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Trying to put the last year into words is harder than I thought. Way harder. A lot of the stuff I want to just bury, and some of it will probably never see the light of diary. But here's where it started: In October I started hanging with an old friend who never grew up, despite being twelve years older than me. (And having a child of her own.) She still likes to party, and thus sucked me back into my old habits of drinking on weekdays and occasional powdery party favors. I, of course, dragged Nick (kicking and screaming, I assure you) with me. (This is October 2005, by the way.) On the night before Lukas's birthday, we went to the store for presents, stopped at said friend's house, and drank some wine. I drank much more than Nick, so he decided he should drive home, which was smart. On the way home, on a notoriously curvy and slippery road, he rolled the car three times and landed on a telephone pole, which was not smart. With the kids in the backseat. Well, no one was hurt except for me. I had my arm resting on the window sill and whacked it on the ground hard enough to bruise it very nicely and damage some nerves or something, but not hard enough to break it. Although for the next few days Nick was a big baby because his back hurt. D*CFS was called in, and Nick got a report on his record for child endangerment and was also charged with a DUI that cost us a lot of money. That was about when I started to, well, seethe I guess. But I didn't say a word. I just drank a little more. In December he walked in on me with his best friend. He nearly killed the guy and then told me he was coming back for me and the kids, and that he would kill us all, himself included. Then he took off in our only car. We lived on a farm, remember. It's not like I could walk anywhere, so I called the bad old friend and had her come get me. For whatever reason I had her drop me back off the next day. Nick calmed down and we got through it. I even didn't drink for a month or so. My unemployment ran out in January, so I had to get a job. Around here no one will hire you unless you go through a temp agency, so I went through a temp agency. They put me in a factory making $7.90 an hour. After three months Nick made me quit because I was making friends with the people I worked with and some of them were guys. He decided I should go back to work in an auto parts store like I had been for years before we were married. (Your guess as to why he thought this would avoid my meeting guys is as good as mine.) So I applied at the three stores in town and the red and orange one hired me. But wait, let's back up for a minute. In like February, Nick bought a truck. The truck ran well for a few weeks and then it started to run like shit. So he called the guy he bought it from to ask him about it, and the guy ended up putting a new carburetor in it for him. I went with, because I was bored. The guy? Was hot. And he knew cars, which is my biggest boy turn on. But I was determined to make my marriage work. DETERMINED. Have I mentioned that no one on either side of my family has ever, ever, EVER gotten divorced? Yeah. No pressure. Nick and the truck guy became friends and he was at the house all the time. He always brought beer, we always drank it. We had a few project cars we would fuck around with and he mowed our lawn when our tractor broke. It was fun until I decided that I had to have this guy. Nick used to leave for work at like three in the morning. One morning in July he called me at about four thirty and asked me to come get him from jail two counties away because he had gotten pulled over and caught for driving without a license. (The DUI.) So I went to get him, but the impound place wasn't open yet so we came straight home and decided we'd go back for the car (one he had borrowed from his dad to drive to work) later. I convinced him it would be super dumb for him to pick it up from the lot himself seeing as how he'd just gotten busted for driving without a license, and the truck guy drove me up to get it that afternoon. We ended up making a pitstop on the way home. So much for that fidelity thing. I've always sucked at that anyway. After that I took to calling Paul (the truck guy) as soon as Nick left for work in the morning. He'd come over for an hour or so before he had to go to work and leave before anyone else was awake. Then my kids started seeing him around in the mornings, but for some dumb reason I didn't really care. Then Nick had to serve a few weekends in county for the DUI (oh God do I sound white trashy right now) and Paul would spend the whole weekend with me and the boys. Nick's suspicions were raised, and he'd look through my phone and give me the third degree about everything, but I acted all wounded and pissed off. He didn't buy it, and one day I accidentally left a text message on my phone from Paul and he caught me. And as if I already didn't feel like a horrible person, he cried. I promised him I'd cut it off with Paul, but I couldn't. I'd actually started to like the guy. A lot. I hadn't really prepared for that, so I had no idea what to do. Then on September 1, I took a pregnancy test. I hadn't even missed my period yet, I just knew. It was positive, and it was Paul's. I told him, and we decided to get rid of it because of the timing. I made an appointment. I went to the place. I pulled in the parking lot. And I pulled right back out. I'm not an emotionally balanced person. I am fully aware that I am not right. I am also fully aware of what having an abortion would do to me. So I told Paul that I wasn't going to do it, and he wasn't angry, like I expected him to be. He was relieved, and he was thrilled. So I had to tell Nick it was over. I managed to do that without telling him I was pregnant. But when he did find out, he laughed. He told me, "Well, I lost that bet." Great. We don't hate each other now. He takes the kids almost every weekend. The boys are a little confused about all this, but so far they seem okay. They get along with Paul, and Paul adores them. I'm due in the beginning of May. So, even though things are totally different, they seem totally better. You should see how clean my house is. Remember all the fights I used to have with Nick over his lazy ass leaving wrappers and dishes and shit everywhere? Paul cleans. With bleach. Every day. He does laundry. He brings me stuff, even if I haven't asked for it. One opinion is that it's because he's older than me (forty) and therefore probably at the same maturity level I am. You know, since boys are like half our age, mentally. The only thing I'm really sad about is that my dad is furious with me. He doesn't understand why I would do this to my kids and has absolutely no interest whatsoever in meeting Paul, ever. He hasn't even acknowledged my pregnancy. I'm hoping that eventually he'll come to accept my new situation, because I miss him. He's like my best friend, and now he won't even talk to me. But anyway. There it is, the last year of my life in a tiny little nutshell. I have to pee and blow my nose now. (Oh yeah, I have this awesome cold and the only things you can take for a cold are the ones that don't do shit. How much snot can your head actually manufacture before you start blowing out brain matter? This. Is. Disgusting.) And my baby is hungry. And I need to track a package that should have been here last week. More later, I'm sure. Kids are: Last person who pissed me off: Heard in my house: Miss Anything? pics - 2007-06-05
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