When I was in Las Vegas a few weeks ago I saw a psychic for the first time ever. I was nervous and excited. Torn between believing what she said and thinking it was all coincidence and I was giving off some kind of read-me-like-a-book vibe.
I have an upbeat personality. The money situation is improving. There’s a positive male influence in my life. Big things are about to happen with my career. My husband and I are both totally over this marriage thing. I have a strong network of family and friends to support me.
Yup. That’s about right.
After almost eight years, we are done. There’s been no yelling or sobbing. (Okay, fine. I sniffled a few times.) Nothing thrown or slammed. (Although, I did dump all his folded laundry in the middle of the kitchen floor a few weeks ago.) Just a general feeling of not wanting to be married anymore and I’ve finally piped up and said that this needs to end. This lack of enthusiasm and living like roommates. Neither one of us is going to change what we want out of life, and neither one of us wants to be responsible for forcing change on the other and then being resented for it or being even more miserable when things don’t end up like imagined.
Although, I guess I am forcing this change. Because honestly, things haven’t been good for a long time. They haven’t been bad, either. They’ve just been. And I’m no longer content with that. I’d venture to say he isn’t, either.
So, the decision has been made. The paperwork has been filled out. Am I angry and upset? Of course. Am I hopeful and ready to move on? More than anything. Am I going to say mean and nasty things about how he’d rather buy a motorcycle than save for a house? Nope, but I’ll think it.
Plus, he doesn’t like Nutella. Where do you go with a relationship after your significant other drops that bomb?