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Divorce

When I said the word it felt like a live fish in my mouth, like I’d never heard it, never knew what it meant, like maybe I never said it before. D I V O R C E. How could that word be about me? It blasted my ear like a tumble from a front loader.

I’d have to get used to it, so I’d take a little breath and squeeze it out. It finally stopped clattering as it fell off my lips. It modulated into the rest of the sentence. It didn’t have to be capitalized. It’s just a word, after all. Just another bay filling up along the rocky coastline of my life.

What a relief.

Suddenly everyone was doing it. All those nice stable couples I knew where splattering all over the windshield of happily-ever-after-ness: a midlife no-rest stop.

Stop saying we, start saying me. I’m owning my life once again, or is it the first time? Who remembers. Make some decisions: who do I consult? Will I ever sleep with a man again? Who needs them anyway?

Geez it feels great. I should have gotten out years ago.

I’m so tired of figuring out all these little details. How can I make decisions that will affect the rest of my life and my daughter’s life when I’m so off-balance? When I don’t know whether to love or hate? When I don’t even know what this word means. D I V O R C E. What am I? Some country western singer with big hair?

Yeah, who kicked my dog

I don’t have a dog

Right, I’m busy taking care of myself

And my kid.

And I don’t have to take care of a so-called grown man.

God I have great friends. This is a great town. I’m so comfortable here. And my shoulders feel like I’ve just put down my trenching tool. I have energy: myself; my anger; my stereo, silence; blood running in my veins.