I imagined a trip to the Greek Isles in my last post. I'd like it to be a month-long journey at least, so I could really drop out from my harried city life and revel in a slow life governed by the natural rhythms of day, night, and season.

It's not quite the same, but my Labor Day vacation will be an island getaway of a sort. Rob and I are flying out to L.A. and ferrying out to Santa Catalina, a hilly rock of an island off the southern Californian coast.

This is the first time in months Rob and I are going away together, and it's the first time in a couple of years I'm looking forward to spending time with him. What's different? I'm not sure.

I'm waiting and seeing rather than grasping for an immediate resolution to our discomfort. Rob is still working at therapy, and we're seeing a therapist together. We're both growing and changing. Apart or together? Not yet sure. But why not try to enjoy each other's company in the meantime?

Actually, this trip could be an important test. I've heard it's not a good idea to go away on vacation to try to fix a marriage because it's easy to get along in paradise, away from the stresses of normal life.

But if a successful romantic getaway can't predict successful romance back home, an unsuccessful romantic getaway — one plagued with fights or, worse, boredom — certainly can't predict one either.

So this weekend may be telling. Stay tuned.

I knew there would one day be a time where I would have to think about this: What would I say in my last posting to the FWW community? I have pondered this question often enough, to no avail. So true to the form of life itself, I am going to have to wing it.

I will say this: During the 14 months I have spent as an active voice among the community, I have spent a lot of time thinking about the conundrums of life. Sometimes, I feel as if I have spent too much time thinking — obsessing, if you will — about the snafus of life, instead of actually doing anything to change its course.

To this end, I must say that I am happy to be moving on, as this will give me an opportunity to take a more active role in my life — to be the captain of this vessel, as opposed to a mere crew member.

This is perhaps one of the most monumental points of my life, and I will allow nothing to get in the way of my future success: lingering unemployment, lack of my own private space, etc. None of these things will stand in the way of my future achievements, for they are not worthy.

And I advise you to do the same. Do not let anything stand in the way of being the stellar individuals you are capable of being. And should you find yourself falling short of your projected selves, take the time to look inward and find out what it is that is not allowing you to move forward. Once you've identified it, cut it loose and move on.

I promise, you will be better in the end.

And so I leave you now, with these words and my best wishes, as I go in search of my phenomenal self.

My best to you all,

Akillah

Yay! I have a new place to live. Go figure, it was a rental company, not an individual, that was finally willing to overlook the horrible credit (with an additional deposit, of course) and give us a lease.

You know what? After all the searching and the eleventh hour panic about not being moved before the start of school, house for house, this cute little Cape Cod with the cute little garden (I have banana tree) in a cute little neighborhood, was the nicest place we looked at.

Now it's just me and my laptop on the floor in the final hours in my apartment. Only things still here are a few dust bunnies, okay, dust elephants, and the art on the walls.

I have moved 15 times since I left my parents' house for college in 1988. Fifteen! Usually the pictures and knick-knacks come down first because they're quick and easy and the blank walls always make packing appear much further along than it actually is.

Not this time. Putting this stuff up was the most symbolic part of my move-in and it took more than a month to give myself permission to get comfy here.

These wall feel kind of sacred to me. The only place I have ever lived alone, or, well, been the only adult. Close enough. In some ways, this place is me: a little beat after two years, but comfortable.

All the tears and sleepless nights and I've grown more here than all the 36 years before. Maybe even enough to face the problems in my marriage with enough humility and openness to make it work this time.

But, I'll tell you a secret. Despite the beautiful home I'm moving into, despite the sense of possibility I feel with Sam, despite the un-namable joy of not having to search craigslist today, I'm kind of sad to leave here.

"I should have left years ago."

My 81-year-old mother said that to me for the second time this morning, and it's made me sad. She takes full responsibility for her choice to stay with my father, a difficult man. But one of the reasons she didn't leave him years and years ago is me.

Makes me especially sad to think that her sacrifice on my behalf wasn't a complete success. Witness to her marriage, I was afraid even to admit a desire to have a husband.

And when I finally managed to do that, the man I chose to marry turned out to be very much like my father (imagine that). And now I'm working on getting divorced.

On the other hand, I did grow up with a father who loves me and who was present and responsible, if sometimes unpleasant. And I've had a chance to see what it's like when an unhappy marriage goes on and on and on and on.... It's been educational.

It hurts to see my mother unhappy, especially at this stage of her life. But hers is also quite the cautionary tale.

I don't have a daughter to explain my divorce to, or worry about feeding and buying school uniforms for. At this point in my life that's a blessing.

But I do have myself to keep faith with, and I know I don't want to become an octogenarian regretting a long marriage. As sad as my mother's situation makes me, it also gives me more courage to push ahead through divorce.

