Boy, you really want to find a way to hate someone, just let the legal process run its course.  Though my attorneys and I and Frank stated in the beginning that our goal was to work together to find win-win, Frank obviously has someone advising him otherwise, and is taking that advice.  Boy, is he.

I was poleaxed by the financial information he submitted as part of his interrogatory stuff.  It took me over a month to be able to speak to him at all.  It completely stopped me in my tracks as far as my interrogatory stuff, and I had to put it all away for almost all of that time.  I'm getting back into it and hopefully can turn it in this week.  I hate it, I hate it all.

I miss sex and I miss him and I miss sex with him.  Even after I had Noah, we only waited about 2 weeks.  It's been since May 5th, which I guess is as good a day as any to call "the last time." 

Some friends have started to suggest I date; they're trying to fix me up with x or y.  Oh hell no.  O I am so completely warped, sad/mad, and overwhelmed that that would be a completely wrong idea.  I hate not having anyone to talk to about books and movies and politics, world events, daily news, work.  Kids are kids.  Too much the cliché, and too much unsuitable, the single mother who relies on her children as her confidantes. 

I am a cliché anyway, the single woman who can't keep a man or, apparently, a friend.  The lonely cat lady with no cats because her son is allergic.  The all-around loser who now, to stave off the empty evenings, is ever raising her hand to volunteer for more stuff.  I looked around at some of these ______ events this past weekend and saw myself and shuddered:  multiple overweight, unattractive women, divorced with their children moved on, short hair and no makeup, shrilly ordering around other people's kids or the other adults:  put that table there, hang the banner, distribute the programs, pour out the punch.  I pity them but I'm one of them now and I don't see any way out.    Aren't there single, successful and happy women out there?  What groups are they joining, for Christ's sake?

I didn't mean for this to be a pity party, but you know?  I'm pissed.  I should be celebrating:  I don't want him (cue "Wicked":  I can't want him) anymore.  Once I get my financial stuff turned in, the bridge will be well and truly burned... from both sides.   

Saw Shopgirl and realized why Frank didn't want me to see it.  Yeah.  Kinda close to home.  Except he's the one with someone else, not me.  All the more pathetic.

I think I am finally separating.  It's like pulling off a conjoined twin.  A whole person, the one who was so deeply in love with him, is dying.

I fought it.  We continued to meet.  We continue to talk, friendly-like.  It continues to hurt. 

I guess I can't say never again yet, since our last lunchtime tryst was less than a week ago. 

But I can say it feels more over than it ever has.  I feel more.  Over.

And Mother's Day sucks.

I finished my ScriptFrenzy and submitted my blankityblank pages at 2359-30 thank you verra much.

I am proud.  6 years of Nanowrimo and I never once finished my 50,000 words in 30 days.  Got damn close, damn close.

I missed last year by a few thousand words, why? Because I gave up valuable writing time for lunchtime nooners with Frank (and look how much good THAT did).

Ahh, got to run... kiddos...

I asked an acquaintance from the World Affairs Council to go with me to the book release dinner.  He's an older fella, charming, and always has plenty to talk about.  One of those widowers that flirt with much younger women while, at the same time, talking constantly about his sweet wife. Sweet dead wife, that is.  Yeah, he's 74.

But I really will have fun.

@Karos:  I wish I edited books for a living!  I just did this on the side.

The book I finished editing last month is back from the printer and will be delivered around to local stores, like, NOW.  This is really cool.  The author wants to have a dress up "release party" dinner with me, x, and his wife.  X of course, would have been Frank, but there is no more Frank.  The author told me to go find a date.  He knows that Frank left and thinks this is 1 - a good excuse to find a date and 2 - some subtle reassurance to the wife that all the hours we spent on the book were actually on the book.  (And they were, aside from a little shoulder-crying, as the heaviest of the editing - when we were just storming and writing and editing like crazy) was right in the maelstorm of Frank leaving.) 

So this author's heart is in the right place.  But I got nuthin.'  I can't think of a single soul I could ask as a date.  (Yes, I have gay friends who would be happy to go, but that kind of defeats the purpose of reassuring the wife that I'm keeping my sex drive occupied.)

I want the release party - I've never had one!  I want the idea of the 4 of us celebrating something that the author did and the wife and I helped with.  How très New York, a release party!  How grown-up!  But this is making me fucking depressed.

Both of the older boys agreed to wear their Scout uniforms for the parish directory.  I am dorkily thrilled.  Do you think they'll be scarred for life? 

Now that the world is on facebook, I feel a lot less pressure to perform here on xanga.

And probably more privacy, even in this age of "your employer is watching."

Had a lot of good times on xanga.  Hell, had a whole relationship here once, years ago.

Though I strongly prefer the aesthetics of Blogger, I feel a loyalty here.  And all my STUFF is here.  Plus, as anyone would agree, "xanga" is a way cooler name than "blogger."

Holy cow, is this book good.  I read it all in one sitting.  It's hard to know how to describe it, because any description of the conditions or events of this book will surely turn you away. 

Let me say this:  it is one (delightful, strong, poetic, hopeful) girl's story of survival, from Africa to London, and another (fearful, courageous) woman's story of survival from corporate life to marriage to end of marriage.  And Batman.

I feel like I could handle most of the plates I have spinning in the air if I had just...one...clean...room in the house.  One perfectly updated, decorated, not-even-dust-in-the-window well clean room.  And then, if I had TWO, well I could start going to grad school or something.  It's a psychological weight, the cluttered house.  Financial clutter was even greater, and I thank God every day I can see a light somewhere to be (other than the mortgage) debt free. 

Of course, that's on the other side of the legal costs of our current visitation / child support shit, but that's another story.  And not even an original or interesting one.

I make stabs at cleaning/organizing, but it seems like no matter how many boxes I haul off to Goodwill or garbage, I'm not seeing great big empty rooms.  Stab harder, I guess. 

Maybe I should focus on one clutter SUBJECT a month, rather than one room a month.  I know what my categories are:

Toys, Clothes, Books/Movies. Unfiled / sorted paperwork.

Hey.  I'm feeling pretty good about this.  This could work. 

Attention mis-matched playing cards, puzzles and board games missing pieces, and all you action figures missing limbs:  your days are numbered.  You too, outgrown baby toys. 

Late for a New Year's Resolution, but xanga, how I've missed ye.

I'm sad to read last year's post and report now that it all ended.  Frank moved out of his house and into an apartment in June; we looked at houses and made plans and worked on the kids getting used to stuff and I thought it was the beginning of forever.  In November, he said he was moving back to his house.  March 1st, he moved back West.  Gone, over, pfft.

Now my social life highlight this week is going to a funeral and hoping to see a familiar face.  I gave up so many friends and activities to be in that relationship with Frank.  Amazing how much time a man can suck up.