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!!"

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. 

Recently a very good friend of mine called me, "rigid." "Rigid!," I exclaimed. "Me!! Rigid?"

"Yeah, you're rigid," she replied. And then added that in her opinion I've always been "kinda uptight" but since my divorce, it's gotten worse.

We joked around about it then, laughing at each other, and soon it was forgotten and we continued our day. But not long forgotten. On the way home, I kept thinking about it. Arguing with myself.

I'm not rigid, I thought; I'm light, easygoing. Hell, the people at Adrian's daycare have dubbed me "the hippie" — another label I'm not too fond of — and anyway, isn't hippie kind of the opposite of rigid?

So, I did what any girl would do. I called one of my other friends to complain. "Can you believe so-and-so called me rigid?" I asked. "Well, uh, Faith, I don't know how to tell you this but you kind of are. You really could stand to lighten up a bit" was the reply that came from the other end of the line.

She went on to explain that sometimes my friends will joke around with one another about all of my "rules," about the orderly way that I do things; or rather, the way that I do things in order.

And then I started to get it.

I do have a lot of "rules," because for one, it makes me feel in control, and the other obvious reason is that I am a human and by nature we are creatures of habit.

Although I don't believe that this "rigidness" of mine has worsened, I do see myself carrying it over into areas of my life that I hadn't before the Levi Fiasco.

Like dating. I have rules about what days I will go on dates. I will not do lunch dates. And when I'm in a relationship, I won't have sex before five — unless it's a weekend or holiday. Why? It's a direct result of the Levi Fiasco.

I broke up with the boyfriend. We dated for three and a half months — my longest relationship since Levi — and within that time we became good friends. But, as I've previously alluded to, there really wasn't any spark there. 

I had written about this before, pondering whether or not I will ever feel that "spark" again. That giddy, euphoric, love feeling that is just so much fun.  That nervous, sick to my stomach feeling — that only means one thing...trouble.

I have been trying to resign myself to the fact that the intense attraction that I had to Levi — the intensity of our "love" — was immature, and real love should be something else. It should be comfortable and safe, it should be "best friends," etc. But it just seemed too...boring.

Still, I was trying to hang on...stick it out...try something new...put this new "love" hypothesis to the test.

I guess he caught on. I mean why wouldn't he? Three months into the relationship and I'm already making excuses not to see each other. Three months in and we're already squabbling like we've been married for 40 years.

He gave me an ultimatum. He said that either we commit to having a "real" relationship and start building a future together, or we end it. Obviously, I choose to end it.

But, I've ended this mini relationship with much hope for the future. I think there must be something in between crazy love and boring love. I can't wait to find it.

I met my ex's sister, Erica, for the second time today. We had originally planned to meet yesterday and have a picnic in the park, but that didn't work out.

So, as I had already decided to take Adrian fall shopping today (it's getting cold quick, and I just realized he doesn't have any pants that fit him!), she asked if she could come along and perhaps buy him some clothes.

I agreed, but warned her that shopping on a weekend, in Manhattan, with a two year old can make someone nuts — but she still wanted to come.

The last time we met, we barely talked about Levi and I was hoping not to talk too much about him today. On the way to meet her, I reminded myself, several times, to keep my snide comments to myself. I'm really good at making them, but I know it's not her fault her brother is an asshole, so I try to keep it in check.

Well, about halfway into shopping she announces to me that she is adopting a baby. I was pretty surprised by this as the last time we talked she told me that she would never consider adoption.

She went on to tell me that the process was going to take awhile, because she wants a newborn and some other specific requirements.

Before I even had a second to think the words "Or, you could just wait until your brother has another one he doesn't want" popped out of my mouth and right at her.

She didn't say anything...right away. About five minutes later she said, "You know, I told Levi that he should get a vasectomy." I nodded and said, "He should want to." Then she said, "Yeah, I told him that he should freeze some sperm before he gets it, in case he wants to have another baby."

That's when I said, "Or he can just take care of the children that he has."

I've got a problem. I like my current job, a lot. It's fun and rewarding but it's also demanding and on some days it has a tendency to take over my life. Like, for example, when I work 14 days straight. My boss is a wonderful woman, I also like her a lot, as a person, but sometimes — as a boss — she sucks. Like today, for example.

I had been filling the role of administrative assistant (mind you I also do a lot of freelance writing on the side, and have only taken on a "day job" as a means to pay bills while Levi isn't paying child support) for a minimal salary when an opening came up for Activities Director (this is an independent living facility for seniors). 

