Tuesday, December 05, 2006


A Bitchy Positive Tuesday

In 1992 I was served with divorce papers. Something like that should signal the end of a relationsip, and it did in my case. Still, I've always been that guy who's the champion of lost causes. I hang onto things much longer than I should, certainly much longer than is mentally healthy. I'd probably have hung onto my failing marriage even longer, continued to hold out hope if it weren't for timing.

On February 14th, 1992, a young sherriff's deputy knocked on the door of my parents' house where I was staying. My ex-wife knew full well where I was. She also knew how long it would take to process the paperwork and when I would be served.

The deputy didn't want to do this. Not then. He had to, he was bound by the law. A young man stood on the front step of my parents' house on Valentine's Day in 1992 to serve me with divorce papers.

I was nothing but polite, letting the deputy do his job. Yeah, it was tearing me up inside. Yeah, I wanted to scream at the man, but it wasn't his fault, it was the fault of a vindictive bitch on the other end of the state. It was my fault for letting things get as bad as they had.

First I was sad, unbelievably sad. Then I was mad, screaming, kicking hitting things and people mad (which I never did, by the way). Then I realized that it was all over, really over.

Up to that point I was trying. That things had gotten as bad as they had took two people, but I'll admit a huge amount of fault for that. I tried to go on in my marriage thinking that we could make everything work out. That was stupid of me, we were in a place that we couldn't get out of by ourselves. We needed help. I refused. My fault.

After the separation I tried to keep a relationship going. We were hundreds of miles away from each other, but telephones can span that gap. So can the US Mail. I called a lot, wrote a lot of letters. Had wonderful conversations with a woman who, even at that point, I was deeply in love with. She never called or wrote me, which should have told me something. Still I wouldn't give up. I could make it all work, we could make it all work if we just both put in the effort.

Valentine's Day 1992 changed all of that. It was over. It was really over and even an emotioanl screw up like me could see it. My ex-wife had chosen to serve me on Valentine's day. That's a pretty clear signal of pretty serious intentions.

So it was over. That is not to say that I didn't still love this woman, I still do in some ways, at least when my time-machine brain takes me back to the good times. That's not to say that on February 15th 1992 that I still didn't want to get back together with her. I knew that it would never happen though.

Getting served on Valentine's day was the perfect act. It forced me to see my future, a future without the woman I loved. I wasn't OK with that, but I had to be. Eventually I was. I had to be because the alternative was pretty shitty.

I was in bed an hour ago thinking about this. Thinking how that I wish everything in my life would work out like this. Hope is great, but it's a tease, particularly with things that you know deep inside aren't going to work out. Slap me in the face. Do something that makes me certain that it's over. Just don't tease me with hope.

.....heard FUCK YOU twice and SCREW YOU once last night.....

BOJ, whatever it is, it'll get better (IE: extraneuous circumstances). At least you don't have a beloved cat in front of you that may or may not make it; and there's nothing you can do but keep hanging on and hoping. It's hard to not be in control of life, and how it turns out. Everything will work out on your end somehow. I know it will.

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The Bert Convey
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