All That I Have Written Is Straw. . .

Meanderings of a Catholic Devout

The Defense Calls the First Witness

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Let me not forget:  this upcoming Labor Day weekend will mark one year since my ex-husband and I agreed to separate.   Next weekend, I will see his friends.

It’s been a long, colorful year for me, as you already know if you’ve been following this blog.  The Argument on Labor Day weekend happened after a long night of my ex’s drinking at a party we were hosting in celebration of football season’s arrival.  He and I, along with a half-dozen of his friends, had finished a fantasy football draft.

That draft is here again.  His friends are here again.

Because A— and I remain friends, we’ve agreed to continue to compete against each other in the same fantasy football league. I’ve been looking forward to it, but I admit, I forgot that I would have to face his friends again for the draft.  I haven’t been dwelling on it or anything, but it just hit me the other day how much it affects me.

I will be completely honest:  somehow I begrudge his friends for the separation.  I don’t blame them.  But they were, in fact, a huge factor in the element that broke the camel’s back.  Had there been no drinking that weekend, would A— and I still be married?  Had it not been for their bachelor lifestyles, would A— have even desired to be on his own?  It’s not their fault, but I suffered for it regardless.   And, by suffer, I don’t just mean “the divorce”.  I mean all of the countless hours I spent worrying and missing out on my own life because of the drinking and partying that my ex did with them.  All for an investment I eventually lost.

I know that sounds very pathetic and victimizing.  But it’s how I feel at the moment.  His friends aren’t bad people.  Individually, they have great attributes and have lots of unrealized potential.  They were always accepting of me when I was married to their friend.  I guess it was just a huge slap in the face for me when A— and I separated that not one of them offered any concern for what became of me.  After spending eight years of my life chumming up with the guys, not one of them said, “Hey, sorry, A—’s my bud and all and I am his friend first, but I will miss you and I wish you the best.”  But of course, I know, in reality, this is completely not what a guy does.  (Sorry, don’t mean to offend any of my male readers out there.)  Actually, come to think of it, most of the girl friends of A— didn’t do that either.  A couple of them did, though.

I know these are my issues to deal with.  They are entirely my own.  I hope I kick ass in fantasy football this year.  I think there’d be more satisfaction in that.  Better yet, I hope my team beats their favorite team this year.  Forgive me for feeling a little vengeful.  I could think of worse methods, though.  At least I’d keep it to friendly competition.


Written by Written Straw

August 21, 2010 at 7:13 pm

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