Your fabulous counselors introduce you to Emotional Freedom Techniques and offer suggestions that sound helpful for both you and your children. You negotiate a new fee based on your new not-insurance, a Christian Health Share that doesn't cover mental health.
(You vow to send a letter to your Health Share recommending they change their policy, as you believe that mental health care will resolve an enormous amount of physical complaints and save everyone a ton of money. But what do you know?)
You hustle the kids back home, eating McDonald's on the way, and cringing over simultaneously breaking your 3-day-old diet and filling your kids full of junk food. You rationalize that it's only one meal, and both diets and kids need a splurge every now and again.
You get the mail and find, oh joy!, that your retirement account actually made money last month. That is a pleasant surprise, as you figured Brexit would have done you in. You smile.
Your phone connects to the house wi-fi and dings as it collects your emails. (You are a data-miser and refuse to use mobile data except under extreme circumstances . . . such as submitting articles in Maine or . . . no, that's about it!)
You check your email and get one from your lawyer that reads, "Your divorce is now finalized." You look at the words and shudder a bit. You forward the document to your ex (official ex now, not the anticipatory ex he's been for the past six months) and offer him congratulations . . .
The kids want to play in the pool that you set up all by yourself yesterday, but can't for many reasons, one of which is that the inflatable top refuses to stay inflated. All three of you, and the dogs, go outside. The dogs torment the neighbors' dogs; the kids play on half of the swing set their dad picked up but has not yet set up; you (once again) blow up the top of the pool and begin searching for leaks with a spray bottle.
You find several and patch them with electrical tape and duck tape. (Somehow you cannot locate the patches that came with the pool . . . where did they go?)
You have to prepare for a Vacation Bible School meeting, so back into the house you all troop. The kids want to watch Wall-E for the hundredth time, so you see this as an opportunity to work undisturbed.
Your ex (Real ex! How weird!) takes the kids for Daddy Day. You run to your meeting.
Afterwards, you drive home with all the windows open and listen to Tom Petty's Wildflowers album. The tacky summer air rushes through the car like a hurricane, blowing away thought and leaving nothing but a damp-salty after-ocean feel on your skin. You drive with the crescent moon gleaming in a cobalt sky.
You feel nothing. A comfortable kind of nothing.
You stop at Ocean State Job Lot who miraculously and inexplicably has extended hours this week, staying open tonight until 10am. You pick up an actual patch kit for the pool--the electrical tape can't last forever--and a container of water test strips. (The last thing you want is to burn the kids with over-chlorinated pool water.)
You walk in the house humming "To Find a Friend." You bid a cool good-night to the ex. You kiss your babies a warm good-night. You record the day for posterity. You go to bed, to get some of the rest your counselors declared was essential for physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being.
You are at peace.
No comments:
Post a Comment