Tiger In A SpotlightAugust 19, 2008 at 1:21 AM | Posted in Journal | Leave a comment
You know, time wounds all heels. The pain from the divorce and separation from my children is less now. It’s been two years since I left, and one year since the divorce was final. I’ve moved on, they’ve moved on. That part had been painful for me: the fact that they’ve moved on. But they needed to; I didn’t want them–and don’t want them–to be bogged down by the past. Woulda-shoulda-coulda only causes heartache in the land of Nevermore.
My ex has adjusted. She’s independent and strong, and doing things on her own. Good for her. My daughter has adjusted–kids are endlessly adaptable. I see her often and talk to her, and we have finally re-bonded, rebuilt our relationship. Of course everything is a work in progress.
My son…doesn’t seem as angry as he was. Is that a good thing? Do I have some acceptance from him, or what?
This may seem like a completely unrelated topic, but I’ll catch us all back up the next time it swings around on the piano. You see, I’m psychic.
My feeling about this is a) first of all, I’m right, because I’m psychic, and 2) my psychic ability is erratic as hell. Everyone has some level of the very loosely defined set of set senses commonly referred to as psychic ability. Some are very strong, most are very weak, and many are like me, erratic as hell. My own ability is loosely strewn in the area between telepathy and empathy. I can read people.
It goes just a little beyond being a good judge of character–which I am. I can tell a lot about someone’s personality, but I can also get good reads from emotional levels as well. Maybe that’s why I like bitches so much–lots to read there. It’s like feeding me.
Speaking of bitches, I thought my son’s girlfriend was one. I realize that she isn’t–she’s just completely on his side. And that’s good, you know? They first got together right before me and the ex split up. I left, so I was the bad guy. She supported him in this, and to her, I am the bad guy.
Over time, he has mellowed to me a bit…
…But chicks never forget. Hell, my ex is mostly over it, which is something of a miracle, so she should let it go as well.
I went to see Miranda on Sunday, and spent about an hour talking with the ex. Just about random shit. Their trip, her job, my job, school. Mostly it was her–I’m still the sounding board for alot of people. But she was lucid, calm–even happy. We aren’t going to be friends. But we can get along. The relationship between exes has got to be one of the most bizarre in creation. I talked with Mitchell a bit also.
So, one thing at a time. Building bridges, back to my daughter first, and then working on one with my son, and then my other kids and grandkids. Mitchell is hard to–
Okay, here it is, Captain Obvious. I guess I knew this but just formed the actual words and thought behind it. Mitchell is hard to spend time with because of his girlfriend. Either with her or without her, I need to figure out how to see him more. So. Hmmmm…
And the thought came to me that it has been two years now, and I have only just begun the process, or am about to begin the process. Two years have gone by. Especially for young people, two years is a long time. I completely changed their world when I left. I know I changed mine.
Case in point: a few weeks ago, they had some flooding. The flood waters had avoided them til now, but the creek rose in the back and came up the yard and into the basement and put about 6 to 8 inches of water in there. They took care of it, used it as an excuse to throw out alot of my old shit, and clean up the basement good.
But if I had been there, I would have been chewed out left, down, and sideways. The flood would have somehow been MY fault. Oh yes, it would have. I was there when they were cleaning it up, appropriately empathizing with their disaster while remaining detached. I didn’t go so far as to say "sucks to be you," but I did bolt, leaving them to their mess. Their home. Their disaster. Not mine. I didn’t belong anymore. And I didn’t get bitched at for whatever the hell it was that I did or didn’t do that was ultimately responsible for this.
I belong here, where I am now. If I can just string a bridge to the kids, make them feel welcome here without feeling like they are betraying their mother. You know, I know they don’t get me. What I did, what happened, seemed completely out of character for me as the one they thought they knew–their perspective. But what I am on the outside is not what I am on the inside. Not always, anyway.