In which I’m quite recovered from my melancholy.

I’ve known for awhile that The Ex has himself a new squeeze, though folks have been trying to hide it from me. (No need to, I’m glad to hear it.) I’ve put a few clues together from various things I was told at the party and things I’ve picked up since, and quite frankly I begin to suspect that The Ex wasn’t the architect of his domestic changes after all.

The bastard’s good, he really is! Gets his women to do his housework for him. But if it’s true that the woman’s the one doing the work, and I don’t know that it is, it certainly erases any ache I may have indulged in.

Last night I spoke with Gorgeous on the phone. She’s trying to convince me to come to Hawaii for a very extended visit, or to stay. She says there are people who need their houses occupied to protect belongings and discourage squatters, so rent’s no issue. She tells me about the weather, the fruit growing freely everywhere, the job market, the community, and the natural beauty. “I need my sisters here!” she exclaims. She’s also lost probably 50 pounds and probably looks like she did the last time she lived in Hawaii, which was, to coin a phrase, fucking HOT.

We also talked about break ups – she and Rockstar were together as long as The Ex and I were – specifically about how sometimes you just get into a funk and remember the benefits, willfully forgetting how much they really cost. Ah, the things we pine for… Snuggling, a warm body, someone to carry your groceries, watching movies together at home, talking at night in the dark.

I wasn’t having it, though. “Yeah, it’s normal to feel a little tender about it, but the fact is that he drove you nuts,” I said. She said, “Damn, Mush. I said I was feeling sappy.” So I told her about seeing the old farmhouse and how it felt to see nearly all traces of my living there are gone. She reminded me that there was nothing wrong with feeling all phases of the pendulum swing, from anger to longing. It’s true that there’s nothing wrong with feeling all of it… as long as we remember not to act on them without due consideration.

It was a good talk. I do love that woman. I’m interested in visiting Hawaii, of course, but I think if I were going to save up enough money to leave town for a month I’d probably rather go to the City than another small town, even if it is tropical.

The night before last, Truck and The Ex had a huge fight. AmmZon and Truck went to the bar, then came back, and then The Ex called and hilarity ensued. I’ve never in all the years I’ve known him seen Truck so pissed off! He threw his phone at the wall, paced the house furiously, cursed and kicked and carried on. He was about to walk the 13 miles to Batavia to kick The Ex’s drunken, belligerent ass. It took both AmmZon and my efforts to talk him down. It was intense. (Two red heads in a fight? We’re all lucky the world didn’t explode.)

This evening The Ex sat on our front porch and admitted that another divorce party would kill him, since he partied so hard for this one – his celebration lasted the entire weekend – that he blacked out Monday night (apparently he hadn’t eaten, and had had only liquor all day) and he honestly doesn’t even remember what he said to make Truck so mad.

I laughed and said, “You dumb cunt, you know better than that! You’ve got to eat and sleep, not just drink!” He laughed sheepishly and darted a telling glance at Truck, who was pointing and nodding his agreement. “What she said,” he said. I think The Ex actually blushed a little.

I don’t have to worry about another divorce party myself, since I really have no intention of marrying again. I’m sure I’ll shack up eventually, ’cause I’m a slut like that, but I see no reason to get all legal about it. Everything ends, it’s the nature of the world.

In other news, we’re having a big scary thunder storm! I’m off to sit on the porch and check it out.