Come and see

My new travel gear arrived today. It's a huge Eastpak duffel bag on wheels. Huge to my drives-a-tiny-car standards anyway.
I ordered said bag under the influence of the siren call Chicago has become. After too many cigarettes on the curb of O'Hare, waiting for my transfer, after not going to Wrigley - which I shouldn't have missed, after not going to the DMB Caravan - which a phone call this week told me I should be glad I missed and after reading three interesting articles on the city, which mysteriously had found my desk in the last couple of weeks, I'm feeling this pull to make Chicago my next destination in the US. And bring enough clothes to survive this (so I've been told) unpredictable city. Hence duffel bag.

So I planned to fly out in October, the same weekend miss Sarah will be running her marathon there (a round of applause for her, please). See Sarah, see Chicago - successful trip guaranteed. But like with Wrigley, the Ex decided to put a stop to this much fun. You see, the Ex is down the drain. The Ex is unemployed. The Ex is drinking. The Ex is broke. The Ex refuses to sell his (MY) car, but will gladly take my money instead. The Ex basically still has a huge hold over my life. Isn't it wonderful?

So the Ex will be going to Scotland for six months, in rehab. Apparently, Scotch country is where you should find sobriety. But enough of my sarcasm. It's great that the Ex is doing this. That he will willingly flee all his responsibilities under the pretense of sacrifice, to the benefit of his son. Wait, I was quitting the sarcasm. Of course, he graciously gives me two weeks notice that I will be a full time working full time single mom for half a year. Quit. Sarcasm. Oh - and did I mention Y will have to transfer schools during this time? He'll be in special ed for a year so we (ME) and "them" can figure out what kind of education will be best for him (he's "too smart for special ed but too hypersensitive to cope in a class with 30+ kids" - just love that "they" always label him with the pretty negative adjective "too". End sarcasm Esther). In short, I can't leave Y right now. Not even for an extended weekend (sorry, Sarah). Security is key. Or so I think, anyway.

Okay, enough.

I've brought this on myself. I know. I should have seen the signs before I got pregnant. Not that I would have had an abortion after I got pregnant and he started drinking and showing (or me finally seeing) full blown borderline. And no, I can't even regret it, because it brought me Y. So yeah, it's all on me. But before you judge me - sometimes, no matter my own responsibility in this mess, it's kinda hard, you know? I want my kid to have a father. Even if his father is an expletive deleted. Even if this is mostly my fault. I'm so mature...

The thing with love is, you can rationalize it all you want - you still can hardly help who you fall in love with. I fall for mannish boys. Or boyish men. Whatever. Basically men who will stay young at heart. Or who are just plain young. Not that young, you perve. But certainly young-er. Peter Pans, is my latest theory (Y is obsessed with the Pan). I don't think it's very smart, but it's what I'm attracted to. I like silly, I like clean shaves or bristle out of not caring. I like boisterous, but not in a serious way. I like blue and green eyes and mischievous grins and laughter and just a pinch of arrogance. Zest. God Esther, go get some, will you?

There's one thing I've left behind me though. I don't want complicated anymore. I've done that too many times. Please, no more brooding and hardships and tough tough tough relationships. I think I finally feel I deserve more than that. I want to fly and keep my own at the same time. Which basically leaves me with longing for the completely unattainable. Or backing away from the not so unattainable. Because I'm scared shitless. SHIT-LESS. Conquer me, will you? Because I don't have the guts anymore to do it myself. I might tentatively feel like I deserve you, but it's such an unknown territory, I need someone to guide me through it. So yeah, high standards anyone?

Right.

Anyway.

Where was I?

Single mom, working full time, energy of a 90-year old (let's hear it for arthritis). Still, mother of the Best Kid Ever, a nice career, brave, persevering, nice sense of humor, great eyes (behind the glasses). I can't run on the outside anymore, but I still do in my head. I'm smart, I'm educated (to an extent), I have an enormous curiosity and I'm awesome on my good days.

I've got great stuff ahead of me the coming six months. Y and I will be going to Barcelona in November to visit his aunt. The Ex's family is completely in my corner and helps me out wherever they can. I can count on my mom, even if she drives me insane half of the time. My friends are the bestest a girl could ask for. I will have a week vacation after Christmas and Y will spend most of that time with his grandparents (and trust me, I'll probably need to reload by then). I'm planning to ring in the third and final year of partner alimony with a bang and a huge bottle of champagne.

In March, the Ex will come back. And I'll be prepared. I'm not going for full custody - being a child of a broken marriage myself, things would even have to get worse for it to come to that. But logs are kept updated, witnesses are standing in the wings. This is the NL and stuff is not that cut and dry over here. But enough's enough. This co-parenting thing is not working anymore. The Best Kid Ever deserves much better, too.

Love you all. And yes, I know I should get it over with and go get some. Not that I will tell the interwebs when I do. I just might get overly chipper. Grins.