(My apologies in advance. This is probably going to be an intensely personal post. But I always like to share intensely personal stuff with a few hundred of my closest and dearest. And a few months ago, a friend who’s a published author, told me that I needed to write about the angst. So here we are…)
It’s quarter after 3, Pacific Time. And here I sit (all broken-hearted, etc. etc.) at Sea-Tac, in my usual situation of having to wait until my 11 PM flight. Tonight’s feature presentation is a flight to Detroit, and then on to Charlotte, where I arrive (well, not just me… everyone on the plane, I mean) at 9 AM.
This arrival time makes it convenient to catch the noon AmTrak back to High Point, where I get a cab to my sister’s house. That’s where I’m “living” until I can get my life stabilized once again.
Flying into Charlotte is considerably less expensive than into my nearby airport in Greensboro… but I should compare the two once I’ve bought a train ticket and cabfare.
This trip has been a mixed bag. I’ve posted some of the pictures, and in terms of scenery, never has it looked more spectacular. But as I very recently discovered, there are serious drawbacks to driving for hours with nothing but your own thoughts reverberating through your brain.
On Saturday, I’d finished listening to all the “This American Life” and “Radio Lab” podcasts I’d downloaded, so it was just me and the thoughts. I have to admit that yesterday’s thought selection left a good deal to be desired and tended toward the depressed and morbid. I won’t go into detail here, but they also led to what is very likely the last time I will ever speak to my soon-to-be-ex wife. The reason I won’t go into detail is that, for one thing, it would be just TMI. And the other is that it’s just too painful to recall. But I will very likely never see or speak to her again. And that just makes me indescribably sad.
It’s for the best… she’s moving on with her life, and sans moi, quite happily from what I gather. Anyway, let’s just say that, through an intermediary, she let me know that she never cares to speak with me ever again. It’s for the best, I know. The sooner I can let her go, the sooner I can — uh– let her go. I hate things that are for the best. It hurts worse than a paper cut rinsed off with alcohol. Come to think of it, I could use some alcohol at the moment. But at 9 bucks a beer here at the airport, I’ll have to forgo that as well. I know, I know, it’s for the best, and I’ve made it quite clear how I feel about that.
This whole soon-to-be ex-wife situation is less than three months old, and the original wound is still pretty jagged.
Why, just once in a major relationship break-up, can’t I be the happy dumper rather than the miserable dumpee?
But Mount Rainier has never looked more beautiful, and the sky above the snow-covered mountains and glistening lake at Snoqualmie Pass has never been such a spectacular blue. And I got to see them both today on the way to Seattle.
Thanks, God, for thinking of me.