In which there’s a state of the union.

I remember thinking last year that my content would get really good because of my change in status. A marriage ending! Then, the dating! Moving! Starting over! Self-discovery! Introspection! I thought I’d have a lot of material.

But because everyone I know reads my blog, I left out a great deal of material because I thought it would be disrespectful. (I realized that I was the dump-er, and that anyone in the position of dump-ee is likely to dwell a little longer and be a little more sensitive, and I didn’t want to be a bitch.) I didn’t rant and rage about the aspects of the marriage that really hurt me or disgusted me or pissed me off, I didn’t do any name-calling, and I most certainly did not mention anything about those couple-few nights I didn’t make it home ’til long after the sun came up. If you catch my drift.

The 27th of May will mark our 6th wedding anniversary. It will also be our divorce party. The Ex seems, when I see him, to be not only adjusted to but okay with the end of the relationship. He’s over it, I’m over it. It’s like neither of us were really all that invested in the 8+ years we spent together. (In fact, I really can’t remember the last time I had such a boring, drama-free break up. I’m not particularly hurt or angry any more. He doesn’t seem to give a shit either way. I take it as a sign that we shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place. Or maybe he’s miserable but hiding it, and I’m too self-involved to notice… or too weak to carry the burden of hurting him. Who knows. But I suspect the former: the ending hasn’t been any deeper or more profound than the relationship itself.)

Truck is worried that The Ex and I will get drunk and fuck at the divorce party, but I’ve never in my life had sex when I was drunk that I wouldn’t have had while sober. And I won’t be getting drunk: I have no intention of staying over out there, and I have to drive back to town.

After the divorce party, I’ll need to get organized and actually get us divorced. I doubt he’ll ever do it – he’s still nagging me into paying the auto insurance online every month because he’s apparently incapable of buying money orders and stamps. Paperwork is not his forte. Actually, anything he can get someone else to do is not his forte.

I still don’t know what to do with my stuff. I make less than $800 a month so it seems absurd to pay for a storage unit. I think the truth is that I don’t really want any of it; there are a few things I think about, but for the most part I don’t need a bunch of shit I obviously can live without for the better part of a year.

People keep telling me I should get an apartment, that I will be wanting my own home and my own kitchen any time now. Years ago, I’d have hated using another woman’s kitchen, but after having my own for so long I’m delighted to be kitchenless: the kitchen is AmmZon’s, and we do things her way, and that suits me just fine. I don’t want the responsibility. I also don’t want to live alone. I qot quite sick enough of having my own kitchen and being lonely.

Renting a room in someone else’s house suits me perfectly these days, and since AmmZon’s about to close on the purchase of the house my rent money will probably come in handy for her. Considering how long she let me live there for free I’m more than pleased to help her out.

My life right now is really small. No career, no home of my own, no lover, no insurance or savings or anything. I live hand-to-mouth. I barely exist.

Frankly, I like it.