really, actually perfect

When we last left our heroine (that's me) she was sitting on a bar stool with wet feet in "Whispers," the hotel bar of the SoMa Courtyard by Marriott, happily crying at the news that her partner was finally officially divorced, after approximately four and a half years of battles.

Once I had collected myself, Kathy again pleaded with me to go to the bathroom with her.  I was feeling all fond of her and squishy, so I agreed to go, despite the fact that (1) the bathroom was up some stairs, across a catwalk, and down a hallway, (2) I had absolutely zero desire to put my feet back into my soaking wet shoes, and (3) I think it's weird to go to the bathroom when you don't have to go, just to keep someone else company, especially considering that I do not wear lipstick so there was nothing to re-apply while I was in there.  But like I said, I was feeling particularly fond of her, and sort of wanted to be with my divorcee girlfriend for her really long walk to the bathroom.  So off we went.

a banished ghost

The weekend before last, Kathy and I took a short trip to San Francisco.  She had to go for a work function (the social and work lines are often so blurry -- it was basically a mandatory party).  We had a trip planned for February while the kids were on break with their father, but had to cancel it for a variety of reasons, so we decided to take the opportunity and a few thousand frequent flier miles, and I tagged along. 

When we arrived, we went to my favorite San Francisco restaurant (Taqueria Cancun, in the Mission -- I advise you to get some kind of Super Burrito, if you are ever there, and split it with someone), checked in at our hotel, went shopping at Gumps, without the kids, found me some boots that could withstand rain (duh, this is why you don't wear Uggs in California) and met up with our friend for drinks.  Which was kind of weird, since she was 8 months pregnant, but whatever, we were on vacation and technically ginger ale is a drink.  It was, actually, kind of a perfect day.  But then, the night happened.

invasion

Last weekend, Kathy and I were in San Francisco (more on that later).  While we were there, she got a 5 am text from Kathy's ex-husband, asking if he could go to our house for the kids' snow clothes.  Which we ignored, because it was 5 am.  The 5 am text was followed by a 7 am text, which Kathy responded to by reminding her ex-husband that he had his own set of snow clothes, so there was no need for him to go to our house to take our set.  At 8, he informed us that he had gone to our house anyway, and the kids had gone inside to get the snow clothes, because they found a door unlocked.  He assured us he would just send the kids in, not go in our house himself, since he knows -- and we have already said -- that we don't like him in our house when we aren't home.  This was irritating, since he does, in fact, have his own set of snow clothes, but was acceptable, since we want the kids to feel like the house is their home, which they can have unfettered access to. 

When we arrived home, I noticed that the kids' tracks went all around the house, to all the doors.  Because I was concerned that we had left a door unlocked, and because the kids snow clothes were still piled right by the back door where they were when we left, I asked B what door they went in and why they didn't take the snow clothes.  "The back door," B answered. 

A narrowed her eyes suspicously.  "Did Daddy go inside?" she asked, since she wasn't with the other two kids at the time. 

"Yes," B responded.  "He wanted other clothes so he said, 'I'm coming in this house!' and went up to get the long underwear and my sweatpants and some other stuff."

(photo credit)

on marriage

Almost a year ago, I wrote about my divorce.  In that post, I said that my divorce shaped my thinking on marriage.  In other posts, I've referenced the fact that Kathy and I are not married, and that one reason for this is that she is presently engaged in what very well may be the most drawn out divorce in history.  It has literally been going on for years.  And so, I find that it's not just my divorce that has shaped my thinking on marriage -- it's also hers. 

So, what does it mean to have a view of marriage that is shaped by divorce?  For one thing, I am under no illusions that divorce is the quick or easy out for a marriage that doesn't work.  When you don't have kids, divorce scrapes you so emotionally raw that it can take years to recover.  When you do have kids, it's not just you that is scraped raw -- it's also the small beings entrusted to your care.  Not to mention the fact that almost everyone I know who has gone through a messy divorce has emerged with no savings.  None.  Divorce is a lot of things.  But "quick" and "easy" it is not.

Although these experiences with divorce might have made me bitter, jaded, or cynical about marriage, nothing could be further from the truth.  I am a romantic, underneath it all.  As Kathy's divorce slowly draws to a close, there are some marriage-minded people in my life (and in my house).  So, I've decided to take this opportunity to think about my definition of marriage, and why I would want to give it another try. 

One caveat, though:  this is what marriage means to me.  It probably isn't the same as what marriage is to you.  In fact, I would be kind of freaked out if there is someone out there with the exact same definition of marriage. 

boiling point

Each Wednesday, I go into the city to see my therapist.  It is one of my favorite days of the week; I get to hang out with Kathy at her office, see friends or my sister in the city, go to Weight Watchers (which I actually like!) and generally get back in touch with the world.  But for the last two weeks, the same thing has happened.  When it is time to come home, I have gotten really angry and nasty.

I feel like I have legitimate reasons to be hostile, angry, resentful, and frustrated.  The thing is, Kathy is embroiled in a heated custody fight with her ex-husband.  It has been going on for YEARS.  Literally, years.  As in four of them.  As a result of this, her ex-husband is not technically so much her ex-husband.  They have lived apart for ages, the kids and neighbors think of them as divorced, but because they can't agree on custody, they are technically still married.

(photo via this educational website)

ghosts

This weekend, my computer crashed.  Because of how I downloaded a virus onto it trying to watch a Scottish lesbian BBC series.  Yeah, I know.  So embarrassing.  Of course it crashed exactly when I was sitting down to work, so I used the desktop while distractedly clicking at my laptop trying to get it to work.  I'm not horrible with computers, but I'm not great, either.  It got itself all into a tangle and now Windows won't start.  Sigh.  This is why people use Macs, I suppose.  Or at least don't use Internet Explorer.  Anyway, this crashing was the genesis of a larger feeling of uneasiness when I realized that there was something completely irreplaceable and of indeterminate value on the hard drive.  My wedding pictures.

Yes, I was married before.  It's something no one knows how to talk about with me.  Whenever I mention my ex-wife, people try to change the subject or talk about her like she was my best friend who moved away or something.  The thing is, no one knows what to do with someone who is 29 years old and divorced.  But if you think that's bad, try being 29 years old and GAY divorced.  If same-sex marriage is a taboo topic, try same-sex divorce.  So far I have met one person in my entire life who can talk about same-sex divorce comfortably.  And she's a divorce attorney.

Photo Credit.