Catching up on life, post-divorce

Short and marginally-sweet message

This isn’t a fancy article for a publication. This won’t be proofread. There’s loads of typos. It’s just a raw dump of what’s been in my brain for sanity’s sake. Maybe the content will eventually fuel a formal submission, but for now…this isn’t it.

Hey y’all.

I’ve gotten a few lovely messages from people asking, “Where the fuck are you?” (but with much nicer verbiage).

I’ve written a bunch of stuff. But I loathe the part where I have to write the SEO blurb, add the tags, and edit content. I hate going through the post to add links to prior articles that provide context.

In other words, I’m a lazy mofo. So they sit unpublished.

But now that life post-divorce has settled down somewhat, I need to get off my ass and keep writing. It’s my therapy. You, Dear Reader, are my unpaid therapist.

I used to write at a desk in my massive bedroom in the house my ex-husband kept. The house was cozy. I wasn’t in a frenetic state of cleaning or keeping kids busy out of guilt for not seeing them for half their lives like I do now.

Instead, my house is always freezing until I crank the thermostat up so much that it becomes a heat wave and I shut it down. I hate not having carpets; these faux wood floors make the air feel chilly.

I don’t have an office or even a desk. Only last week did I finally turn my kitchen table into a partial computer workstation. But it’s even more cold in there and sitting on a dining chair when you’re short (yes, I even have a seat cushion on top of the existing one) is super uncomfortable.

Sometimes I bring the laptop to the couch but it’s not a situation where I can keep the laptop charged. And I find myself exhausted, resulting in me passing out on the couch.

So that leaves my bed, like I used to also write in back in my married days. However my kids have taken to sleeping in my downsized-to-queen-from-California-king-bed with me (not in a position to kick them out while they’re still in agony over the divorce), which is also not ideal when trying to write at night.

My old house no longer feels like my house anymore, despite that I still have a lot of stuff there that I need to bring over. But my new house doesn’t feel like “home” yet either.

I spent all of last weekend working on converting my garage to a gym. I discovered that owning a shop vac is like heaven for someone like me who hates gross spider webs and dusty shit. I mopped the floor. I set up 3 shelving units and loaded them up. I had a $2500 fancy fire-rated door installed to replace the ghetto, too-small interior door the previous owner used in the garage. I covered up the grates to keep out bugs and try to minimize the cold air. Got a TV and wall mounts. Finally, I laid down massive floor mats.

And still…I haven’t worked out yet. I can’t change the lighting without spending a small fortune so it still feels like I’m in a morgue. I with the mats were on carpet, not epoxied concrete. While the shelves were a huge help, I still have loads of things that take up excess room. I want to paint my new door from the garage to the backyard a bright fun color. Other than that, what else can I do to make exercising in a fucking garage more appealing when exercise already sucks?

As someone who religiously worked out to now a sloth who hasn’t exercised in months.

The house isn’t fully set up yet. I don’t have artwork on the walls and I have random shit unpacked everywhere without a final home. It’s hard to find locations for things when you more than halved your original house size. Things are neatly crammed together, making it difficult to visually see where stuff is.

I’m struggling with my closet. I downsized my wardrobe significantly but I don’t have a coat closet in this house and while my kids have room in their closets, I refuse to make their part-time bedroom become full-time storage. It’s their space; I need to make it as inviting as possible, despite the lack of space for their toys.

As such, with everything crammed in tightly, I can’t see what I have. I just wear the same stuff from my laundry baskets.

Don’t get me started on how my bedroom to the garage laundry is like hiking through Siberia. I so badly never wanted to resort back to garage laundry. My eyes water as I think about how a little convenience like having an indoor laundry area was a massive spike to my quality of life. I’m not trying to sound like a princess. I just really hate juggling a laundry basket, squeezing between the narrow walking areas, setting it down to open a million locks to get to the garage and then the creepiness factor once I’m finally in there.

Geezus, my first tiny townhome twenty years ago even had a laundry room and a walk-in pantry.

My daughter just rolled over, looked at my screen, and went back to sleep. I didn’t anticipate both kids sleeping in bed with me this frequently. Three people, especially one who kicks in her sleep, is less than ideal in a queen bed.

I will begin editing and releasing my unpublished content. Writing is part of my self-case and I’ve neglected it as badly as I’ve neglected taking care of my personal fitness.

No excuses.

Dear Reader, you can send me a bill for your therapy services but there’s a good chance it’ll get lost in the chaos of this house.