The activities director position was advertised at 5K a year more than my position. Interviews were conducted and somebody was hired, but the day before she was to start, she called and declined the position. I thought about it, and told my boss I'd like to take it. She readily agreed and even added that it was great for me as the position paid more.

The new job has been even more fun, as I am allowed to be more creative and flexible with my time. My first paycheck was $100 more. I was super excited about that. I began to think of all the ways that I might finally be able to put a little bit of money away for Adrian, or for vacation, or just for something... 

Since I've been living hand to mouth, draining my bank account every week (down to pennies; I'm serious) this was pretty great, and I felt a huge wave of relief come over me.

Then today happened. The payroll company called this morning and told me that my boss had reduced my salary by 4K. (So, now I'm only getting 1K a year more than I was before.) They didn't have an explanation, and as she isn't due back from her vacation for two weeks, I won't be getting one anytime soon.

I'm pretty annoyed. I can't even imagine why she did that. Especially after we talked about it.

It has come to my attention that my ex, Levi — the man that's been crying broke for three years — now has his eight-year-old daughter living with him in Los Angeles.

Apparently, his first ex-wife will be moving to the West Coast in a few months (family reunion?) and she thought it best that her daughter starts the school year there.

When my friend (and former fling) Rex first told me about this, I was pissed. I mean, I was really in a rage.

How dare he take care of one child and totally disregard the other?! How dare he cry poverty whilst bringing his daughter on trips to Disneyland? And what about the rest of them? Do any of these people have a conscience?

I was so pissed off, I almost picked up the phone and let him have it.

It was then that I realized what I was doing. Getting myself all worked up over something that really, I saw coming a year ago. I'm not one bit surprised by this.

So what's my deal? Am I angry for Adrian or am I angry for me? I'm guess a little bit of both. But taking the time to realize, and not react, was a huge step for me and one that I am very proud of.

I calmed down, rationalized that this latest act of his doesn't affect our lives at all, it's just more of the same.

And furthermore, I think it's great that Levi is willing to support and love one of his children; it's the least that he can do, right?

Next month, it will be a year since Levi has seen our son. He came to New York last October for court and spent about an hour with us. Of his three-week visit. This year, Levi has been in New York twice — that I know of — and hasn't bothered to visit with Adrian once.

I used to partially believe him when he claimed it was the distance (I'm on the East Coast and Levi's on the West) that kept him from Adrian; or rather, I preferred to believe that. But now, it's obvious that it is Levi that is keeping Levi away from Adrian.

He has never bought him a toy, a T-shirt, a diaper. He has never called to ask how he is. Didn't come to see Adrian when he was in the hospital. He didn't send him so much as a birthday card last year, and I can't imagine that he'll send him one this year.

Everywhere I go, I am constantly reminded of fathers. The boy on his dad's shoulders, the little girl playing in the pool squealing "Daddy," the billboard that I see every day on my way to work that asks, "Have you been a father today?"

Lucky for us, my son has a lot of positive male role models in his life. Most importantly, my uncle has really stepped up and filled both the grandfather and father role with Adrian. Because of this, I am sure that Adrian will be OK, despite Levi's behavior.

However, what really concerns me is how absolutely normal this type of behavior is. This men-abandoning-their-children phenomenon. My story, Adrian's story, is shocking, yet, nobody is shocked by iy. There are a half a dozen stories just like mine, living on my street alone.

I went to a barbecue at my boyfriend's mother's house last weekend. I had already met her a couple of times before, but this time, I was bringing my son. There was supposed to be a crowd of friends and family, along with his sister (whom I know and like), so I wasn't sweating it too much. 

I much prefer functions like those. Where you can sort of find one person to chat with and get lost in the shuffle. I like big families. Levi's family was way too small.

I was having a really fantastic time when I looked over and saw his mother holding a present wrapped in paper that said "Grandma" all over it. This woman doesn't have any grandchildren.

She saw me looking at her — and I'm sure I had that "What the %&^*" look on my face — so I blurted (who hasn't done that?), "Does that say 'Grandma' on it?" She nodded at me. Then her friend, who had given her the gift, jumped in and said, "Oh, anything for a laugh, you know?"

I was sitting there thinking — but this time not saying — no, I don't know. What the hell?

I feel like I've been dealing with this kind of bullshit forever now. When my boyfriend and I first met he was inundated with people telling him to "WATCH OUT" or, "She's on the lookout for a father for her child," etc. etc. etc. The implication made me so angry; as if I'm willing to allow just any man to be a father to my child. Give me a break.

Yes, I am a single mother, and I love my son, but he is not what defines me. I define me. My decisions define me, like the decision to keep my child. My intelligence defines me. 

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?