it’s possible – nay, probable – that i’m difficult to live with.
i’m not 100% sure of the exact dates, but i think i’m approaching the 5 year anniversary of my separation. (i remember D day – July 16 because it happened to fall just two days before my youngest son’s birthday. i remember being aware of the unfortunate closeness of that date, but also still very strongly wanting to move forward with wrapping things up as quickly as possible.)
i had given my then-husband of nearly 15 years a choice to make, not so much an ultimatum, but a choice. and after mulling it over for a few weeks, he let me know (on Valentines Day, no less) that he had decided to “set me free.” (i swear i think he may have used those exact words.) it was amicable, as far as these things go, and we both sat down to break the news to the kids together. and then i set to planning about how to start what i quickly began referring to as “the unzippering” of our shared marital life.
it took me a minute or two to find a place for me to move into. i lucked into a great rental house with a sympathetic single mom for a landlord (“we have to look out for each other,” i remember her saying), and then began slowly moving my stuff in to create a new nest of my own until i had created what legit felt like a sanctuary. the vibe was so good. the lighting so welcoming. the sense of calm, peace. it was fucking amazing.
and i’ve been living on my own ever since. and i kind of love it. so much so that it’s been difficult wanting to change that for anyone. really this current living situation that i now find myself in – living in a multigenerational house with my 80 year old mother and two teenaged boys – is not what i would have picked for myself were it not for the sense of family loyalty that is, apparently, just embedded into who i am.
when you move in with others – family or no – there’s a steady, never-ending flow of tiny negotiations. and i’m starting to recognize a little bit of stubbornness in myself that, when mixed with a dash of entitlement and a sprinkle of righteousness (which i have to acknowledge is really quite an unappealing combination) makes me a pretty obstinate roommate. of course my way is the right way. that’s why it’s my way. duh.
here’s an example. the other day i found myself in a debate about the essence of kitchen towels. my mother asked me not to use the cloth kitchen towels to wipe down the counters because they could get stained. but kitchen towels, i argued, exist solely to get dirty. to reach past the cloth towel to grab a disposable paper towel for such purpose, would be an insult to the cloth towel. (a friend compared this debate to another lively discussion about using the fancy bathroom soap to, you know, actually wash your hands.)
the lovely thing about living on your own is almost never having to expend the energy to broker agreements on these types of mundane household minutia.
eleven bee 