So my parents are flying out from the West Coast to visit me in Manhattan.

It's not the first time I have seen them since my divorce last March, but it's the first time that they have made the trip to the East Coast to visit. It will also be the first time they will see my apartment.

Last time they traveled over, I was living in a house, so they had their own bedroom and own bathroom. Going from that to a small one-bedroom apartment with one small bathroom should be interesting.

It will be nice to spend a few days with my parents and just wander around the city. Each time I see them we talk less and less about the divorce and the debacles of the past year, which is nice. Soon the divorce will be a distant memory.

I have been in my apartment for about six months now and I noticed I have yet to buy any pictures or artwork for the walls. The walls are still stark white and bare and I like it. But there's more to it than just a lack of decorating sense.

When my ex and I moved into our second home more than two years ago we were SO excited to decorate. It was a much bigger and newer house than our starter home and we wanted to take our time and decorate it perfectly. I don't even know how many hours we spent browsing furniture stores and art galleries looking for the perfect pieces.

What's sad is that after the divorce, nearly all of those newly purchased pieces were either sold or given away. The money and time wasted is sickening.

So when I moved into my apartment I just wanted simplicity. Right after moving in I did buy new bedding, bathroom décor, curtains and a few space-saving items to make living in a small apartment a bit easier, but that's it.

My desire to paint walls, buy artwork or more furniture has fizzled. I guess my walls symbolize how I feel — I just want a clean slate.

So now that I'm living in an apartment, I no longer have the luxury of my own washer and dryer. Oh, how I miss them! As a result, I have been reintroduced to the infamous laundromat.

It is yet another reminder that life is not like the movies.

I have yet to be folding clothes only to find some hot guy has a stain on his shirt and is forced to hang out shirtless while he washes it. Not only are there no hot shirtless guys, there are no hot guys period.

Perhaps I'm going to the wrong laundromat, or maybe they all of have girlfriends who do their laundry for them. Whatever the reason, the places I've visited are a far cry from those depicted by Hollywood.

Oh well, do I really want to meet a cute guy as I'm throwing my bra and panties into the wash? Probably not.

I can't remember how it came up, but I was talking with someone a few days ago about the months that John and I lived together as a mentally divorced couple. I'm so glad that's over!

After John and I decided to divorce, we agreed it would be financially impossible for him to move into his own apartment and still pay his half of the bills our home. We agreed that he would stay and use the guest bedroom and the guest bathroom. That worked for a few months.

He wasn't at the house every night — he would often stay at a friend's place. But the nights when he was home were not easy. At the time, our divorce wasn't finalized, so we were still officially married but mentally divorced.

I remember how odd and painful it felt being at home with him. It felt like we should be doing our usual routine — having dinner together, opening a bottle of wine and sitting by the fire—- but my mind knew better. I couldn't ask him if he wanted to come sit by the fire, or go into his office, give him a kiss and ask him how his work was going. Those days were long gone.

In the morning, when we were showering and getting ready for the day, he was in his bathroom and I was in mine. He would "announce" when he had to enter the master bedroom — which had become my bedroom — to get his clothes out of the closet, so that I could make sure I was "decent." As you can imagine, that arrangement didn't work for long.

After a few months, I told him he had to move out and just find a friend to live with. He agreed and moved out. I'm so glad those days are over.

Over the weekend, I was flipping through the television channels and stumbled across a great movie, When Harry Met Sally. There was one particular scene that made me smile, as it is so true — and no, it wasn't the orgasm scene, although that is quite hilarious.

Harry and Sally — played by Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan — were visiting friends who were fresh in love and had just moved in together. The lovebirds were going back and forth about décor — he wanted this wagon wheel coffee table in the living room that she thought was hideous — when Harry, who had just run into his ex-wife in the prior scene, went into a whole monologue about love and marriage.

He said that everything is great now, because they are fresh in love, but years down the road they will be fighting over who gets the stupid coffee table in the divorce, and that they would be better off to just write down who gets what now. Of course, it's much funnier on screen — but his point was so true.

In the beginning, everything is so great. When John and I bought our second house, it was so exciting. We bought all new furniture and we were so meticulous when it came to decorating. We carefully selected every single piece, and had so much fun shopping for it all.

Now, two years later, most of the furniture has been sold. How quickly things can change. Going through every piece of furniture, pot, and pan and deciding who gets what is an experience I hope I never have to endure again.

My heart pounding in my chest, I heard John answer the phone. Realizing that there was no delicate way to bring up the subject, I decided that it was best to just ask: Did he use protection, and was there any way this girl he was cheating with was pregnant?

I told him I was asking because he wouldn't break off the fling, despite insisting he didn't have strong feelings for her. It just didn't make sense to me.

