Saying Goodbye
I love my apartment. I’ve fallen in love with Los Angeles but must move to a more affordable city. I either hate change, or I’m not supposed to leave. My gut is all out of whack. Maybe I should wait just one more month, two more months, or three, but I’ve been saying that for a year and three months now. My divorce finalized on January 1, 2023, and I’ve been at loose ends ever since, waiting for my life to begin again.
Waiting.
I didn’t grieve the loss of my marriage, not really. I wasn’t devastated when he left. He was so cruel, and he took pleasure in causing me pain, mainly when I was at my lowest. He knew how to twist a knife and make it bleed, and just when it started to heal, he twisted it deeper in.
But I grieve the loss of the partner I thought I had. I grieve the loss of having someone take care of the hard things. He did that well, mainly because he refused to cede control of what mattered — bills, taxes, travel, voting. He knew just what to do and did it in plenty of time. But he never knew how to love, so I suppose I have one up on him.
Nevertheless, love doesn’t pay the bills.
I’ve struggled this year trying to get my head around all that. I’ve also struggled to stay employed, but then, Los Angeles never opened up for me. I knew…
