I’m single. Again. Twice in as many years. I suppose it’s right that on the eve of my fast approaching divorce, I should be left to face the final resolution of a 15 year relationship the way I came into it. Alone.
This last go around only lasted a little over a year. It had to end because we didn’t want the same things in the same way. Still, I’ll never regret a single day of the recently demised affair. By contrast, there are endless regrets about any number of days of my marriage. Not that there aren’t happy memories as well. There are many of those. Just not enough of them, I suppose. Not for either one of us.
So I’m going to breathe.
Tonight, on my first official night of bachelor hood, I’m going to eat a plate of wings with a beer or two and watch “Be Cool”. It seems the appropriate way to kick things off.
In the morning I’m going to resume with my normal routine of going to the gym before work. I’m going to finally lose that last 10 pounds I’ve been excusing due to elaborate dinners for two followed by shared pints of Mocha Almond Fudge ice cream on the couch.
When I do, I’m going to buy myself that Hugo Boss brown suit and a pair of killer shoes.
I’m going to order that dozen or so books I’ve ear marked as favourites on Amazon. When they arrive, I’m going to read them.
I’m going to get my car professionally cleaned and detailed.
I’m going to call an old friend I’ve lost touch with. He’s going through a separation himself.
I may try to write again. Then I’ll attempt to resist the urge to burn in disgust what I’ve written.
In time, I may join one of those popular online dating services and open myself up for ridicule and the occasional date that may or may not end with me sleeping with a complete stranger.
I’m going to throw myself into my work. Pretend the best I can that what I do matters. To someone, in some way.
I’ll continue to be the “best dad in the entire world”, according to my children. I believe them. They’d never lie to me.
I’ll drink far too much coffee. Watch entirely too much TV.
Sort through all those papers I’ve piled strategically out of sight behind the comfy reading chair in the bedroom.
Haunt the local Borders book store and hope a brilliant, fabulously wealthy and beautiful young woman takes a fancy to me in my jeans, strategically tossled hair and two day old beard.
In the mean time, I’m going to breathe.
…and eat my wings ‘cuz they’re ready.