Finding Forty, Day 367; A New Year

I'm two days past my first anniversary of this blog.   I suppose that means I should redefine, rename, refocus in some way.   At some point I probably will, but just can't be arsed with it for now.

My mind is fluttering, flittering elsewhere.

To begin with, I was "unofficially" offered the teaching job!  The hiring committee selected me as their first choice, but I've not yet signed any paperwork.   I found out earlier this week and danced a jig in the middle of the aisle in Target.   It was a silent, solitary moment of pure happiness and relief.   With my shopping excursion thrown completely off track, I quickly paid for my few items and rushed to tell A the good news.  With business and consequent personal bankruptcy looming, me having a solid job is a lifesaver.   Many thanks were whispered, shouted, uttered through tears that evening.

Since finding out, I've enjoyed daydreaming about my new school, my new crop of kids, my fellow teacher and future friends and confidantes.   I'm happy to get a fresh start with people who don't know me and the baggage I haul.   In time, I'm sure they'll find out, but when and what I choose to share will come from a more tranquil, healed place.

I like new beginnings.

The other thoughts occupying my mind is our upcoming summer vacation.   We are making a road trip, with two other families, to Destin, Florida in a little less than two weeks.

Crazy?  Probably.   But we are all so very excited.  I am an extensive list maker and it's been so much fun to ponder all of the things we need to pack and bring.   Last summer, we went to the Texas coast but A and I were deep in the midst of turmoil.  We shared a bedroom, but little else.  I was angry, resentful, lonely.   I found fault in just about everything he did, from spending too much time with the kids to chewing noisily.    In short, I was an asshole.

For his part, he was angry and hurt and had no reason or desire to let me in.   It was a feeble attempt to create some false sense of family, as if by pretending to walk on the beach together would instantaneously bond us together.

It was a colossal failure and shortly after, we separated.

Technically, we live apart still.   I pay rent to a 1200 sf apartment that is almost as expensive as our mortgage payment.    And yet, I am writing this from the bedroom we shared for 12 years and are slowly beginning to share again.  

I can't type this without crying.   I love him so much, I can't believe I was so willing to throw it away in a haze of shortsighted stupidity.

My new secret dream is for us to remarry each other.   Although we aren't divorced, I broke our vows and I want to recommit my heart and life to him.

Now isn't the time.  I can't yet tell him I want to do this.   But hopefully, someday.

Maybe this year's trip to the beach will bring forth a new beginning of another sort.