When I was young, I wanted to be a writer. I mean, after I wanted to be an emporess and/or a teacher, I wanted to be a writer. I imagined myself sitting behind a typewriter (yes, I am old) and rattling out brilliance at my leisure. In these goals, however, I was always alone. Always.
I had quite an imagination. Colorful and far reaching, but always on my own.
I never imagined myself as a wife. I didn't really know a lot of married women, so I didn't have any idea how to be one. I also didn't have any real inclination to learn.
Then I became one.
And I rocked it.
Hard.
I mean, I was very, very good at some of it.
I packed lunches. I made sure the bills were paid on time. I ferociously took on the burden of raising children that would always represent him well. I made coffee. I washed dirty man clothes. I took excessive care to not expand into a more comfortable size. I took my job as a wife very seriously.
And it ended anyway.
Leading to my next discovery: I had never imagined myself as an ex-wife either.
And, definitely no one walks you through how to rock at that.
Obviously, I anticipated some new struggles. I get to take the trash out every time the bag fills. I get to unclog every toilet. I get to go to every event as the seemingly only single person in a room full of seemingly blissful couples. I get to take the car for service rather than just taking a cup of ice water to the driveway while it was done between football games.
Good times, obviously.
But there is always a new surprise waiting for an ex.
Like, what do you do with the extra food you made because, for many years, your menu included a grown man that ate enough for four? Or, what do you do when all of your clothes are dirty because it takes longer to make a full load? What about that room no one uses now because that's where he lived for the last several years of your marriage?
And, worst of all, who do you talk to about it? You can't tell anyone about the loneliness because there are only two kinds of people left in your life. The half who think being single is all hilarious dating stories and guilt-free gluttony. And the half who know the hell you went through and can't imagine there being a piece that suffers the loss of your odd little piece of normal.
I never got to be the writer. And, I live the life of an emporess vicariously through my little tyrant. But I was a wife. And, forevermore, I will be an ex-wife. While I will probably never ace any of these tests, I am learning to take it as an adventure. One more blinded step at a time.
