A while back — a long while back — I wrote about how in those first few months after Levi left I couldn't stand to look at anything that reminded me of him. This obviously included pictures of us, his clothes, his stuff etc., but also included things that he had bought for me: jewelry, clothes, dishes, and so on.

Although this has changed somewhat — I am once again wearing my favorite pair of jeans, even though he gave them to me — it hasn't completely gone away.

Levi's splitting plan (which was equivalent to that of a criminal running away in the night) wasn't conducive to hauling furniture along with him.
 
Although, he was slightly crafty and snuck a few of his favorite things into a storage shed before he left, I was left with quite a bit of furniture.

(Now that I think of it, I never did say thank you — better get on that.)

Not initially having room for all of it, I put most of it into storage also. (Too bad Levi and I weren't on better terms, we coulda probably gotten a sweet two for one deal.)

Well, now I have the room, and a need, for the rest of the furniture. I have enlisted my friends to help me fetch it next Saturday.

"Why didn't you get it earlier?" my friend Rachel asked. I told her the truth: I didn't quite have the room for it, and, I couldn't stand to look at it. She told me that she had that same problem when she had broken up with a long term boyfriend. "Yeah, I think its a common symptom of breakups," I told her.

Then it hit me. I had an idea. "Wouldn't it be great if I could find another woman with a storage shed of furniture that shed of furniture that she couldn't stand to look at? "We could trade!!"

This guy, Mike — you probably haven't met him. But you've heard of him; I've been going on about him for a while now. I'm sorry that there aren't more of him, that there aren't dozens and dozens, so I could dole him out everywhere he might be needed. Because, it turns out, Mike is pretty much perfect for a divorced girl. At least, this one.

He has never tried to move any faster than I am comfortable with.

He has never said anything negative about Jake, no matter what I've told him, no matter how I've felt, no matter how he might feel. He knows how to be supportive and understanding without being derogatory.

I've had hysterical breakdowns, panic attacks, periods of unexplained misery. He's happily (well, maybe not happily, but certainly willingly and patiently) weathered these, as little sense as they made to either of us at the time.

Most notably, most importantly:

He accepts that this marriage was part of my life, that it is now and will always be part of who I am. He never pretends it didn't happen. At the same time, he knows he doesn't have to feel threatened or compared. He doesn't mind that there was someone else important before him.

I don't know if he has any idea how much of a worry it was that, if I ever got into a relationship again, I would somehow have to ignore or negate or erase those years that were with someone else. But with him, if I'm still sad over this marriage sometimes, if I have a story that involves me as I was before — it's a non-issue. He's enough of a friend that all those parts are just a part of me, and I don't have to pretend they're not there.

So, I'm thanking him.

I wish everyone were as lucky as I am.

I said yes to doing stand-up comedy in NYC Sunday night.

Here I go again terrorizing myself. Why?Why?Why? I won't sleep till it's over. I know my friends think I'm funny, but a packed room of strangers? Once again, I obviously need to prove it's never too late to risk anything — even my reputation.

My producer Mark Goldman made me do this 3 years ago when I was a stand-up virgin. I was freaking out until I got up to the mike and heard the first laugh from the crowd. Then they couldn't get me off the stage.

Some say if I hadn't gone on for 3 weeks I might have won the darn thing. I was disqualified for going past the five-minute window, They flash a red light to get off. I never saw it, just heard the laughs from the crowd and kept rolling.

They had to call the comedy police to get me off.

On Sunday, I will try again, representing FirstWivesWorld.com in the 3rd Annual New York's Funniest Reporter Show and I am one of nine brave souls in a stand-up comedy competition that raises money for Operation Uplink, a unique program that keeps military personnel and hospitalized veterans in touch with their families and loved ones by providing them with free phone cards.

Who am I not to risk my reputation for people who are risking their lives for me?

If you are in NYC, it's at the Gotham Comedy Club starting at 8:30pm.

The event PR is being run by the fabulous Ryan McCormick. The cost is $15.00 and a two-drink minimum. Personally, I may need a couple more before I get up there. Call 212 -367-9000 to see if there are any reservations left. My Ithaca College roommates who spit out their coffee when they heard, may already have bought them all.

