Thursday, April 2, 2009

Seeking Peace and a Cast Iron Stomach

There was a time when I could eat anything. Nowadays, when I think of eating, I ponder idiomatic phrases like "eat my words," "eat your heart out," and slogans like "eat the rich" while I wonder about all the things I should or shouldn't be trying to communicate to Mr. Ex as we endeavor to settle our financial affairs. I have no reason to really trust this man, but I want to enter into an agreement with him that will finally be the end of us.  And I am seeing it as the end. The idea of being chained to him forever has left me. We are sooo close to sealing a deal and if that happens, I can almost imagine shaking his hand at our daughters' weddings and graduations without traveling backward through all the grief of the past two years. That handshake will just be a moment in a day on a green lawn striped with folding chairs or in a rustic field by an ocean and far more momentous things will be happening than ex-spouses touching hands.  He will have a new baby by then.  I'll have my MFA, a new life with a new love and maybe he'll even be at my side.
Still, my stomach hurts.  Maybe that's the way bitterness leaves the body.  Not through skin or lips, but through our intestines.  Sitting for a bit and stewing and then snaking its way out. Purging us of life's poison and leaving behind peace.

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