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I spend some time alone these days, and that’s a good thing. I think everyone should spend some time alone.

Alone being a positive is so different from where I was one year ago, eighteen months ago.  Back then, in those dark days, I was lonely and heartbroken.  Being alone reminded me of how I’d been rejected, dumped, forsaken, cast aside. And now I know that I was lied to as well, lied to for a long time. I was delusional about my present and my future. Those days were horrible, and I forced myself to make huge changes, to restart my life, although I felt like a zombie.

Now, all is different. It is as if I am living under a new sun. A new love is a huge part of this, but there are other parts as well.  A willingness to look closer at the choices I made, to let go of the things that were holding me back like silken tethers. A good therapist.  A way of looking at the world through eyes of gratefulness and beauty, noticing the small moments in life that make me smile and feel joy and peace.

Alone time now is a mishmash of a blessing. When I am not with MKL, I miss him. But missing him can make being with him that much sweeter. And being alone with myself, my words, my thoughts, my cat, my house, ensures that I remain the me that he fell in love with – and that I fell in love with as I prepared myself to meet him.

I do not think that I will “end up” alone. In fact, my increased faith in myself, the power of the love of the universe have convinced me that none of us end up alone, even if we pass through periods of this life by ourselves. Alone now is not a bad thing.  Lonely is a little different, but both are states that can change with strength, desire, and intention.

Disclaimer: I feel this way right now. Right now, I am not in the throes of my depression. When I am again in its vile, lying, loathsome clutches, remind me that I said this. During those bouts, hope and faith are both elusive and seeming illusions.

I went searching for a synonym for alone the other day, and do you know what I found? There are barely two or three synonyms for alone that do not imply a state of sadness, emotional/spiritual poverty, depression, or abandonment. I thought that was fascinating.

Most of these synonyms flowed along the lines of isolated, lonesome, discarded, cut off, friendless. You get the picture, I’m sure. But like a miniature lighthouse, one synonym stood out as a beacon: free.

Free.

What a wonderful concept to associate with being alone. Free to choose the company of others. Unburdened by baggage. That is how I feel now.

Beautifully together, and beautifully alone.

Remember a little while back when I wrote about my three strikes of dating?  Well, the pattern continues.  Another potential suitor is all washed up.  This time we had two failed dates and one actual date (which could make it two balls and one strike, but that sounds really wrong.)  And we’d seen each other at his place of employment quite a few times, so it could safely be said that we’d known each other about 5 months.  I was optimistic about this guy.  And he is a nice guy.  But.  Nope.  Sigh.  No chemistry.  And although I had an almost impossible time passing it in high school, chemistry is very important to me.

Not that I’m pining.  When the time is right, everything will fall into place.  Over the last two weeks, I’ve been pretty happy with my alone status.

I just noticed that being with the wrong person makes you more lonely sometimes than being alone – especially if you know what being with the right person feels like, and how happy that makes you feel.

Made me feel.

But if he’s not here anymore, then he’s not the right person.  Right?

Sigh…

Let me start by saying that I have nothing but love, hope, honesty and fairness in my heart.

We all know that giving flowers is one of the BIG things on Valentine’s Day.  In fact, Valentine’s Day is the second biggest holiday for florists (Mother’s Day being the first). But this year, I’m focusing on Anti-Valentine’s Day sentiments, so I thought I’d share some of the lesser known and not-so-sweet meanings of flowers, and help you put together an appropriate customized bouquet for that “special” someone.

These aren’t all easy to find in a florist’s shop, so you may have to settle for planning a vengeful spring garden.

I’ll make it simple for you and compose bouquets with particular sentiments, explaining which flowers mean what.

     1.     The Bouquet of Sorrow

Yew – sorrow

Aloe – grief


Harebell – submission and grief


Helenium – tears

Marigold – pain and grief

     2.     The Nosegay of Hatred

Black roses – hatred and death

Orange lily – hatred

Basil – hatred

Aconite – misanthropy

Fuller’s Teasel – misanthropy

Fumitory – hatred

     3.     Posey of Vengeance

Begonia – beware

Bird’s foot trefoil – revenge

Golden rod – precaution

Monkshood – beware

Oleander – beware

Rosebay Rhododendron – beware

     4.     Garland of War

Achillea – war

Milfoil – war

Yarrow – war

     5.     Wreath of Lies

Bugloss – falsehood

Dogbane – falsehood

Manchineal – falsehood

Winter Cherry – deception

     6.     Corsage of Heartlessness

Hydrangea – heartlessness

Lettuce – cold-hearted

     7.     Spray of Hopelessness

Love Lies Bleeding – hopelessness

Cyprus – death, despair

Mourning bride – I have lost all

     8.     Miscellaneous Bunch of Evil

Lobelia – malevolence

Yellow carnation – rejection

Dragonswort – horror

Judas Tree – betrayal

Single larkspur – fickleness

Lavender – distrust

Don’t say I never gave you anything, and Happy Valentine’s Day.