Wish Me Luck!

I forgot to add this wrinkle to my post about my non-anniversary. A few weeks out, I told Rob I had a business trip to Chicago just after our big day, and suggested that since neither of us had ever spent time in the Windy City, maybe he should come along and we could tack on an extra night in the hotel.

We have no love life at home, so you know, I figured it wouldn't hurt to see what playing around in a new city and retiring to a lovely hotel room could do for us.

He said he'd check about getting a day or two off from work to make it happen, and then promptly forgot, day after day, to do so. Sounds like a guy who is not up for a romantic whirlwind trip away to a new city with his much-adored wife, right?

The truth is we both find excuses to avoid romantic situations. And week after week we work with a therapist on improving our communication and figuring out our shared goals, and never speak of the fact that there's nothing intimate about our relationship. We're all about denial.

A friend recently admitted he has to make a conscious effort to have relatively frequent sex with his girlfriend. He says it's too easy to forgo it in the name of exhaustion or lack of amorous mood, and that he find he has to work at it, as you would in creating a new, good habit. He's never disappointed once things get going, and always happy he made the effort.

But it has been so long for me a Rob — a year and a half — that I can't imagine getting over that initial hurtle...or enjoying the experience, much less make a habit of it.

Okay, I'm making a pledge now to bring up sex at couple's therapy soon. If you think you're getting tired of me posting about my lack of a sex life, imagine being in my shoes (or bed). 

I get to take a little break from my life today and go out on the road with a couple of my girlfriends. An actual road trip with no small people in the back seat asking how much further and chanting "I want out of this car right now!"

Yay!

It's only for two days and it's almost all of it driving, but the truth is I wouldn't care if we didn't stop at all. I love to watch the world through an open window, the way movement makes my mind turn faster and how my spirit feels freer and all my songs come louder to the rhythm of road.

It's a five-hour drive down into Southern Oregon where we are going, down through the northern most tip of the Redwoods and to the coast, and what I remember is how the trees grow more and more impossibly big around the bottom the closer you get to the water.

How I can tilt my head back, look straight up the trunk and everything in my periphery, both directions, is the bark. Up in the canopy is a world that goes on its way oblivious to us, and the smallness it brings in me is perfect. Forty percent of all the world's animals live up the treetops, a hundred feet above the ground.

We're always down here trying to negotiate with the little bits of information we can gather in our limited view. And everything we're in feels so enormous. The weight of tangled personal drama that we can't get high enough above to see where the edges blur out.

I want to climb to the tips of the trees, one branch higher and one branch higher, to where I can see how the pieces all fit together and everything makes sense. Breathe in and understand what it is to be small in the world and the universe and let go of the ways our crippled little vision keeps us trapped in the illusion that our confusion is desperate.

Good Lord, how long does this last? The deadline I gave my husband to move out was a year ago today. Last night, hours after receiving the latest update on the progress of our do-it-yourself divorce, he asked, once again, if I was still set on it.

Arrgggh.

What has happened, what has he done in the past year, that would incline me to want to reconcile, I wondered indignantly. My roommate pointed out that a year is a long time to stay married to someone you don't want to be married to any more. 

Oh. Well.

There are a number of reasons for that, most of them coming down to money. But since our electronic exchange last night, I've been so sad — for Ed, for myself, over our failed marriage.

And I've had to hash it out again — go once more through the reasons why I want this divorce. My husband, who thank God is sober now, has had sober spells before. Each was followed by a drinking bout that was worse than the one preceding it.

So 14 months ago, I decided I'd had enough. I had warned him months before. But he got drunk and stayed drunk and he had to go.

We had a couple of other issues, too...struggles over money and honesty and communication. So it's not like there's any need for doubt about whether to end this marriage.

Still...how long is this going to go on? When — if ever — will I finally accept my decision to divorce Ed?

That's like asking, How do you mend a broken heart?

There are a gazillion stories in New York, but for some reason mine have a tendency to intersect and overlap. Shortly before I married Ex, the man I had originally moved across country to marry (which is another story in itself) called to congratulate me. And to share some good news. "I'm not sure how you'll take it," he warned.