He swore that he used protection, and that she was not pregnant — not that his word meant much. I interrogated him, but he insisted that was not the situation, so I just had to take his word.

It's been nearly a year since that conversation, and I have no reason to believe that John wasn't telling the truth — about that at least.

What stands out, though, is how I felt that day. The thought that my husband could have gotten someone else pregnant was terrible — it felt as though my life was on the brink of crumbling. In some ways, it was more painful than simply knowing he had been unfaithful.

I was lucky and wasn't dealt those cards, but I will never forget what a horrific feeling it was. It was a feeling I hope I never, ever have to experience again.

I have been in my apartment for nearly two months, and the feeling of comfort, safety and excitement and has yet to subside. I still wake up each day so grateful for this little haven of my own.

As I look back, it's hard to believe I spent so many months living alone in the house that John and I once shared. When I was living there, I knew that I felt like my life was stuck in limbo, but now that I've moved out, the feeling of liberation is so much stronger than I imagined it would be.

My apartment really is a safe little cocoon. There are no ghostly memories lurking in the shadows, no mail arriving addressed to a man I would rather forget, and no calls from the prick to say he'll be stopping by to mow the lawn or pick up a few of his things.

I've not yet entered the dating pool, so the only people who enter my sanctuary are my girlfriends - and that's just how I want it to stay for a while. The only male worthy of hanging out in my apartment and sleeping in my bed is my cat — his love is unconditional, he doesn't talk back, and he won't betray me.

It has been a little more than a week since I moved into my apartment in Manhattan and I must admit that my newfound freedom feels wonderful.

I have always been an independent person, so I have found it pretty easy. In fact, it's even a bit refreshing to slip back into single life. I’m not suggesting that my divorce from John was easy or that it wasn't painful, but I have been dealing with the nonsense for the past year and now I find myself more than ready to move on with my life.

I am enjoying the fact that I come home from work to my own apartment, the only mail in the mailbox is addressed to me, the only bills I receive are mine and the only name on the checking account is mine.

Granted, I had been living alone for many months in the house John and I once shared, but I felt suspended in limbo. Now, the strings have been cut and I’m free!

There is certainly something to be said for only having to look out for myself. I no longer have a significant other whom I have to call to remind to deposit money into the bank, pay a bill, pick up milk or mow the lawn. I no longer have a significant other who makes me feel like a nag or a stick in the mud for trying to be a responsible adult while he acts like a teenager with not a care in the world.

Yes, married life was good — in the beginning, anyway — but single life can be good too. I’m thinking that I would like to use this time in my life to travel. The world is a big place and there’s so much to see and so many people to meet.

I've made my move to Manhattan!

I am officially out of the house and living in my new apartment and it feels great!!

As I packed up the last of my belongings at the house and did my final walk-through, I tried not to think about the happy times that John and I shared during our brief two years there. Why? It only makes me sad and it's not productive.

Since John still has a few of his things at the house and must return, I decided to leave him a little "shrine" of sorts in hopes that it would make him realize what he's lost. They were items that I came across as I was packing. I left out for him some letters he had written to me years ago, a picture of us from the night he first told me that he loved me and the box the butterflies released at our wedding were housed in.

I truly doubt that he will keep any of these things, but that wasn't my intention. I just want him to remember and hopefully, feel regret. I want him to-even if it's only for a moment-look back and reflect as I eagerly look ahead to my new life.

I couldn't be more ready to start my new life as a single, self-sufficient woman. If there's one thing that I've learned throughout this process it's that you can only depend on one person in life--yourself!

Last night, I sat in my bedroom writing this post in the dark (I sold all of my bedroom lamps, remember?) and thinking about how this is my last weekend in the house. I spent the weekend packing up the rest of my belongings, cleaning the house and throwing away or donating all of the junk that didn't sell at the yard sales.

In just a few nights I'll be sleeping in my new apartment and I know it will feel great. Unfortunately, my first night won't be as blissful as I had originally hoped. The closing of the house isn't on schedule and, in fact, the whole process is getting pretty nasty and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the deal doesn't fall apart (but that's a post for another day).

I also can't sell my car as I had planned, at least not yet. Since the closing isn't on schedule, Ill have to make one or two trips out to check on the house. When will this whole ordeal end? One day, one way or another, it will have to end. I thought that day would be this week but I won't be so lucky. Sometimes I feel like some higher power up is punishing me for something, but I don't know what that would be.

The house looks so empty. It reminds me of how empty it looked when John (my ex) and I spent our first night here. We were so happy that night. Yesterday was John's birthday. It's his first birthday as a divorced man. I hope he's miserable.