It Darkles. It Tincts.

I am struggling with mourning someone who is not dead.

If my husband died- this is just a for instance, law enforcement officials-I could mourn him in completion. I would smell his clothes, rend my garments, claw at my face. I would know what to do. I could put him to rest in my heart.

But he's wandering this Earth, my corner of it, too. I can't mourn him to completion when he's out with his fucking girlfriend. I can't. He's still wearing the clothes I bought him - I can't sleep with them and then give them to the Goodwill or whatever.

I keep finding little artifacts of our marriage in my place. Because it used to be our place. And I just throw them away and move on, but really I don't. There are silhouettes of me stuck in those spots, and I cry cry cry. I cry so much. I cry all the time.

I feel dangerous. I feel...uncharitable. I see her out with him, and I just think, yeah, yeah. Bob your little head along to those songs. They are all about me.

Uncharitable, to say the least.

How can he still sing those songs about me without cutting himself open, putting his head in my lap, saying he is sorry.

But he does.

And I do what I have to do. Sometimes it feels good. Most of the time, it doesn't. I go through the motions, I fill my allotted space. But I am living on the edge of the razor, and either way I fall, you know I'm going to get cut.

A Life I Never Meant

I love a mess. I love to clean, fix, mother, pamper. That's what I was taught as a little girl, the person I was raised to be. A cleaner. A fixer. A solver of problems.

And oh, man, are there some messes out there. I married one of them. I got him all cleaned up and good to go, and go he did. Now I see him out with his girlfriend in clothes I bought and I have to pretend that I am very progressive and modern, and I don't want to tear every hair out of every follicle on their bodies. Because I totally do.

And this whole single girl thing? I guess I would call it a wonderful drag. Because on the one hand, I'm nobody's sweetheart. And on the other...well, I'm nobody's sweetheart. There is no one to notice that I haven't had toilet paper in my place for like 4 days, but there is also no one to go buy it but me and damn, that's a drag.

And there's this whole casual sex thing, which I still don't get. The showing of the vagina is a big deal to me - preferably a drunk deal, but whatever - and it's even more sticky when the object of your affection has a girlfriend and ends up in jail. I mean - how does the second date go? Does it happen? What constitutes a date, anyway? An orgasm? Split appetizers?

My perception of fidelity is sort of mangled these days. I'm willing to admit that. I mean, you can't hold fidelity in your hands. You can't make someone be faithful. They can promise you, but they might be lying. Or they might change their minds. Maybe they just don't know what that means, to you or to themselves.

Me, I'm just tired of doing the right thing and having it blow up in my face. That, too, is a drag. I'm going to do what feels right to me, in my beady little heart. And right now, that means taking what I want - for the most part. I mean, today I wanted to call in to work and spend the day taking adderall and making lists of people I hate. But I'm going to do that later because you have to prioritize, even when you are in a very, very dark place.

And I am in a very, very dark place. But I'm also having a great time! Which is the weird thing. It's an equal mix of murderous and merriment. Kind of like the holidays, I guess.

Just So You Know

I am so tired of doing the right thing.

The Thing About That Is, Is That You're Wrong

I accept that my marriage is over.

I was always a very supportive spouse, and that has not changed. That will not change until the day I get my name back, because I am very serious about the vows I took. I will honor my husband, even during the dissolution of our marriage. This is not easy, but it is very important to me.

I asked him to leave, because seeing him in our place and hearing him leave for work without kissing me goodbye was incredibly painful. It was very difficult not to kiss him, hold his hand, make sure everything was okay with him. So, I asked him to leave. And he did. Begrudgingly and with a really shitty look on his face, but he did.

I collect his mail. I make sure he gets his paycheck. I have not destroyed any of his belongings, even the $50 Eels LP that I bought for him. I fantasize about running a lighter down just one side of the record, rendering it COMPLETELY FUCKING USELESS. But I'm not going to do that, because our marriage meant more to me than that and I am a lady.

I encourage him to see his therapist, his doctor. Ask if he needs gas money. I help him pick out a new cellphone.

All of this to say: why do you have to be such a dick when I am giving you what you want? You want a fucking divorce, you are getting one. I have given you everything you ever wanted and I hate to say this, but you're acting a little ungrateful. Just leave me alone and divorce me. I don't want to fight with you. I know that you hate me, because you keep saying I HATE YOU and trust me, I got it. You fucking hate me. You tell me you hate me, you tell our friends you hate me. It's beginning to get awkward, and here's why: You keep telling everyone I'm a monster, but you are looking more and more like a monster everyday. So people are confused, you know? What are they to think?

You have chosen to share the intimate details of our marriage with your friends and family. I have chosen to, um, not do that. I'm not trying to hide any of my transgressions or make myself seem any better than I am. I'm fantastic. I'm also a very private person and I don't think it's anyone's business what our marriage was, or wasn't. In fact, no one will ever know what we had except for you and me. And that's the name of that tune.

Just remember this, darling husband of mine. You broke your last promise to me. And that is shameful.

And In The End, We Were Taken By Surprise

One time you punched me in the face once as I was driving down the highway because you didn't like what I had said to you, or what you thought I was about to say.

You called me fat, told me I looked like a man, made me ashamed of my hunger and my body. I brought out a dress I wore one of those days and it was impossibly tiny. So small compared to the body I live in now. I cried and cried, and spent so much time apologizing to you for being something I wasn't. And now I am, and you are gone.

You made fun of me for idolizing my father, for always calling him first when I was in trouble. But I never could count on you to be there, answer your phone, be sober, care enough, know what to do.

The night I got in that car accident coming to see you, I was scared and drugged, and I begged you to stay with me. As soon as I feel asleep, you crept out and I woke up alone and disoriented.

You never cared enough.

Just So You Know

I will never be there again to see you play guitar.

Everything you are wearing, I bought for you.

I am still feeling for my rings and crying myself to sleep.

This is not as hard as I thought it would be.

This is harder than I thought it would be.

I will let you go. It is not what I want. It's what you want. And I have always given you what you want.

It's Your LIttle Red Wagon

My husband is divorcing me. My husband is divorcing me. My husband is divorcing me.

I have to keep telling myself this so I don't call him by a pet name or buy him something at the grocery store or put on my wedding rings.

My husband is divorcing me. It's a done deal, my friends.

I have loved him for so long.

And now? It's just details. Debt. My name. His things, my things. Even though we have no children, I always thought of us a family and he thought of our marriage as a millstone, some kind of obstacle to his becoming.

There was nothing I wouldn't do. No lengths I wouldn't go to.

As bad as it was at times, as empty and scarred as I felt, I never would have walked away from him. I would continue to try, every day, to unlock him. To make him into a real live boy. To light a fire in him, to inspire him to reciprocate.

Someone I love is dying, and I can't save them. That's what my heart is telling me. Someone is dying.

I thought I had been heartbroken before, but those in retrospect were just bruises. I am heartbroken. I am out of my mind.