Like a vacation. But not really. Not like catching a break. Because I haven’t caught one of those in a while.
Last week I didn’t write because of one thing.
It was Wednesday. So I spent the days leading up to it stressed out and lining my ducks, psyching myself up, listening to the people I love the most give me advice.
Be strong. Don’t cry. Don’t get angry. Just state the facts. Don’t argue. Everything will be fine. Be fair. Don’t get angry. Stay on point. Eyes on the prize. You’ve got this. Don’t get emotional. Think before you speak. Don’t say that. Change this. Listen. Don’t get angry. I love you.
And a bunch of other specific advice that become the soundtrack of my days.
So I went. And mediation broke down. I was out of there by the 45th minute.
Then it was retrenching and regrouping and debriefing and planning and counter-planning and analyzing and talking. Seriously, lots of talking. I feel like I’m playing chess. It really does suck.
Which is to say, everyone say hi to the poor paralegal who is reading this blog to see if I incriminate myself or slander The Ex.
First off, I won’t slander The Ex because he isn’t worth the time or energy. Second, this blog is an interesting mix of truth and storytelling. I’m just not good at autobiographies. I have to embellish, change, exaggerate, minimize, clarify, obscure, change context, change tone, add details that may not have even been there. I need to tell the best story I can. It’ll be a problem one day for anyone who wants to write my biography. Or for anyone thinking this blog is a great place for finding dirt on me.
Now that I’ve had a week off, I’m ready to get back to writing, to get back to a place where it’s just about the boys and me. And I’m going to make more time to read other blogs because I miss my friends and I need to get away from the absolute chaos that is my life. It would be nice to see the people I care about living happy, normal lives.