Spoke Too Soon

August 18, 2007 at 11:11 AM | Posted in Personal | 1 Comment
  I want to offer this intro, this explanation.  I want to say that I don’t feel like this anymore, but I did.  For a whole day, maybe two.  I did.  I wanted to be honest and offer it up, but I am over it.  We all have our days….. 
  While I’m at it, yes I am going to post all the crap I wrote when we didn’t have the internet, and I was saving it to  post.  Don’t worry, it’s almost over.  And I have a couple of short, funny ones for ya.  Peace out.

  It’s starting to sound like a fucking country song.  In fact, I may have started to write it. . . but you’ll never see it.
  Here are the facts of the case:  We moved into my original house, the one I had rented.  The divorce decree says I have to refinance it or sell it.  The intent was, I’m supposed to sell it, and any profit goes towards my children’s education.  That was fine and dandy when I was staying in my dad’s house, and I thought I was going to stay there.
  Meanwhile, the ex has to refi or sell the big house.  She gets to keep the equity in it, to buy a new house, or shove up her ass for all I care.  There is . . .a good 60 grand in equity in her house.  Thirty of that is what we put down on it, borrowed against the house I have.  Which, of course, I have to pay.  The rest is what it has increased in value, plus paying the loan.  Maybe not 60, cause the market is down, but at least 50.
  My house is worth, on a good day, one hundred thousand.  But here’s the kicker:  Not if I sell it.  I got grandfathered in on the electrical (it still has an actual fuse box, not circuit breakers), but if I sell, that will need to be updated to pass the dreaded city inspection.  Taking that and other things off the top, the house is worth 90 at most.  More than likely low 80s.  There is a loan for 64 thousand on it, borrowed against it to get the downpayment for the big house, plus paying off our debt, plus all the nice furniture my ex has.  What does that leave me?  Not much.
  So, she gets to keep her house, or sell it and buy another one.  And I’m supposed to sell this one, pay off debt, use the profit for college, and get nothing.
  Buyer’s remorse?  A moment of clarity?  The reason I agreed–other than being free of her–is because it said refinance, and if that wasn’t possible, then sell.  Same for her.  But no time limit is given.  No time frame whatsoever is mentioned.  But the bottom line is, is that fair?  The indication from my lawyer was that her lawyer wants be me to get on it, now.  Chop-chop!  Sell the fucking house.
  And leave me homeless.  That’s the whole point.  Leave me with nothing.  She gets absolutely everything, and I get absolutely nothing.  After Detroit did all that work.  After she did all that work, twice, to two different houses.  And here it is, with finally, the promise of a home, and they want me to take it away from her.  From us.
  It would be better for me to refinance it, and borrow some money to pay for his college. . .
  And right now I don’t even want to do that.  Every one of them, from the ex, to all the kids–the big kids, anyway–
  Shit.  Okay, I don’t know how they really feel.  I know they are more on her side than mine, and that’s fine.  But I need somebody on my goddamn side in this.  My son doesn’t want to talk to me.  He blames me for him not having a car when it’s his fault for picking the goddamn thing out.  Plus, I believe his girlfriend is a little cunt who has heard only my ex’s side of things, and I’m a bastard to her, which gets reflected back in his eyes.  My older daughter is so ignorant about money things–greedy and nitpicky–she can only see what other people owe her, not what she owes anyone else.  So she can only see what I owe my ex, not what my ex owes me.
  My older son. . .I don’t know.  He expects me–I don’t know.  I fucking don’t know.  They all want me to do shit for them, but they can’t help out or do shit for me.  Why won’t Mike let his brother borrow his truck to go to work in, until I get the car fixed?  Cause they aren’t getting along, and they’re too stubborn, and they would rather just blame me?  Mike’s a fucking mechanic, why won’t he come and help me with the goddamn car?
  ~~Burning bridges~~
  I didn’t think I had.  I was trying to be civil thoughout all of this.  But they may burning them with me.  They–none of them–really want anything to do with me.  They just want my money.  They say they "understand" my side, but they don’t really.  My older daughter wants to know why I didn’t get presents for her kids’ birthdays.  Mitchell wanted me to buy a car, and now he wants me to pay for school.  Mike wants me to pay for all this stuff, and doesn’t understand why I can’t.  The ex, of course, wants her child support.
  The only thing Miranda wants is to spend some time with me.

