Just Whatever

Dreamed about firemen last night. Reason #218 to hate my ex: I now cringe everytime I see a fireman. I used to be so proud of my ex because of his job. When in reality, when I think about it, he just sat around in a lazyboy watching TV all day until an alarm came in. Most alarms were for elderly who fell down or drunks who passed out. Not that those folks didn't need help, but let's face it, my ex wasn't exactly MR. HELPFUL. If I asked him to hang up some shelves or something at home, OH MY GOD, you would have thought I'd asked him to dig me an 8 foot trench or something. Besides, when he wasn't watching TV, apparently he was sexting his girlfriend. Awesome.

It's reasons like these that make me wonder why it bothers me so much that he's gone. And while it isn't on my mind as much as it used to be, it's still there. Nagging at me. It really pisses me off. Because I know, without one shred of doubt, that he is not thinking of me right now. Or writing a sappy blog about me. Yet, here I am.

What's even more annoying is that he's looking really good these days. He's probably lost 20 lbs, so he doesn't have that huge belly anymore. I hate that he's all fit and trim for his new girlfriend. So the best revenge that I can think of is to get fit and trim myself. Only he's ALWAYS been able to lose weight quicker than I can. I've only lost 10 lbs. I owe some of that to Zumba and the rest to stress and depression. I didn't eat very much in January. But I'm sad to say that my appetite has returned. My ex and I used to eat tons of fast food and I'd gotten away from that, but now it's coming back. I'm having a really difficult time shopping and cooking for one. It's bizarre. Last time I went to the store, I actually bought some of those tiny canned vegetables. You know, the tiny corn and tiny green beans. And they're still in my pantry.

So then I try to invite people over for dinner so I have someone to cook for. Pathetic huh? Whatever works, I guess.

The ex sent me an email a week ago which said something like, "I have to compliment you. The "fuck that guy" makeover is looking really good on you. I'm sorry I hurt you like that." blah blah I can't remember it exactly. Which is surprising since I read it about 20 times. OH YEAH. He said something like, "I'm glad you're able to move on after what I've done."

Gross.

He dropped our son off the other night and I had my contacts in. I'm sure I looked super awesome with my pajamas on, absolutely no makeup, and contacts. He didn't say anything at first and I thought he'd just let it go and then a surprised, "Are you wearing contacts?" I said, "Yes." Really deadpan. Ordinarily I'd be like, "Yeah!! What do you think?" or something happy like that. But I really found myself not wanting to discuss it with him. Like it was none of his business. He was trying to gain some insight I guess 'cause then he said something like, "Do they feel funny?" (????) Again, a deadpan "Yep." And then his reply, "Wow. Okay" and he was gone.

I think I look like my grandma with my contacts in. I used to look like my mom with my glasses and now I look like my grandma. Droopy eyelids, wrinkles, and everything. Of course, I haven't had any makeup on lately because of the difficulty of getting these large spikes into my eyeballs. Which, by the way, is getting only a TAD bit easier since I got them on Wednesday. My vision is all screwy because I need bifocals and these aren't bifocal lenses. So right now as I type this out, the text is blurry, then I can see, then it's blurry again - - it's weird. I go back for a check up on Wednesday so I'll be sure to tell the dr this.

Anyway, back to the "fuck that guy" makeover. I don't really think of it that way. I think of it more as a NEW ME makeover. I don't want to be Mrs. H anymore. I want to be a new, improved (or just absolutely different looking) Deanna. Kind of goes with the shopping thing. If I'm surrounded by new, I can't remember the old. As much.

My "boyfriend" is coming over for a movie tonight. Can I call him that? Okay, "R" is coming over for a movie tonight. This is good. It will force me to tidy myself up. I'm bad about "pajama weekends" if I don't have plans.

Oh - - 9 weeks by the way. Two months separated. And I mailed all that crap off to my lawyer so I suppose it's a matter of time before Douche gets served. Will he have a party? Fuck him.

UPDATE: Got the copy from my lawyer today. The divorce has officially been filed. I didn't cry.