Don't Let The Door Hit You Where The Good Lord Split You.

It’s amazing the difference a few months can make.  I was reading over some of my earlier blogs and I realize I’ve turned a corner.  I don’t miss my EX anymore.  In fact, I feel like a giant, 186 pound  dead weight has been lifted from my shoulders.  People told me I would eventually feel this way, and I didn’t believe them, but now, I’m almost giddy.

I LOVE that he’s out of my life now.

FREE AT LAST.  FREE AT LAST.  PRAISE GOD ALMIGHTY I AM FREE AT LAST! 

The last five years of our marriage I had felt smothered and claustrophobic.  Like I was being waterboarded by the CIA in Syria.  And now I know why.  I was married to a huge putz.

I no longer have to support his harebrained schemes or pretend he’s a decent lover.  I don’t have to watch him stretch endlessly after yet another tennis game.   I don’t have to ask his permission about buying anything even though I made twice what he did.  I don’t have to wonder at his lack of ambition or intellectual curiosity.  I don’t have to explain plot twists in movies.  Or listen to his atonal whistling.  Or deal with his passive aggression.  Or suffer through his habitual feet rubbing (don’t ask). Or trim the unruly hair in his ears.  (Pathetic, huh?)  And best of all, I don’t have to work my ass off while he goes on vacation with my daughter.

Watching him lie during mediation was an absolute revelation to me.  It told me that he was even more pathetic than I ever dreamed.  He couldn’t even be a man and be honest.  He had to lie.

I don’t know what I ever saw in this guy.  I blame that heady cocktail of hormones and pheromones.  I think my wanting a family blinded me.  At least I did get an absolutely lovely daughter out of it.  And maybe in the grand scheme of things, that’s ultimately why we hooked up.

I should send him flowers thanking him for getting the hell out of my life.  It may well turn out that it was the best thing that ever happened to me.