  Part of me–a very big part of me–wants to just leave.  Pack up (or not pack up; just take what I have) and go.  Go to California and be homeless, and be a burden to the state.  Drive to Canada and learn to eat pea soup and mayonaise.  Go to Florida and live in the islands like Hemingway and Jimmy Buffet.
  Leave everything.  Leave it all behind.  Leave Detroit?  I guess.  I would have to give that up as well.  Maybe I was never meant to have real happiness.  Leave and be a hermit, a loner, a miser.  Wear crappy, dirty clothes, and gloves with holes in them, and push a shopping cart. . .on the beach. . . and talk to myself.  A cave overlooking the beach?  I could grow out my beard.  I’ve always wanted a ponytail, too.  But a cave would be neat.  I wonder if I could get satellite there. . .I wouldn’t need cell phone service.  People only call me when they want something.
  What means anything to me now, anyway?  Her, of course.  The reason I was willing to go through this, the prize.  The light at the end of the tunnel.  But the tunnel keeps getting longer, like someone is pulling a prank on me.  Bastards.  My kids?  I feel so distant and alienated from my son, and it hurts.  I actually feel closer to Alex, Detroit’s son right now.  My surrogate son.  He doesn’t see me as a father, which is only right, I understand.  I just don’t want to freak him out.  He’s one of the few people who doesn’t hate me.  Give it time, I suppose.  Once he gets to know me–
  My little girl?  I feel like I’ve hurt her so much already, she might be better off without me.
  And she would hear, from her mom and brothers and sister, and from aunts and uncles–about what I was like.  Why I was the way I was.  From their perspective, shit they couldn’t understand.  Their own misguided opinion that they pass off as enlightenment.
  And from her mother, especially.  She will never admit that she knows the reason I left.  Not because of another woman; that was where I went, not why.  She could never tell her daughter the truth: that it was herself.  How she treated me, mistreated me, abused me.  Neglected me.  Took me for granted. 
  And never understood me.
  No, it will always be:  "Him and that damn internet.  He found a whore on there and left me." 
  What made me look?  What made me respond?
  Is that what they’ll say about me?  When they finally give up looking for me…after not really trying that hard.  They’ll have a little service, declare me dead, eat moscocholi and potato salad, and talk about what a bizarre person I was.
  My ex-wife’s brother, Mike will say, "He sure was an odd duck."
  As I’m backpacking across Argentina, or driving to Europe in a Volkwagon van, or sleeping on the beach in New Jersey–what will they say about me?  "I always thought he would do this?" or "I never expected this?"  How about, "Am I the beneficiary?"
  More than likely, I won’t flee.  But God, I feel like it.  I feel like doing it for retribution.  They want my life, my money.  If I quit my job and leave, they can have none of it.  They want me to do things their way, by their rules, and control me, have reign o’er me.  "You can have your own life, if you want to.  But you are still beholden to us."  If I leave, they can’t have me anymore.  They can’t fucking have me.  Their fucking claws, metaphorically, ripping at my heart.  But the pain is real.  It’s not metaphorical.  It hurts, dammit.  It hurts.
  I know I have done wrong, but I have been trying to make it right.  At least, I thought I was trying to make it right.  But everybody wants a piece of me, and when they’re done, all the good parts will be gone, with nothing left but the gizzard and liver.
  You know what?  What did I do, precisely, that was so wrong?  A little bit of infidelity?  Technically, yes.  But–I left my ex before I was ever with Detroit.  So. . .I left.  left my wife, kids, family.  I suppose leaving my kids was the worst thing I did.  But I tried to arrange it so that I could still be in–
 
  I have been trying so hard, working so hard to make things work out.  Just to have a little peace.  A little happiness.  Lowering my standards, accepting less and less.  Giving up and giving in, and giving out.  Giving up ground.
  Real happiness is fleeting anyway.  It can never last.  Bastards.

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  1.  You will probably have more days like this.
    Its not easy, you sure as hell can\’t please everyone.
    You are doing the best you can, if its not good enough…screw them.
    Worry about yourself and Detroit…thats all


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