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At last, it’s finally over

August 8, 2005

I can finally breathe a sigh of relief tonight. My condo is sold, it closed Friday afternoon, and I had the money deposited into my account this afternoon. I could NOT be happier.

This also means that I never have to talk to my ex again. He no longer has but one tie to me (our timeshare, which we are working hard to sever, but the contract disallows it until it’s paid off), but even then, I don’t need to talk to him about it until it comes time to finish that paperwork.

What’s so weird about it is that I just plain don’t care. I really don’t. I don’t miss him anymore. I don’t wish he would have stayed and worked things out anymore. I don’t even wish that his new girlfriend will break his heart, because even if she does, I don’t care. I have accepted that we are over and I’ve begun to move on, finally. I’m not even saying goodbye. I sent him some pictures I found cleaning up along with the money that I owed him. I don’t know that I owe him anything more than that.

I was just thinking about it today, and our life together, seven years total, seems like such a distant memory to me now. I was thinking about my own wedding day and what made it special and unique as I was posting this morning, and other than the fact that it was in a lighthouse on the coast, all I can remember is how horrible that day was. I don’t know if it’s just because it’s over, or if it’s because it was just really not meant to be. I never have been able to remember a good thing about that day, but I remember it perfectly.

I remember waking up to rain, and being disappointed that it was so yucky outside. I remember that I had a sick feeling in my gut. I remember that there was a turkey missing its wing hobbling around in our driveway. It looked like it had been mauled by a couple of dogs and was barely hanging on. I remember feeling bad for it, and somehow, trying to figure out why I would see such a thing first thing on my wedding day. I remember realizing that the special something I bought from Victoria’s Secret was still hidden in my nightstand at home, miles away. I remember going to the florist’s shop with my sister and best friend, only to find that they had gone out of business. I remember scrambling around town, collecting flowers from miscellaneous places and put our own arrangements together. They were beautiful, thanks to Tanya’s experience in the floral industry. I remember working so hard to get those done and running upstairs to get ready and discovering that my dress was too big (my mom had made it, but I had lost some weight in the month between my shower and my wedding day). I remember that we were running late, and we left all of the flowers, so we had to turn around and go back. I remember that we sped down the coast–well, as fast as you can on switchbacks, in the rain, with 40 mph coastal winds. I remember that I cried the whole way to the top of the lighthouse, partly because I was nervous, but partly because I was scared that I was going to step on my dress and go tumbling down the 110-step spiral staircase. I remember getting irritated that my ex was jingling his keys in his pocket the whole time I read my vows (his defense, after reading about it in my journal: he was nervous) . I remember that the wind was so bad that we all felt like we were going to blow right off the point, and we had to ride another hour back to dinner, and I was tired and hungry. As we drove back, I remembered that we didn’t have a cake, and we ran to Safeway to pick one up. It was carrot cake, which I hate, but it’s the only kind of cake he’ll eat. I remember everyone being in a pissy mood at dinner, and fighting with my brother and sister. I remember the waitress being a total bitch and I remember saying goodnight to everyone, only to realize that no one had the key to our house. I remember searching through all of our cars, coats and purses, trying to find it. I remember driving back and forth to the house, looking for it in the mud. I remember my friend trying to pick the lock with her hairpins, and I remember that both of our families had gone to bed while the four of us searched in the rain and cold. I remember leaving my friend at her room, and going with his friend back to his room to use the phone to call the rental agency. I remember that it was President’s Day weekend and there wasn’t a vacancy in town. I remember being soaked and freezing and pissed that it was looking like I was going to spend my wedding night in a sleazy motel with my new husband, and his friend, whom I despised. I remember trying to leave, and I remember crying myself to sleep. I remember the angel that knocked on our motel door, soaked, looking for me. I remember giving her the biggest hug when she handed me the spare key. I remember finally making it back to the house, going inside, unwrapping the gift my mom had given me marked “for tonight–love, Mom,” and seeing these yellow monkey print satin pajamas. I remember laughing at that moment, and realizing that it was the only piece of joy I had on my wedding day. I should have known.

Cut to the present, and all of the four years in between are but a blur. The last thing I remember is the pain I was in over watching it all end; watching it all come crashing down. And as I look back on the past year, I see how far I have come in mending that pain and accepting it for what it was: the end of something long overdue. And it feels great to finally reach the finish line. That page is finally turned, and a new chapter begins.


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