Just like last night felt odd, tonight feels odd.  Not bad-odd, just odd-odd.  Know what I mean?

I had a busy and interesting day today.  Went and worked out.  Got some positive indicators that I have a remote chance of getting the house I’d like to buy.  Talked to a former boss who said she’d push along my resume at the company where she currently works, where I’m considering an interesting but demanding job.  Took a few hours to write a fantastic cover letter for a meeting facilitator/consultant job that is perfect for me.  Wrote a new poem.  Washed dishes.  Made plans with a couple of friends for different dates.  Had a good talk with a bloggy friend.  Am now watching “An Affair To Remember” (the Cary Grant-Deborah Kerr version).  The wind is blowing hard outside.

(And let me say that just because I’m looking for gainful employment doesn’t mean I’m giving up on the writing.  It’s just that if I buy the house, it would help to have some solid income for a bit.)

As the day wound down, I wanted to talk to my former guy.  It was an interesting feeling.  I miss him.  Obviously.  And he reads this, so I’m not telling him anything new.  (Hi there.)  But I was thinking about that being one of the things I miss the most about us.  We used to talk in the morning – he was my alarm clock.  We would talk at lunch about how the morning went.  We would text periodically.  We would talk on the way home from work about the rest of the day.  And we would Skype before bed.  It’s what you do when your relationship is long-ish-distance. 

It’s those going home talks that I miss the most.  That winding down of the day is the time I miss talking to him most.  I miss sharing the little (and sometimes larger) doings of the day.  I liked that.  It had a cozy intimacy to it that was special somehow.

I’m being more social and reaching out to friends and family more and it feels nice.  I’m at home alone (as of last night) and will be until Sunday, which is also fine.  I’m fine being alone, much moreso than I was a month ago.  In fact, I’m kind of happy tonight.  (So, in response to AO1’s comment, don’t feel bad for me.)

But that little conversation.  That’s the thing I miss.  I hope I’ll have that sort of thing again someday.

It feels like I’ve been divorced for ages, and at the same time, it still feels kind of surreal.  Am I happy?  There are certain things in my life that make me very happy.  But I am a bit lost right now, between being unemployed, unsure of my future and divorced.  And that causes me to fall into depression more often than I would like.  Falling into depression impacts my part-time job performance, my housekeeping skills, and my ability to motivate myself to pursue my passions.  In other words, it’s not good.  Duh.

As I wrote the other night, it is not helpful to be housesitting for my ex-Pat.  I have spent a lot of today going through the “cat room”, getting rid of things.  That room is a disaster.  Yes, I had it full of stuff, but there’s no reason for it have become one giant litter box.  I have pulled out most of what I want to – or could – save.  Now I just need to figure out where to put it.  The cottage is too full as it is.  And I do pay for half the mortgage here.  It’s tempting just to get a trunk and put it all in it and store it until I settle someplace and can truly have a place for things – it’s actually a lot of pictures, negatives, slides.  It feels good to throw things away though. I’ve kept one drawer of shirts here, so I have something to wear when I do housesit, and some sweatpants, etc.  And of course, my books.  I don’t know what I’m going to do with my books – I guess my real house will need to have a library.  I’ve always wanted built-in bookshelves anyway.

It feels like, when I’m housesitting, I fall back into the old energy that I had before I moved out.  Which was sedentary, not taking care of myself, unmotivated – in a word, depressed.  I do love being with the animals, except for getting up so early to do their bidding.  And the smell of the lilacs drifting through the door is wonderful, as is the sound of the creek.

But I’m ready to have my new life back and be back in my own cottage, even if it is a rental.

As far as my relationship with Pat goes, we are getting along well.  When the blog hit “Freshly Pressed”, Kelsea told him about it.  I had never told him about it, not because I was hiding something, but because I didn’t think he’d care.  He did – some of what he read made him sad, and that made me sad, since I wasn’t writing anything with the intent of hurting him.  And he felt I wasn’t telling “the whole story” about some things, to which I responded that, as it’s my blog, I get to share what I choose to share.  But he did say that I was a good writer, and that made me feel good.

A friend asked me if being here makes me want to go back.  No, I can’t go back, and I don’t want to go back.  But it does make me feel the loss of possibilities so intensely.  And that’s sad.  Divorce is hard.  It’s just hard.

I know I promised fewer whiney posts about divorce, but hopefully this won’t be too whiney.  I feel compelled to continue my tale of newfound singledom (with no slight to Mr. GF because he’s awesome), at least from time to time.

This morning, for the first time in 19 years, 4 months, and 17 days, I woke up single.  Not “single” as in “alone in my bed” because that’s happened lots and lots (and lots.)  “Single” as in I am not a married woman anymore.  Wow.  Weird.  To say the least.

