I'm ok. I really am. I know that. But this is a bit of a rocky patch, and I might as well acknowledge that too.
Dave is back in town, and I realized that once again I am living my life as though he were watching. I know he isn't, and I had let go of doing that months ago. But it's back; I'm doing it again. For example, a good person would be out on her bike now; it's a beautiful day. But I'm tired. I worked a full day today and it's bloody Saturday. What I wanted to do was read my mail while sitting outside in my pretty yard. That's what I did. But the voices in my head weren't quite still, as you can see. A good person... a worthy person... would be....
Oh, shut the #)(* up. I'll do some other exercise tonight, and it will be fine.
And last night I went to Barnes and Noble for some R&R, and saw Dave's picture on the cover of a book. I had NO idea that was forthcoming. I think I visibly recoiled and audibly gasped. He looks good. He looks happy. He's not wearing his wedding ring. (Well, duh, neither am I.) He's doing fine without me. Plotz, went my self esteem.
And I have to, absolutely have to, confront the legal details of the end of my marriage. I have to decide what I want and need to get as part of the settlement. Child of the South that I am (channeling Scarlett O'Hara as I write) I've been avoiding it. "I'll think about it tomorrow," in good Southern tradition. Scarlett needs to vanish for a little while, and competent Andrea needs to show up.
There's some good forward motion here. I'm making progress in some really good ways that have absolutely nothing to do with Dave. I'm following my dreams and my strengths toward something wonderful. I knew this evening-I absolutely knew- that having Dave sitting in the other Adirondack chair reading his own mail or chatting idly with me would never happen again. I knew I was okay with that. I know that I did good work today. I knew that I had made some good professional strides.
It just doesn't matter that I'm tired being brave. I have to keep on being brave.