Fingers crossed, this is really the new beginning.
As much as I would love to make this joint my priority, reality is kind of a bitch. There are days I blog in my brain, there are days when I blog for others (who pay me), and there are days when I just shake my fists in the air and hope for something a lot more fabulous to blog about.
Meet Melia 2013… a divorced (officially, without my signature) mom of 4 children, living in Stepford, starting over, once again.
Evidently, my divorce was final on Monday, after 11 years of marriage and two years of separation. The divorce went through even though there was some weirdness that I didn’t expect as a pro se kinda gal, but, I trust that the Universe knows what it’s doing. As I texted my sister, I’ve been single since Monday, and haven’t remarried, yet. That’s a score for me!
I picked out carpet today, after 2.5 months of living without a living room, carpet or walls in that room and The Twitches’ room. My house, as it is, will be whole again, soon. Next, I attempt paint. Once I am paid back all I am owed by Martian (the sticking point on me not technically signing off on the divorce), I am hoping to assume the mortgage, at a lower rate, giving all of my kids the ability to stay within the same schools they’ve all known for six years.
All except Comic Boy.
Comic Boy, sadly, has kind of bombed his first semester of ninth grade. As such, and likely with the stigma of being a child of a single mother, he has been accepted into a special program for freshmen who, well, will be freshmen again if they don’t get their shit together. We found out today, after a little begging on my part, that he was accepted and starts Tuesday.
But, if he used this opportunity to turn things around, he will graduate on time, with his friends, and be able to function as a pretty reasonable, if not damaged adult. Kind of like the rest of us. I can’t tell you the flashbacks to that perfect baby I have seen, that gorgeous little boy who was nothing but love… and who has been ditched over, and over again by those who said they loved him.
I can only hope, at this point, that he takes those lessons and becomes the amazing man I know he is.
Work, as always, is work. Its hard, its time-consuming, but, somewhere deep down, I know this is the path I should be on. After some discussion today, maybe I understand that path a little more.
Superman… well… this is one of those weekends where we don’t have little kids, where everything is wonderful and relaxed and full of work, sex and fun. I used to live for these weekends, now, I’m coaching myself to see them for what they are – whatever that really is. I don’t even really know how to describe things anymore, except that he is, at least, a dear friend who means a lot to me. The writing is pretty much on the wall in terms of a co-habitating future (thanks for asking) and I’m actually pretty ok with that. I have my own path to walk. Partnering on such a level is probably the worst mistake I could make at this point.
Aside from all of that… there is this one nagging thought I’ve been having. I’m a writer, I get paid to write. I am good at writing. I love to write. There is honestly little I think about when it comes to what I want to do with my life aside from writing. But, at the same time, my writing has become a genre that is entirely misunderstood in the creative, literary world. I once had dreams of authorship, not just “writing” (don’t flame me!), and more and more, I can taste that passion again. That unmistakable feeling of creating a sentence that speaks to countless people in countless ways. That ability to turn a mundane experience into a memory that rewrites all the good or bad in a person’s life.
The writing I miss is that writing from the soul. Not that I don’t love what I do, but I want to LOVE what I do… at some point. Its a matter of time, effort and motivation that I don’t quite have, just yet… but, I feel it stir, and it’s there, and I hope that maybe, someday, that Great American Novel in me will finally get a chance to shine.
Even if y’all don’t buy it, yo.
