Move over Chris Pratt and Anna Faris...

I'm getting a divorce. I didn't see it coming and, apparently, I should have. Everyone else saw the path I was on, except me. Which is not uncommon, I'm sure. Hindsight being 20/20 and all.

I had originally hoped to write this blog on all the fun I've been having. Summer concerts in Toronto. Hiking the Bruce Trail. Serious late night discussions regarding the word "poop" and all the different movie titles that you can use it in. Eg. "Raiders of the Lost Poop" "The Poopfather" "To Poop a Mockingbird" etc.

But, the one thing I feel about this, is that I should be doing something about it. And, there isn't really anything I can do or even that I want to do. Except write about it. So, there it is in black and white. My marriage is over. Kind of.

My relationship with Rodney started when we were kids, riding bikes around town in the 80s. I had a secret crush on him in high school. Then, we became a couple in the early 90s. I got pregnant six months after we started dating, I went to college, the kids were growing... it just made sense for us to get married. So, after several years of pressure from me, he asked me to marry him. Actually, he just gave me a big box with a ring in it and said, "There's your rock." It wasn't romantic. It didn't need to be. It was just what we were supposed to do.

Although I liked the IDEA of being married and working towards a common goal, I was much more interested in travelling, trying new foods, learning different things and talking to people about big ideas (like poopy movie titles). I wanted to own chickens, but also to open a bakery and to learn seven languages. Maybe become a lawyer. Maybe move to the Yukon. I wanted to live a thousand lives and the married life was just one of them. Rod was instrumental in making many of these dreams a reality. He also protected me from squirrels and nightmares, he drove 16 hours straight when I tried to hike the Appalachian trail (and failed), he even spanked me through my S&M phase. He is still my best friend.

As for his dreams, I think Rod wanted a nice home with a steady income, roast beef dinner every night and barbecues on the weekend. I think he might have wanted to fly to Cuba in the winters when it was too cold to snowmobile. I know he wanted to become a cop at one time. I could not help him with any of these things because I didn't care what the house looked like, I wanted to eat sushi and curry every night, and I sure as hell was not getting on a plane to go south where it is too sunny and hot. So, we lived separate lives together for almost 25 years. 

Now, we've discovered that it's much easier to live separate lives apart and we're both okay with that. I certainly don't feel that I've wasted the last 25 years with my husband. I've often heard people say, "I wasted 10, 15, or 20 of my best years on that asshole." Well, no you didn't, you idiot. You presumably spent those years richer and poorer, sick and healthy, laughing and crying and screwing each other's brains out (I hope). You lived, for goodness sake. It's not Disney. It doesn't have to end with you dying in each other's arms at the ripe old age of 95. #relationshipgoals

In our marriage, we talked about everything, we argued, wrestled until I couldn't breathe (he's a much better wrestler), laughed until we cried (America's Funniest Home Videos!!), protected each other against the world (or snakes) and most certainly disappointed one another. I hope we can continue to do those things on some level.

I think the most painful part of any separation is what comes next. The hurt feelings when you find you've been replaced, not only as a wife, but as a sister-in-law or a friend. People have to start taking sides when there's a break up, even if the break up is no one's fault. For example, some people are going to think this divorce is my fault because I left the marital home and I need to sort myself out. To those people I would like to say, "Nope. You can't pin all this shit on me, fuckers. I may not be conventional, but I am happy and so is he. So jam that in your rectum and tug on a bent prick, you self-righteous, cornholes."

I am left with the feeling that we've somehow failed everyone and now our children are from a broken home and we've brought shame to our families. Which is kind of silly. We are just two people who miss being individuals. And, yes, it's sad. Yes, I cry about it. I may even stomp my foot and pout because this isn't what I wanted. That's when I will turn on the sad songs and remember all the reasons I loved being married to that dick.