As I walked out of the grocery store with my bag containing a couple of Snapple iced teas, a pre-made turkey sandwich from the deli, and a package of two Grandma’s® peanut butter cookies, I imagined that I was on a road trip, and I had merely stopped at the local market to pick up something to eat before once again hitting the road. It was better than the reality of heading back to work.
Part of the melancholia I felt as I viewed the beautiful sunset was caused by the fact that I have not been in the mountains at all this year. I haven’t been camping in at least a year. In fact, I have a nice new tent that I was given as a Christmas gift two years ago that still has not been used. Sadness comes in all forms, and lately mine has manifested itself as an accounting of opportunities missed. I could sure use a week (or two, or three) in the woods with a good book (or two, or three.)
I’ll be back at the house for an extra night this week on Thursday. Jen is working a shift at ACCES in Lake City. She has sworn that this will be her last extra shift for a while. That’s a promise that I’ve seen broken many times before. Tonight she called me to inform me that we have a meeting with a mediator on Friday morning at 8 a.m.. I wish the appointment was not so damn early, but I guess it was their only opening for weeks. This means that after this meeting our divorce will be moving forward fairly quickly. My state of mind pertaining to this divorce has not changed. Last fall, when I was informed that I was no longer welcome to be a stay-at-home dad; and there was a severe lack of compassion during my surgery recovery; and it was requested that my wife and I separate for a year with a re-evaluation at the end of that year, I decided that I had had enough. My first thoughts were for my son’s well-being. It broke my heart that we had adopted this beautiful boy only to divorce before his fourth birthday. My wife’s opinion is that it is better for him to have two happy parents living separately rather than living together in state of misery. She has a point there.
This Sunday I will be attending my first live show at Jazz Alley (as long as I don’t screw that up before then.) I will be seeing Lizz Wright, who music has kind of become the score for my current relationship.
Tomorrow I’m hoping to get up in time to get my haircut, and to pick up the nearly twenty CDs I have on hold at the library. Then it’s back to work, and the whole cycle starts all over again.