“Baby, you’re a wreck.”
Truer words were never spoken.
At the time, I found it amusing. Not that I’m a wreck, but that someone would notice and say it out loud. But, I have to admit, it was less and less amusing with every repitition.
It was a Tuesday night and Ms.NewGirl was over for the first time. It was an evening of apple pie and pizza and roommates and dogs. A test, of sorts, to see if she was up to me. My house is a disaster. I don’t say this lightly. It really is. Imagine, if you will, a house that was once mostly orderly and only slightly cluttered. Now, picture what happens when the sole occupant slides into a deep depression with little motivation to eat, much less clean. Add to that a steady stream of papers, legal and otherwise, junk mail, and magazine subscriptions. Getting a good picture? Great, now, factor in one guy trying to scrape the last remnants of a life he’d just as soon forget into one room so the movers can haul it all away, only to find out that those movers aren’t ever coming. But, wait, there’s more! Add to that a roommate and a dog. What do you have? Yeah, a wreck.
I know it was just her way of telling me to get that junk out of the house so she wasn’t faced with that part of my past everywhere she looked, but I can’t blame her for that. Hey, I’d rather not be faced with it, either! But, it’s there. Both the Augean-Stable-like clutter and the past. She may not have to face it, but I do. Every day. But, you know, who I am today is a result of who I was then. It’s not good or bad, really, but it is a fact. The man I strive to be is built on the wreckage of the mistakes I made, the poor choices and the bad behavior. Who I am today is not who I was because, today, I choose not to be that guy. And that choice is pretty important. I choose to be who I am. I make choices that have consequences and take me places. Hopefully, different places than I’ve been or would have gone in the past. So, there’s no point running or hiding from any of it. I just have to get started on the wreckage that sticks out where folks might trip over it.
So, that’s what I’ve been doing the past couple weeks. I’ve been working on it. I mean I’ve been really working on getting my house in order.
hm…sounds familiar…yet i dont have anybody telling me to get rid of it…and if they did…i would tell them to eff off…it will go when it’s time…and it’s not time if somebody’s TELLING you, however politely, that it’s time
Comment by wendi — 7/12/2006 @ 12:51 am
Oh, no, Wendi, for me, it most definately is time. It just takes a lot more work than most people realize, I think, to sift through broken dreams and tattered memories and finally let go of them enough to stuff them into a black garbage bag and throw them out.
Funny thing, though, I get all kinds of reactions to where I am with getting past my divorce. Everything from “What’s taking so long?” to “What? It’s ONLY been three or four YEARS, right? No wonder you’re not farther along.” (It’s been almost two years since she left and not quite a year since the divorce was final. FYI.)
Most divorced people, though, figure it will happen when it needs to happen at whatever pace feels comfortable. I’m picking up speed. 😉
Comment by the Network Geek — 7/12/2006 @ 6:26 am
ummmm…ha…you thanked me for my commment…i had to read what i wrote…i didn’t remember…after all…i did spend the evening with sass!!
Comment by wendi — 7/12/2006 @ 9:24 am
Ha! If that’s the case, and based on the time you left the comment, I’m surprised you could find the keyboard! 😉
Comment by the Network Geek — 7/12/2006 @ 7:16 pm
ooh, this is hard.
Of course, I moved after my divorce. I had to choose what to take with me. It was a liberating experience to sluff off the aggregated detris of 25+ years.
But I’m still a slob and I really have to work at keeping things filed and avoid filling up every horizontal space in the house.
T’ain’t easy.
Comment by Mark — 7/13/2006 @ 4:09 pm