Man-Size (man_size) wrote,
Man-Size
man_size

Post Disaster Adventure Chronicles, Part 1

Having a real tough time tonite. SBX was supposed to go over her final separation papers with The Ex, to seal the deal and finally get the lawyers to type it up pretty like in all its glorious legal jargon and set sail for the long so long -- and, it just didn't happen. It just...didn't...happen. Once again, SBX was left in the lurch forced to press her default button and put on the plastic mask that becomes her face in states of unresolved anguish and bitter, inner pain. Never buckling. Never cracking under pressure. While I'm left in a holding pattern, flying in circles above the landing pad, staring at clouds, running out of fuel, coasting on fumes. There she is, as SBX huddles below, working triple shifts and taking care of her two girls while burnt fingers reach out for my support. Which I try my best to give, only to get caught in the web of my own frustrations and beg for her to recognize my small sacrifices, staving off the beast of depression. Praying for their divorce to please-please-please resolve, so that SBX and I can finally do that thing that couples do so damn proud: swagger cheek-to-cheek and skip some frickin' rope.

Seems The Ex had a "bad day" today and canceled the important event. SBX didn't want to push such a sensitive issue like finalizing a 2-and-a-half year make or break deal: a contract that would officially state and spell it all out in every last proper detail, just for the temperament of a "bad day" to mess up the impending divorce and the security of their children's health, education, well-being, and fate. And so, it's postponed for another week or two. Another week or two of me, stifling selfish feelings, eating cheap chinese dinners by myself while watching random sitcoms through the snow on my tv and/or escaping into the fleeting fray of a comic book scenario, waiting for that phone to ring with the call that "the kids have been put to bed" and to "come on over," as I jump my bike and book the 15-minutes it takes to steal a couple of precious hours with SBX, and eventually put her to sleep, as I peddle back to a half empty bed.

I never knew how difficult divorce could be. Never imagined myself playing the role of Mr. Secret Boyfriend to anybody, much less possible step father to SBX's two innocent girls. For what it's worth, The Ex is aware of me, but making it official and public to his kids and shoving it in his face in the midst of war could maybe destroy the fragile contract at hand. So thinks SBX. I don't know what to think. The knee-jerk philosopher in me practices throwing caution to the wind and see where the chips lie. Never letting fear control action, and thus, mobilizing desire. The wise yet white pubic hair on my left nut tells me to follow SBX's wary precautions. Step back and play it cool. Keep anxiety at bay and support my woman. Trust our love. And wait. Wait.
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