It’s like you’re my best friend from college. You know, the one I parted with after promising “I’m going to visit you every month, I swear”. The one that totally knew about that uncomfortable moment with the guy with whom I student taught. The one who explained the sexual innuendo in that movie that time and didn’t even laugh.
But then we got busy. Our phone calls went from twice weekly to once a month and then suddenly, it’s been over six months and I feel guilty that the only thing I did to celebrate your birthday was write, “Eat lots of cake for me!” on your Facebook wall.
I want to call, but I wonder if you’re kind of pissed. Certainly, I’ve been replaced. There’s clearly some new friend who listens to your work woes and tries all the fad diets for exactly three days before she eats six cookies in the span of four minutes in the middle of the night. Oh god, what if I call and it’s all awkward and apparent that we’ve both changed too much to ever be particularly close again?
Yeah. That’s totally me with this blog.
You see, life got hairy for a little while. Divorce drama reached its zenith and suddenly my life was inundated with lawyers and private investigators and mediators and documentation and legal bills and feeling super anxious all the time.
And then we went to court and the kindly judge was all, “Why do I keep hearing complaints about this blog?” And I was all weary and defeated and was like, “I don’t know, dude, but clearly that man is super pissed and doesn’t have the coping skills to just look away.” So then he’s all, “I haven’t read any of it to see what the fuss is about, but are you willing to participate in a gag order?” And before my lawyer had time to smack me in the head with the twenty-pound file he held in his hand, I was all, “Sure. I don’t care. Just make him stop.”
So, it was proclaimed. No writing about anything dealing with divorce. No showing any pictures of the kids. No expressing myself in any way that could possibly offend the angry man or his righteous family members who clustered behind him in the court room like the human equivalent of some soothing diaper rash cream. You know, inappropriate to be used by a 37 year-old man.
And then I had to pay the piper from The Lawyer. He was all rage-y and “How long are you going to let him take over your thoughts and self-esteem and decision-making ability?” and for a second I felt all exposed and like he knew something about me that I didn’t even know about me. So I told him to be quiet and stop bossing me around. I told him that he shouldn’t replace my husband’s voice with his own. He retorted by tossing words at me like “freedom of speech” and “you’re keeping me up at night, dammit” and I just wanted to go home and take a nap.
But, it was done and I just had to live with it. But at least it made things less complicated. I stopped hearing my girl make statements like, ”Daddy was printing out a whole bunch of pages on your blog last night.” I didn’t have to worry about which phrases would be taken out of context, highlighted, and inserted into a legal document in an attempt to make me sound drunk, easy, or neglectful of my children.
But the divorce is over. It’s been over. I’ve been consumed with forms to fill out, finding a place to live, finishing my book, and working with clients who give me purpose beyond being a mother and an ex-wife.
Plus, there’s the whole, “What do I write on my blog? How do I explain this? Should I explain this?”
But I think I should explain this. At least some of it. Not necessarily for your benefit, but for mine.
So, if you’re still around, hang tight. I haven’t figured out what to say yet, but I’ve clearly got to dust off this computer and start writing.
You know, and see if we can still be friends.