Showing posts from 2013


Bitterness is one of those solid, reliable feelings. Being able to set my jaw and turn my face away (just a fraction) is a powerful and dependable reaction. So subtle you’d be a fool to call me out on it, but enough of a motion that I can almost see the concrete setting up around my heart. Sped up like a time-lapse video. Here we have the initial insult, the wrongdoing that grants me the license to resent, and now we have the barrier – a great retaining wall erected between us. May I present a gift to me: Justified Anger. Usually I'm complicit in our conflict so this purity is rare and, thus quite satisfying. Savory, I think, as I sink my teeth into it. Bitterness is sturdy and chunky. Something I can really hang on to and something I could enjoy.  Your swift recognition that hurt has been inflicted, quickly followed by your sincere apology, is disappointing. It’s like drawing a hot bath and being interrupted just as I’ve put my toe into the welcoming water. Sure,

The Event: Getting Sober

It’s announced like an open house, an engagement, or a new job. Announced as a self-published press release. The Ex is Trying to Get Sober. This is celebrated, in some parts, as good news. It is, I suppose. It’s encouraging when someone decides to turn over a new leaf. Proclaimed change is full of hope and promise. My Handsome Man shared the status update with me. The Ex had called or texted to inform him that she is now “working on getting sober,” or “really focusing on her sobriety,” or something like that, conveyed with conviction and with the attending qualifiers that “from now on everything is going to be different.” Big news. Old news. I should be excited, supportive, enthusiastic . . . something other than skeptical. But I am . . . skeptical. The fanfare accompanying the announcement – elated and energized kids, a panicked and co-dependent Dear One who rushes off to stay with her mother because The Ex can’t be alone when she’s trying to get sober – all indica