And goddamn if it wasn't right for once.
I'm on the move, Drunkards. At long last.
When I bought the house I currently live in...in which I currently live...whatever...when I bought it, I thought it would be my family's home at least until Precocious Daughter went off to college.
She's not even through her freshman year of high school, and I'm getting ready to put it up for sale.
There's some sadness there, of course.
But more than the sadness, there's relief. And satisfaction. And that rush you feel when, after a long and stressful delay, there is forward motion once again.
I keep asking my spouse if he's good with this. Because he has a track of record of saying yes but showing no. Of brooding on his agreement and then rescinding it. Of smiling as we say good night, then cursing me out the next morning.
Yet he says this is the best thing. He says yes to making repairs (on my nickel, of course), to de-cluttering by renting a storage unit, to taking advantage of the hot housing market right now.
I will still do the legwork. I'll find the contractor and direct the necessary renovations. I'll engage the realtor. I'll make the decisions and take the risks.
One more time in our long history together, I'll do these things.
Because in the end, it will be the end.
Oh, and I'm paying for the divorce. Of course.
Have you ever seen the Tina Turner biopic What's Love Got to Do with It?
I couldn't find a clip online, but watch the courtroom scene, when Tina tells the judge that all she wants from Ike is her name.
All I want when this is over is to be me.
The cookie says I've taken the first step.
Only 999 to go.
If you wanted to walk along with me, I'd like that. Really.