"If it's good news, I'll take it just fine," I replied.

"Well, I just got a great new job — everything I wanted, more money, good accounts."

And the down side would be...?

"My office is next to Ex's. We'll be working together."

Great. Welcome to The Story of My Life.

Which brings me to my current conundrum. While I didn't need to vet my dates with Ex, he and S had known each other most of their lives, even played in a band together for heaven's sakes. How exactly to broach the subject that we were now dating?

The little devil perched on one shoulder couldn't wait to spread the news. Just weeks before S and I became an official item, I received a disturbing phone call from my church.

Seems Ex and his Next wanted my pastor to officiate their upcoming nuptials...even though neither of them were members of my — or any — church. What's more, they decided the best place to hold the ceremony would be the lovely little chapel down the street from my house, where my daughters annually sang Christmas carols, a place that had meaning for me, my daughters, the family we once were.

"Rise above," my friends told me. "You don't want to spoil his wedding; wait until after to drop the bomb." Okay, okay. I conceded to the little angel on my other shoulder.

Well, at least my intentions were good.

The night of the wedding rehearsal, S and I went out to dinner to avoid any awkward confrontation with Ex picking up and dropping off the girls at my house. I told them to give me a heads up when they were leaving.

I have one black hair that grows on my neck. Whenever I notice it coming in I pluck it using tweezers, but it always comes back. It annoys me to no end. I would go get electrolysis if it wasn't just one stinking hair.

Sometimes I forget to check for the hair, but then I'll be sitting there minding my own business and my hand will land on my neck and there's the hair again. It's my recurring reminder that I'm not the same gal in my early twenties who snared a husband and had my whole life ahead of me. No, I'm in my mid-thirties with two kids, a mortgage, and a marriage that runs hot and cold. Wait, no, scratch that...a marriage that runs lukewarm and cold. 

After all, this neck hair was nowhere to be found when I was younger. I never had to tweeze neck hair before heading out to dance clubs with my friends. When I bought my first car I'm pretty sure there wasn't a black hair residing on my neck. When my husband and I went out on our first date there sure as heck wasn't a dark hair nestled under my turtleneck.

I'm a different woman now. I can't go back to how things were before I got married or before I had kids. It's not like my contemplating divorce has anything to do with wanting to reclaim my past life — sans unattractive neck hair — but instead it has more to do with reclaiming myself. I want to feel sure about where I am in life. I want to live a day without wondering if my relationship is the thing that makes me feel so incredibly uncomfortable and helpless.

Yeah, I'm older now than when I was last single. I'm in a completely different stage of life. The younger, no-hair-on-the-neck me would probably think that the present version of me is pretty lame. Hey, if you aren't happy in a relationship, you just move on, right? 

I have a court date scheduled with Levi for October 23rd. He still hasn't paid a dime of child support and I, sick of draining my bank account down to pennies every day, am sick of putting up with his bullshit.

I am exhausted. This whole ordeal is so freaking exhausting. I never realized how worn out your emotions can make you. Getting a divorce is like running a million marathons.

I tried everything. I tried to go it alone. I've tried to pay for everything by myself. I've tried having four or five jobs at one time  I've tried to reason with him. I've tried to negotiate with him — always reiterating, "I'm not asking for a whole lot, I'm not asking to get rich, I just need some help." 

Every single time I've tried, I've either been met with lies, empty promises, or absolute hostility.

It's weird though, I'm not even angry anymore. I'm just...tired. I want peace in my life. I want happiness. I want my son to have a peaceful, happy, wonderful life. I need to be able to provide that for him.

I just wish I knew what I was doing wrong. Why is it so impossible for me to communicate this effectively to Levi — effectively enough so that he'll listen? Effectively enough so that he'll step up and do SOMETHING.

This doesn't feel right, either. It doesn't feel right to drag the man — a man that I once loved so much — into court and call him a deadbeat.

I realize now why I've been avoiding this moment for so long — filing papers, and then retracting them — it's painful. This hurts. This back and forth bickering. This sitting back and watching Levi not only abandon but totally neglect our son. This really hurts. I only wish there was another way.