I work as a CNA now in a rehabilitation center (fancy term for old folks' home) and I love it. As one of those residents would shout, "I love it all." And yes, I really do.
I think I found my calling, which is a scary thing because I never would have picked this for a calling. Rock star, ruler of small kingdom, school teacher of tiny tots, the queen, but poop cleaner upper extraordinaire? Nah.
I love the elderly. I love the stories. I love the people. I don't mind the messes and I feel happy when I leave for work a bit before 11pm 5 days a week. Happy. That's a word, which has eluded me for some time.
Then there's the divorce. Turns out, hubby had someone almost the entire time. Hence, his personality transplant where I was a monster and couldn't I just leave him alone and OF COURSE, he had to work hours and hours late (he was shagging her in the office after everyone else left). I caught them together. I freaked out a bit, calmed down and started a divorce action. (Funny bit is, their amazing, wonderful "we belong together" romance ended with her dumping him. There's something so right about the universe, eh? Karma is a bitch after all, but a best friend. A bitchy best friend. Yeah.)
So, since in addition to losing this tramp who was also married, he's about to lose his shirt and probably pants, maybe some shoes, he wants to agree to most of my demands if I call off the hellhound (my lawyer ... who really isn't a hellhound at all, but a lawyer ... they don't get sent from heaven). My husband doesn't have the thousands to fight (but agrees to support, spousal support, giving me the house, my car, on and and on) so looks like first, second, and third round may go to me.
Lastly, not leastly (cut me some slack), and certainly unexpectedly, I am back with my first love. Really back. Back back. Back as in as I type this, he sleeps besides me and I thank God for this end result. If I needed all the pain to end up here, I would have gladly doubled it. I love a man name Frankie and he loves me. He makes me wonder if in 24 years, if I ever knew what love really was ... or good sex.
I've worked hard to be a complete person again. I'm in therapy. I'll continue to work hard, but I have love, gratitude, and the unbelievably comforting sense that everything is going to work out just fine. It usually does. I'll make rounds soon. I miss all of you very much.
Labels: divorce, love, second chances