form is not easy.

His closet is empty except for the tuxedo and shoes from our wedding, and the trenchcoat he wore exactly once, almost thirteen years ago when we got engaged on a frigid February night in New York. I laughed about the trenchcoat at the time; later, I learned it was the only coat he had that hid the ring box.

Or the big framed version of this photo?

I really don't know. I just know that I wish it were still this easy, and happy.

Anonymous

You kicked Jeff out last week so that he had to stay in a hotel. Saying he left of his own volition is a lie. It'll be very interesting in court..and sad..to see the things you've said on here disproved. You left Jeff for Thanksgiving and New Year's. Are you driving Ethan to school and back home again these days? How is he coping with this? - Anonymous

Dear Anonymous,

Your thoughtful comment to my last post caused me to have several reactions.

My first reaction is that you must be related to Jeff, or sleeping with him. If it is the former, OK, I get the taking sides of things. If it is the latter, have at it, that is no longer my domain. If it is both, then according to Family Law 101, that is illegal, not to mention yucky, so please cut it out.

My second reaction is that there are two sides to every story. Except when I am telling it. On my blog. Then it is my side. That is just how it works.

My third reaction is to be pleased that you are concerned about Ethan's welfare. Thank you for worrying about the impact of all this on my child! I can feel your happy thoughts for both us warming my soul.

To respond to your query about school transportation, I told Ethan that he should start walking, because I am too lazy to drive him, but he complained because it is over fifteen miles to get there, and the route crosses two major highways. I said, fine, not my problem. So I disenrolled him. He is happy with that choice since they were just about to learn fractions and he said that sounded hard. In case you are worried about his future lack of fancy book learning, I would not. To make up for all the time I spend ignoring him, he is now watching sixteen hours a day of Dr. Phil and Oprah. Dr. Phil has helped him kick his chain-smoking habit, so I am pleased about that.

As for religion, he has decided that he wants to explore peyote and small animal sacrifice at the local Wiccan house; again, his life, his choice, I support his decisions. As for nutrition, he has decided that he only wants to eat blue things, such as boysenberry Jelly Bellys (I eat the other colors), but only at midnight, since he is allowed to choose his own bedtime now.

I would write more on how he is faring, but I left him in the other room with a fifth of bourbon for dinner (not blue, but he likes to play spin-the-bottle with the fourteen-year-old next door when he has polished off all the liquor) and a set of serrated steak knives to throw against the ceiling. The toy budget has been cut since we have two households now, so I've had to improvise.

And, my fourth reaction ... pay attention, this one is important: A split like is always painful and divisive. Everyone is hurting in this situation, and your hurtful comments help nobody. Stop. Seriously.

Still Standing

Thank you for the love and support from my friends and family. I am alright. OK, I am not even close to alright, but today is the first day in a week that I think I *might* eventually be alright. Which is something.

Your words mean the world to me, please know that.

'Til Death Do Us Part (But Not Really)

I feel like I have been ripped in two. This is the hardest day of my life.

My husband moved out this weekend and we started the legal process today. The pain of this is unreal. I cannot believe I used to do this for a living, family law proceedings are something that serial killers should be forced to undergo as punishment.

The short version is that I got a (maybe) terminal diagnosis in Fall 2009. My second, if you keep track of such things, which I tend to. The time was very important to me, again, because I am detail-oriented like that. Maybe three years minus these past fourteen months. Maybe five years minus these past fourteen months. Maybe less minus these past fourteen months. Who knows? But who's counting! Be happy! Live each day!

I don't know how we got here, nor do I know how to fix it. The stress has not brought out the best in either of us. Instead of bonding in that Lifetime movie way with rainbows and unicorns, we've spent that time fighting like cage fighters. We've spent hours fighting over how much hypothetical time I might have left, what my neurological symptoms mean, where to go on vacation, who is the better parent, who will clean the house, whether or not I should still be a lawyer, how my husband works too much and how I spend too much money.

Now we will have the lawyers spend $50,000 -- really? $600 an hour?! I can assure you that even at my cognitive peak, nothing out of my mouth has ever been worth that amount of money -- to tell us who is the better parent, and that I spend too much money. And then we will both be financially and emotionally devastated. I can't wait. Then I can die happy.

This afternoon, I rushed from court in heels and dressier clothes than I normally wear, fixed my smudged mascara, adjusted my two-sizes-too-small wonky pantyhose and bolted in to pick up my second grader from school. He saw my stockings and asked "why I was dressed for a wedding?" I guess I should probably send an email of explanation to his teacher about why I started sobbing in the hallway outside of his classroom. For thirty minutes.

What do you do with fourteen years of shared history? How do you explain to your seven-year-old that Daddy won't be coming home from his "business trip"? Who is going to take out the trash now? Most importantly, how in the the hell do I stop crying?

Compassion

You sometimes wonder if your values are rubbing off on your kids. Never have I been more proud of Ethan than this afternoon when we passed a man on the street corner holding a sign "Homeless & Hungry."

Ethan gave me the $5 allowance from his pocket and said, "Let's go get some cheeseburgers for that guy. He doesn't look like he likes onions, so make sure you ask for them plain."