No, not Six Degrees of Separation. blank stare. That’s a game, and this has nothing to do with Kevin Bacon. Get with it people, grin.
The first separation? Political and Social views. He took a sharp right turn after 9-11. I’m not saying we always agreed on these things, but we could discuss them like adults. Post right turn? He took to telling me I was being poisoned by the media. Blink. Really? And you think Glen Beck is real news? Eh, and MSNBC isn’t skewed either. Nope. I don’t take to being told I’m gullible, so I stopped discussing any issues of the day which meant anything to me with him.
Because my Ego demands it, I collect information from a number of different news sources, on and off U.S. soil. It’s amazing how differently the BBC sees things sometimes.
The second separation – We all but stopped doing things together sans kids. I had no say in this; it just happened over the course of several years. I’m thrown a compulsory date night occasionally, once ,maybe twice, a year. Lucky me! Movie and Dinner is such an original activity.
The third separation – Unreasonable woman that I am, I won’t watch TV shows I don’t like. GASP! There are shows we both like and used to watch together before the DVR. Now? In passing one of us will say, “I watched the new episodes, delete them if you want.” Because that’s so emotionally charged. Once in a great while we can be both found in front of the TV. Usually this is shortly before the pass off of the remote, and one of us leaves.
The fourth separation – He started washing his own clothes. What am I complaining about you ask? I didn’t complain one little bit. When I got told ‘Don’t wash my clothes’ in a terse tone it became more. Why doesn’t he want me to help? The last time I washed for him? “I didn’t ask you to do that!” Em, no you didn’t. I was being nice to you. Remember being nice? No points earned or lost.
The fifth separation – our sexual interludes became further and further apart. My advances so often rejected, I stopped trying. One can only be told no so many times before one’s integrity starts to be on the line. I don’t beg–Not for anything–Not ever. He told me he was in pain. He had a headache (so cliche’) He was tired. It was a long day. Ad nauseam. Okay, you don’t want me. I get it. “Oh no honey, it’s not you. It’s me.” Blank stare. Could this get anymore about him? I don’t think so. Gah.
The sixth separation – He checked out on almost all household duties. Bills, cleaning, cooking, yard work, house and pet maintenance and keeping my car in good order all fall to me. If I don’t do these things or assign them to our son, they don’t get done. He told me he would fix the automatic sprinkler system. It only took four years to get it done. Finished up with it late last year. Yup, that’s efficient.
We run out of shower soap or toilet paper? It’s the end of the modern era, and it’s all my fault. Who knew I was so powerful?
The seventh separation – He checked out on me almost completely. We began to live in the same house with a passing hug and peck. This is so not normal. Our conversations, which are short, revolve around A. Kids B. His job C. His health. Should I mention anything else it is quickly brought back to how his [fill in the blank] is far worse, less bearable. God save me from whining!
The eight separation -I ventured into the world without him. I’ve always had a life of my own which he was always welcome in. This is different. I’ve got activities, friends and functions I attend by myself, on purpose. I got tired of waiting for him to come along. Life is short you know. And he was good with it. Not good.
The ninth separation -I put my wedding ring in the drawer. He didn’t notice, if he did, he said nothing. Ouch on both accounts. The lie of wearing it became too much for me to bear. We’ve got a piece of paper; that’s not a marriage.
The tenth separation – My interest in cooking for him is completely non-existent. I’ve stopped buying him clothes or anything else beyond groceries I know he’ll want. The pain of continuing to take care of him when I’m not even on his radar is too great.
The eleventh separation – Your stuff and my stuff. We have always had our own stuff, this goes deeper. When I was sorting pictures for the kids, I made a pile for him. His family. His activities and friends. Pictures of me were not included. I went through our memory box and put his stuff with his pictures. The wedding/honeymoon pictures are in the kids bin. Saved invitations and the like? In the trash.
Separation twelve (twelved is too weird) The marriage that was, is no more. If we’re going to work this out it has to be all different. An entire new field of engagement. Clearly what we were doing didn’t work. Best to burn the damaged place to the ground and start over. Which takes me to the stage I’m at.
Separation thirteen (No, the irony of the number isn’t lost on me, and no, it wasn’t planned. – You left me, now you have to win me back. All husband rights have been suspended, indefinitely. I suspect if I get to fourteen[moving out] it will be a permanent state of being.
In light of my present position, I’m starting to think about what’s mine. What I want to take and what I need to be doing to get ready should #14 happen. Not a nice place to be. I’m rather sick to my stomach, if you must know.
This too shall pass. It won’t feel like this forever. For right now? pffftttt.