So, if you have read this blog before (and, let’s face it, with only 4 posts so far it’s not hard to catch up) you know that my soon-to-be-ex-husband and I are on good terms. We still live in the same house, sleep in the same bed and are keeping it nice for the kids and ourselves. I mean, who has the energy to be mean to each other?
My husband had major back surgery about 3 years ago and sometimes it still hurts him. He’ll strain it at work or playing softball or sometimes his muscles bunch because of stress. I’ve continued to give him regular back massages because it just seems like the right thing to do. Seems nice, you know? Want to keep things all calm and happy.
Well, not anymore, baby. In fact, if his back tied itself into a freaking Gordian knot the only thing I would do is pick up a sword and cleave it in half (that is a strangely satisfying visual).
Last night he was complaining about his back hurting. I offered to give him a massage so that he could sleep. He has a big inspection at work this week and the stress is causing some of his back pain. Add to that that his mother* called last night and announced that she was coming to our house on Thursday, I can understand why his back is hurting.
*As a quick aside – his mother is horrible. I don’t know that one blog post can cover everything. Let me just say, for now, that when I heard she was coming down I wanted to grab the children and run. To Oz. Where Glenda could grant me wishes and give me a life lesson I wouldn’t soon forget. Yeah, she’s that bad.
So he slept on the couch last night. Whatever, he does it quite often. Stays up really late and doesn’t want to wake me. He wants sex and I don’t, so he sleeps on the couch. We have sex and he’s wide awake, so he goes downstairs and sleeps on the couch. Get the picture?
Now, before I get any further I want to say that I have not, not once, dug around in his phone. Not once. Not that I haven’t thought about it, not because I’m so respectful of his privacy, but because I don’t want to know. I know that he has this girl in N.C. and I don’t want to know what they are talking about or read their disgustingly sweet texts to each other. I just don’t want to know. I don’t want to know when he’s talking to her, I don’t want to know when he’s texting her. I have no desire to know.
But this morning, well, it just didn’t work out that way.
His phone was on the couch, his alarm going off. His alarm is super annoying and I wasn’t going to go all the way back upstairs (and risk waking the kids) just so he could slide the bar over on the alarm to turn it off. So I slid the bar. The screen for the alarm goes away and, I swear I’m not lying, his text conversation with her is right there. He hadn’t shut the app before he set the phone down. He went downstairs last night and immediately texted her and then texted her first thing this morning. Mostly sickeningly sweet crap (remember, I didn’t want to read that) but some sexting as well.
Back pain my ass.
I’m angry about it. But I’m not hurt. Remember, I’m already emotionally out of here. But it seems so freaking disrespectful and rude to text her in my house, on my couch, while I’m upstairs. (Plus, she’s older than me and that’s a bit of a balm. Oh, and she looks like her father was Mr. Ed. Just my own personal, bitchy, observation.)
You know, maybe I’m not that mad about. Maybe I just hate having it shoved in my face. I mean, he made it clear that he didn’t want to be married to me anymore. He made it very, very clear. I even rephrased it back to him and he confirmed what I said. So, I get it. I just don’t want it thrust in my face at every turn that he wants to be with her, you know.
Not because it hurts, but because my pride just can’t take it.
Yeah, it boils down to pride. Sixteen years of my life I have given him and the military. Sixteen years of moving to Mississippi (crappy) and up here (way, way too close to his family) and Italy (alright, that one was pretty awesome). I’ve only seen my parents four times in the past sixteen years because we could never afford to go and see them. Sixteen years that I put my wants and dreams and goals on the back burner.
So, yeah, it pricks the hell out of my pride.
On top of having to figure out how to build a whole new life for myself, I have to figure out how to rebuild my pride.
Some days I think that’s a lot worse than being forgotten.