Oh, I still want you. Don’t know if I need you, dear readers, but I want you.

But what is there to say? K. continues to be who he is. He was, for example, 47 minutes late last Wednesday because (I surmise) he stayed at Jezebel’s and didn’t have the correct clothes for his parents to take him out to a Fancy Dinner at Superexpensive Trendy New Restaurant of His Choosing, so he had to drive all the way back to his buddy’s in the ‘burbs. This took precedence over a)his promised arrival time and b)my picking up my friend visiting the U.S. from overseas who had no phone for me to call.

Thing One continues to vacillate between wanting his daddy and wanting his daddy to go away. This morning: “When I was three — when I was not three and a half — Daddy was crazy. He hurt you and me. He didn’t hurt [Thing Two]. Why didn’t he hurt her, Mommy?”

Then he said he never wanted K. to come again because K. was mean all the time. Then when K. came, he was fine with it.

I am starting to move on, with thanks to the friends who’ve given me other things to do and think about. I thought, this morning, apropos of the counselor who egged K. on to leave and referred to me as “insupportable,” that either that counselor is god and I should thank him for his intercession into my unhappy domestic life or that counselor thinks he’s god and could use a beat down. Whichever. Which is another way of saying that I am glad to not be with K. now. For as much commitment as I had to my marriage and family, these months apart from K. have shown me that a)He was never a man I could admire — or even enjoy as much as I ought to have, and b)He has become even less worthy of respect as his commitment to his children and family has been diminished by his desire to indulge himself. He’s leaving town this Wednesday, for example, the night before Thing One’s fourth birthday, and he’s executing only half of his Wednesday parenting time, and will miss several days, and this is not something that causes him to suggest making up time or connecting with the children in any other way. That’s who he is. And I am lucky because, as First Cousin said some time ago, “one less asshole to be married to.”

My in-laws were in town last week. They did buy a condo, which I assume K. will move into. I am not going to enjoy watching their continuing cycle of enabling and currying favor unfold, but it’s their deal — too bad they’re not going to ask K. to pass the savings onto us by paying the full amount of child support he should.

I don’t know how or whether I will keep this blog anymore; it has been a good place to chronicle the happenings of my process of getting through this, but there are several people who are aware of it whom I may not wish to follow me through my future life and musings. I am thinking of a similar project, though, so if you’re interested, drop me a comment with your email on it and I’ll drop you a line if I get another thing going. Whatever it is will take a slightly different shape, probably less of a diary and more of a collection of essays.

And thank you, my friends known and unknown, for reading.

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