There was no real sadness, which was interesting.  I guess I was expecting some.  It didn’t help that Pat had yelled at me over the phone on Sunday night.  It didn’t help that he had blasely accepted the check I gave him for $34,000 yesterday with barely an acknowledgement, and certainly with no acknowledgement of the past 25 years.  Or maybe I should say that those actions DID help – they helped me NOT feel a sense of sadness.  Those actions showed me what our marriage had become.  A business arrangement, and not an overwhelmingly pleasant one at that.  And that he still can’t understand that if you love someone, you don’t yell at them, you talk to them.

If anything, there was a vague flutter of relief.  I can’t explain it.  Maybe that I don’t HAVE to do….what?….I’m not sure.  Just that I am not under his control anymore.  I was so very, very controlled.

Of course I miss things.  I miss Kelsea every day.  I miss my dogs.  I miss my cats.  I miss watching the moon set over the mountains outside the bedroom window.  I miss listening to the cows mooing in the night.  I miss the sound of the creek when it starts to flow in spring.

Every freedom has its price.  Every slave has to pay for her freedom. 

Now, I have my freedom.

 

T-60

Why do I have to be right?  I hate that I can feel what he is feeling.

Russ feels our love is addictive, and as I have said, that is his hot button – I know that.  And so we will refrain from any contact for 60 days.  After that, I am trusting in the powers of the universe to allow us to come back together, with a new confidence that this relationship is truly what it seems – a love such as no one else has ever had.  He feels that I will move on to another man in this time, that since I have had this behavior for so many years that it will be easy enough for me.  I thought he knew me better than that.  In his goodbye letter, he said that I have been having affairs for 23 years – untrue. Such behaviors appeared periodically throughout my marriage, but not consistently. Again, a hot button for him.  He has been exploring a Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous Forum.  I looked at it as well, and will explore more, but honestly, 12-step programs with a strong “trust in God” turn of phrase are off-putting.  I trust in the Universe, its powers, and my own strength – and the strength of true love.  But I will explore it.  And he must do what he must do.  Even if it means never being with me again. Tears fill my eyes (again) as I write that.

He says that here we’ve been working on the stuff for months and nothing has happened.  I disagree.  I can feel things happening.  But the thing is, he wasn’t really working on the stuff.  He was saying it, but not believing it.  Instead, he has been agonizing over the pain he’s caused.  Put the negative out and it will manifest, it’s true.  I will not do that.  I’m not buying into that.  I want the positive.  I want the love of my life.  I will work hard until Spring, when perhaps I can catch a glimpse of a crocus, and perhaps I can hear his voice again, and perhaps we can move forward with our life together.  I suppose that will be up to him by then.  I already know what I want. And I am already lonely for him.

The 60-day countdown calendar will appear on each blog entry.  God, I hate this – not just not being with him, but the risk of knowing that I can move down one path, with the vision of him at the end, and that as I am doing so, I will not know if he is moving down a similar path, with a vision of me at the end.  And if he is not there at the end of the path, my heart will surely break forever.

I guess he really wasn’t happy with the prospect of it all.  He kept saying that things hadn’t been right between us the past few times, but it was in him, not in me.  I was – am? – so looking forward to being his wife, to having a love that endured, that was real.  To having a partner. 

I am lonely for him already.  I look forward to our talks every night, our Skypes.  It seems absurd that two people who love each other should be apart like this.   I just like sharing my life with him.  I like him.

But I will go on, for eight weeks, pursuing myself, trying to turn my life into the life I have dreamed of, envisioned.  Including the things we had dreamed of together.  A new blog will be born, One for the World, a placeholder for Two for the World, that is specific to my travels, until we can start writing about our travels together.  I will include my perspective of Mexico, in anticipation of him including his.  I am taking the writing class next week on Saturday, will find the pictures to submit to the contest, take a photography class so I can be up on digital, do my Scuba training (I was so looking forward to sharing my thoughts on that experience with him – and I’m scared of it too, so I was hoping for his support), and take a trip, I guess, as I have a ticket to use before March 11.  Perhaps I will go home to Anegada, and heal my heartbreak somehow – but not with another man.  As I have written before, that Nobodys Girl is gone.  I will only be Russ’ Girl now, or my own.  And that is that.

Just telling Kelsea about all this (well, not the love addiction stuff), and her response was, “Why can’t you just love each other and go with it?” A fine question.

And I suppose, as I wrote once before in a totally different context, if you love something let it go free.  If it doesn’t come back to you, you never really had it anyway.”  I hope he does not find that he loves his life as it is more than me and the future we could have.

I believe these writings will just spill out of me for days now, long and lingering and rambling, perhaps repetitive, but a spilling of my soul that I cannot help.  Readers need not read them.  They are for me.  I can dream that Russ is reading them, keeping track of my life like a guardian angel, until he can share it again, if he ever wants to.  I can dream.

Which makes me weep for Our Year of Dreams.

 

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