How are you?
Miss you, boo.
Sorry I fell asleep on you last night. What can I say? I'm always so comfortable around you. You feel like home.
And honey...we need to talk.
I need some space.
Believe me when I tell you this is hurting me more than it's going to hurt you. Believe that. It is the truest truth ever written by a divorced, middle-aged woman with no appreciable social life.
But here's the thing...
My kids are going away. They are going away for nearly two weeks, and I will have the entire house gloriously to myself. Well, except for the cats, who are occasionally a**holes. But mostly to myself.
I can clean - really clean! Top to bottom! Cobwebs to baseboards! And all without used cotton balls full of nail polish remover, crumpled snack wrappers or Legos scattered around me that all seem to have some sort of magical replicating spell upon them.
I can get outside and pull weeds, mow, finally spread those four bags of mulch sitting in the garage, and all without two kids who are determined to beat the everloving crap out of each other the second I step through the doorway, or a 100lb 5ft tall boy who thinks he's still big enough to ride on my lap in the riding mower.
Most importantly of all, I can write. And write. And research a little, and write some more. Then I can edit what I wrote and rewrite it. Because I'm a writer, and I just got handed something important to work on and it is imperative that I write.
And that's not going to happen, Netflix, if I succumb to your siren song.
I cannot binge watch that TV series this time. I cannot.
I cannot relive the halcyon days of my youth with that nostalgic movie featuring an ungodly juvenile version of a movie star who's since married and divorced three times to three increasingly younger women (maybe juvenile is the perfect word...).
I cannot see that gripping documentary, check out that warm and wonderful rom-com or get lost in the stars and a whole lot of special effects.
I need this time, Netflix, to get my life in order.
And since I don't have a boyfriend, I know you've been my go-to. My friendzoned, dependable fallback plan.
You've always been there for me, Netflix, but this time, I can't be there for you. You understand, right?
Of course you do. You understand me better than I understand myself - always there with a ready suggestion or similarly watched title. Always interested in what I think and how I rate things. You listen to me Netflix, you really listen. You get me.
But for the next couple of weeks, you can't have me. I must be strong, even as my heart is breaking.
We will survive this.
|Ellie DeLano spent four years as the Divorce Blogger for Woman's Day Magazine, chronicling her transition to single parenting and mid-life dating after decades of marriage with poignancy and humor. What she learned from her readers and her own experience was invaluable, and she shares it here with a straightforward guide to the things you really need to help you move forward after your divorce. |
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