Thanks, Mom. For everything.

I just read another dopey article claiming that married people have the best sex lives. How it's so great knowing all the person's buttons, the freedom in having just one partner, yada, yada yada.

I beg to differ. I speak from a long lack of experiences during my marriage and unless my friends — both men and women — are all lying to me, we were all to some extent in the same boat.

Take my beleagured friend D, who had the ill-fated date with me that stormy November night (check out my first post). He returned to home and hearth, willing to give his marriage another go.

"There is peace in the family and I have buried the hatchet, swallowed my miseries and decided to hang in there," he wrote me. "After looking at all the alternatives and the reaction of the brood to my breakout suggestions, I've just hunkered down. If I were in France, I would probably have found myself a mistress and lead a double life. But I'm in Norway, so I live a quiet Calvinistic life of middle class mediocrity."

Yikes.

Compare that with my randy neighbor, S, who left her husband and our quiet rural suburb and moved to a condo complex in a nearby town that had a rep of attracting lots of new divorcees. After a few months she confided, "In our neighborhood if you heard screaming, you assumed people are fighting. But here, when you hear screaming, you assume people are having really great sex." 

Or my friend P, who reunited quite literally with a former squeeze after years languishing in a sexless marriage. "It was like finding the magic lamp and getting my three wishes: sex, sex, and more sex!"

One person's sanctuary is another's asylum. 

I returned to upstate New York last Thursday after six weeks of the NYC job search scene — a grueling, merciless, yet necessary torture.

While I did cut commuting costs, the lack of space to breathe and recoup at day's end in the city surely did nothing to prepare me to get up and go it all over again the next day.

So what does that mean for me now? Where do I go from here?

I am halfway through my fourth month of unemployment — with less answers than I had in the first. Having followed every bit of direction and bartering every pearl of wisdom given to me, it seems that I have come full circle, with no alternative but to go the cycle again.

Remember Sisyphus?

At this point, perseverance and insanity have but one thin, heavily smudged line betwixt the pair, and I find myself on most days doing a very peculiar dance: one that involves great endurance. At this point, I've got enough energy to keep up the fight — for now, at least.

I know that I must can't give up — even when the odds are not in my favor.

What keeps me going? I remind myself of how great that victory dance is going to be. 

I haven't been to a therapist in a while. I stopped seeing the last guy I was going to because he got a little too fascinated with me and gave me the heebie-jeebies. So I rid myself of the one person in my life whom I freely chatted with on a regular basis about my thoughts of leaving my husband.

I used to talk to my pastor about it quite a bit but my therapist talked me out of that.

I confided in a few friends and soon afterwards it felt like an awkward pity party.

I told my mom and now she dislikes my husband.

If I didn't have a blog to write I would be a big bucket of nerves. At least I have one outlet.

I don't know if I'll go see another therapist. I don't know how the last guy managed to do it, but he got me so wrapped around his fingers that I would save up situations throughout the week and only form an opinion on them after my therapist and I had a chance to mull them over together. 

I went to therapy trying to figure out a way to save my marriage and instead got roped into a codependent situation with the therapist. Why can't anything ever just be easy?

If I do go see another therapist I think I'll find a woman who has such a thriving practice that she won't cling on to one patient in particular and decide to become some sort of puppet master.

I feel like a real idiot for having fallen into that pattern with my therapist, and now I'm scared to see anyone else. Really, it's not like I need another complication in my life.

Apparently, my ex, Levi, caught wind of my lunch date with his sister, Erica. He called last night, said he wanted to have a "civil conversation." (I really must remember to send the man a dictionary with the word "civil" highlighted.)

Then he rambled on and on about how he "isn't going to do anything for Adrian just yet" and how he will "never go through me to have a relationship with Adrian, that he must wait until Adrian is old enough to formulate a relationship with him himself." Same old, same old.

Then he switched gears and told me that he is going to "come take him from me." More of the same. Listening to him now, I can't believe that I ever got myself so upset over his bullshit.

This time I simply told him, "Thank you for the update" and added, "It was nice catching up with you." Done.

Then I met Erica in the city for lunch yesterday. We met at the cafe outside of the zoo, ate, and then wandered around the animal exhibits. She tried to engage Adrian a few times, but he was way more interested in the monkeys and sea lions than in her.

It was only at the end of our day that she brought up Levi, and...their mother. (I still can't decide which one of them I loathe more.) Apparently, the mom wants to see Adrian but she doesn't want to see me. Levi has told his family that he is okay with them "filling in for him" — holding a place for him, until he is ready to be a parent. I told her that it wasn't the right time to talk about it.

But seriously, what can I do but shake my head in disbelief at the utter dysfunction that is their family?