Now Tammy Wynette and I have something in common besides big hair

At this moment, I’m sitting alone in my bedroom with a cup of coffee, a half-eaten bagel, and my dog at my feet.  This is an unremarkable scene.  Nothing special about it at all.

Except that it kind of is.

This is my bedroom and mine alone.  The half-eaten bagel can sit there as long as I want it to.  The cup of coffee came from a pot made by one of my four new roommates, and my dog is just here on the weekends.

And there are other differences.

There’s a rose in my great-grandmother’s carnival glass vase on my dresser that was given to me on Valentine’s Day by someone whose last name I do not share.  He’s never met my parents and I’ve never met his.  I have no idea what kind of shaving cream he prefers or how he folds his underwear.  There is now this unknown zone that I’m working in, a place that exists in this weird spot between loneliness and coupleness.  It’s a place I haven’t been in since I was 25 and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

I know it sounds lame to say that, gosh, it just feels so weird to not be married anymore.  But it does feel weird.  Topsy turvy.  There was once a person who wore a ring that matched the one that I wore.  There was once a person who slept in my bed, and stopped off at the store on the way home, and who sat on the other side of the dog, and who loved my cooking, and laughed at my worse jokes.  A person who hated the color I picked out for the living room but spent three days painting it anyway.  Who fought with me about how to make the bed.  Who left the house at one in the morning because I mentioned that ice cream would be nice right about then.  A person who knew exactly why my mood would shift after talking to my dad.  Who still struggled with keeping all of my aunts and cousins straight but was always wiling to listen to my anecdotes about them.

I had a husband.  But now I don’t.

Alright, I know the tone of this posting is tending to the mopey side.  It’s not meant to be.  But I realized the other night that I needed to sit down and process all of this. Because I wasn’t at all.  It’s this thing that I do.  Make decisions and then jump with all of my body and life into a thing (or out of a thing) without looking back once.  A pillar of salt I would never be.  And no exception here.  My marriage wasn’t working for a long time — we both knew it — and a mutual sigh of relief was had once we made the decision to split.  And once that decision was made, I got down to the business of starting over.  Found a new place.  Worked out stuff and dog logistics.  Told close friends and family members. Bought exactly the kind of beer I wanted at the grocery store.  And yes.  Started seeing someone else… ehh… pretty much right away.  (Not planned. But as Elizabeth Taylor replied to Hollywood columnist Hedda Hopper when reproached for seducing Eddie Fisher, “What do you expect me to do?  Sleep alone?”)

The population of my bed aside, I can state for the record that this was a mutual and… well, describing it as a happy decision isn’t quite appropriate but it isn’t especially far off the mark, either.  Mike and I are on the same page, and even though there’s a lot of baggage and sometimes I want to slap his face off his face, we’re still friends.  Seriously.  We are.  I’m not just saying it.  I’m still really fond of the guy.  He’s awesome and Jewish and funny and weird and all of you ladies should totally want to date him.  I reserve the right to totally judge you in ex-wife fashion, but I give you my blessing all the same.

So, there it is.  Big life decisions.  Things that effect one’s taxes and vagina.  And now here I am.  Living in a house with four thirty-something musicians, a part-time dog mom, a stripper and art model, buying the kind of beer I want and watching The New Girl without impunity.  It’s not too bad, y’all.

Oh, burlesque.  Right.  I write about that.  The whole deal of this blog in the first place.  Yeah, I’m still doing that.  A lot these days.  I love it more than ever.  I love it so much, I want to have a baby with it.  I’m totally trying to get pregnant by it.  And the dirty little thing will hopefully be birthed this Spring.  It will be many-breasted and very sparkly. And very awesome.


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