Breaking Up is Hard to Do

I've been having recurring dreams of my ex-husband. None are exactly the same, but the theme repeats: A~ is either living in my home or otherwise occupying a space in my life. Meanwhile, he is either completely oblivious to my hospitality, lying to me, avoiding contact with me, beginning a secret relationship, otherwise disrepecting me, or all of the above. In last night's dream we were still a couple, living in adjacent dorm rooms, although we had not spoken to each other in almost two months.

In every dream, I go through a painful awakening as I begin to understand the nature of the situation. In one dream, I confront him in his lies and broken promises, which he attempts to deny or spin as misunderstanding. Feeling sick, I don't care to argue. I just yearn to be done with him. In other dreams, I evict him from my house, but he seems not to hear me, or claims not to understand.

In last night's installment, he has left his dorm room door open. I catch a glimpse of him lying on his bed, staring into space. Does he want me to come confront him? Is he hoping I'll make some move? Is he pretending he doesn't see me passing in the hall? Am I equally at fault for not seeking him out? In the dream, I realize the answers to these questions don't matter. This is not a relationship. It's over. I don't even have to dump him. I can just move on.

It seems like such a freeing thought. So why then, as I write these words, do I feel so sad?

Leftovers

Spent yesterday evening with three women friends:

S~ is thirty-three and eight months pregnant with her third child (I conceived the pregnancy that became my third miscarriage at the same time).

M~is fifty and letting go of a longtime expectation that one day she'd adopt a Chinese daughter, moving on to finding excitement in her life's work.

D~, after a decade of infertility, two failed IUIs, and Clomid treatments for both herself and her low sperm motility husband, went on to have three healthy boys without any medical intervention at all.

Just goes to show me, every uterus has a story.

And this morning I spoke to a woman I am just getting to know who has two children, age 13 and 15. She mentioned that she is 52-years-old. Which means she had her first child at thirty-nine. I don't know her story (yet), but I am reminded that I'm not quite thirty-eight, that a full year from now I will still be not quite thirty-nine. Which reminds me that you never know what the future may hold. My own story may not be over yet.

I don't let myself think that very often.

Mostly, I think about work (there's been a lot of work lately), the possibility of graduate school (still waiting for the verdict on that), the fiction stories I want to write (there are several), and what I'm going to have for lunch (leftovers, of course).

I Feel Like McDonald's

No, that doesn't mean I feel like eating greasy hamburgers and fries. It means I just noticed my hits counter at the bottom left of this page: at this writing, it reads "100161." In other words: Over one hundred thousand served. Now that's a lot of burgers!

This calls for a celebration.

Free fries for everybody!

Feministeria

Oh what a terrible word I just made up for the title of this post, considering it conflates "hysteria" - a word that already mushes together female and craziness (Think "hysterectomy." Same root.) – with "feminism", a topic much on my mind as I follow the race for the United States presidency. No, no, no, I won't go into political analysis here, nor will I make any arguments for my personal candidate of choice, but I will say this: Not a white male in sight, at least as far as Democrats are concerned, and I'm loving it. Nothing against white males, I love and admire quite a few of them, but: Take that, racism and sexism! It's about time.

I've been reading a fascinating book called They Used to Call Me Snow White...but I Drifted: Women's Strategic Use of Humor. Case in point: Nellie McKay's must-hear song, Mother of Pearl. The best version for free online, in my opinion, is on the NPR program Fresh Air Give it a listen, she sings it live at the very top of the interview.