Sunday, July 11, 2010

Holding Pattern

Everyday brings me one day closer to the big day. Funny enough, I worry but I'm not overly nervous about it. It is an odd feeling to not feel much of anything. I used to count down the days until Tony would come home. Now it's kind of like... "Oh yeah kids did you know you're dad will be home in like *BLEEP* days?" (For OPSEC reasons I can't specify how many days because the Taliban reads the blog of EVERY military spouse to see when they can blow up shit, or so they make it seem at those dumb Ombudsmen classes I took. Ha! There was a waste of two days.) By now I'd be obsessing over what outfit I'm going to wear, what we're going to do, I would have had a vacation of sort planned, I would be stocking the house with all his favorite things, cleaning, organizing, yard work. Now, I'm just like "Meh. It will suck I won't have a car for a few days and when I do finally have one it's the molester van."

I expect I'll be more nervous when the day arrives. Or maybe not. I don't know how I'll be. I just want it DONE. I just want to get to the point of seeing his face, gauging my reaction, handing off the kids and moving forward to wherever that is. I just know I can't do that until he's here. The end of my waiting period is upon me and I wonder if in order to GET to that end I have to wade through the shit of emotion and tears because ZOMG he's here, or will it be some anticlimactic shrug of the shoulders from me, giving the peace sign and going to my room to text and play MW2? Who knows.

I actually worry more about being here alone sans kids and dogs for a almost 2 weeks. Sure five of those days I'll be out of town, but still man! That's a lot of quiet when you're not used to it. I'm pissed I'll be stuck with the smelly van without ac. I'm worried he's going to SMOKE IN MY FUCKING CAR... OMG HE BETTER NOT FUCKING SMOKE IN MY CAR! That thought actually made me feel extremely pissed today. I worry about having to hear him speak to his girlfriend on the phone, knowing that I just wasn't good enough.

That's what burns me the most. Through 12 years of marriage I just wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough to not have him fuck someone else months after our wedding. I wasn't good enough to not have an online affair. I wasn't good enough for him to try counseling. I just wasn't fucking good enough. Sure, I guess it's a matter of semantics and maybe "good enough" is a bit harsh. That's how I feel though. Even if me being free of him is the best fucking thing to ever happen to me, it still doesn't lessen the sting of being rejected.

We had a conversation recently via email and Tony bitched about my blog. He said I made him look like a bad guy. I told him no cheating made him the bad guy plain and simple. That if I cheated everytime I was miserable, I would have cheated a ton but my love for him kept me from doing that. His love for me wasn't as strong. His love ended up being conditional after all. Of course, he never responded.

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