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.
