On the Deck of the Carpathia

Last Saturday started out quiet and calm. I welcomed the cloudy drizzly “good sleeping” weather. I bought a ticket to the Gin Blossoms concert at the Devon and did some yard work. By late afternoon, I was throwing my husband out of the house for once and for all.

He came up with excuse after excuse as to why he couldn’t move into his new house. The silliest reason given was that he doesn’t have a TV yet. He wanted me to set up his Wifi for him before he could bear to spend a night there by himself. I refused. He also didn’t know how to work the thermostat, so the house was too hot for him. Boo hoo.

He then said, “But, there are no curtains.” I told him to get some old sheets, a hammer and some nails and there’s your curtains.

Then he told me he was going to go Springfield to look for furniture AGAIN by himself and didn’t have time to move. Mind you, he’s supposedly traveled hundreds, if not thousands of miles to furnish an 800-square foot house. I asked which girlfriend he was taking out this time. After a long and heated argument he finally admitted he was going to dinner with his girlfriend that he supposedly broke up with a week earlier, so he could save our marriage. Yeah, right!

There’s no saving this sinking ship. It’s already groaned its last, cracked in half, sank (sunk?), and landed with a sickening thud onto an uncharted ocean floor. All that’s left is the scene where he searches for me on the deck of the Carpathia to ask me to set up his Wifi tower.

And with that, the book is closed on this marriage. The court date is next month and I have no idea what to expect in the courtroom. Every time I think about it, I get sick to my stomach. We’ve agreed on how everything will be split, so it shouldn’t be a long-drawn-out divorce. We’re going it without attorneys which is probably very stupid on my part because I could get a lot, but I don’t want him thinking he’s supporting me. I’d rather starve on my own.

This past week has been quiet, other than his frequent calls and text messages asking me how to set up his cable TV. I refuse to talk with him on the phone. I told him to only text because I’m not listening to his nonsense anymore. He actually had the nerve to ask my out to dinner on our upcoming anniversary. He said we would have a good time.

A good time? A good time? A GOOD TIME? What the fuh… Are you freaking kidding me? [Insert long-drawn-out woman’s scream here.]

So here I am almost a week later, and I’m doing much better. I’ve begun cooking again instead of eating out. Boy, was I sick of eating out. I didn’t feel like cooking for him, so he could refuel for another night on the town with one of his women. I still don’t know what they see in him. If only they knew what I know.

Beyond all that nonsense, I have to start thinking of my own future. I really don’t know what my game plan is at the moment, but I do know that there are simply no jobs for me here, at all. Nothing. Zilch. Nothing for miles and miles. I couldn’t have picked the worst place to live for my degree, but I could move to the most beautiful parts of the country with it.

Moving. The thought of moving out-of-state makes me want to throw up. Selling the house and starting a new job somewhere else is a lot, but realistically if I’m going to support myself financially it’s what I have to do.

For now, I’m looking within the state of Illinois. Since our son isn’t yet 18, I’ll probably be required to stay within so many miles of Decatur. I’m not sure yet. I’ve found jobs way down in southern Illinois and up by Chicago.

My family is here, so I don’t want to move thousands of miles away, but it’s not that big of a deal to take a two or three hour drive to see family once in a while. Millions of people do it all the time and are managing just fine.

Right about now, the pandemic seems like the good ole days. It was so easy in comparison. Speaking of that, it does feel good to ditch the mask. I just hope we can stop wearing them at work soon. Going through hot flashes with a mask on is like cooking your face with your own breath. It’s awful. By the end of the shift, I’m well-done.

Well, that’s where I am now. Bewildered and totally without a game plan, but that could all change quickly. An aunt of mine gave me some advice a while back. She told me to “F*ck him, sell the house, quit your job and get out of Decatur!” “Find that outdoor job you’ve always wanted.” That’s actually some of the best advice I’ve ever been given. It seemed crazy at the time, but it doesn’t anymore.