Emotions Don’t Really Care About Intellect

Yesterday, W dropped a bomb on me. He told me he is seeing someone. She lives a couple of hours away but is looking for a job here so that she can move to this area. According to him (and these are his words), “She’s older, in her 50s.” (Uh, yeah, she’s older than me, but she’s still 15-20 years younger than he is.) She intends to buy a house once she moves here, and when W’s lease is up on his apartment he intends to move in with her.

Now, part of me is thrilled. Part of me is thinking this is a very good thing because I no longer have to feel guilty about breaking up the marriage. Part of me is thinking that I no longer will have to feel responsible to take care of him if something happens. Part of me is thinking that this will make moving forward with the divorce so much easier because he is as eager to get it over with as I am.

Yeah, there is all that.

Then there’s this other part. This other part is hurt. . . and sad. . . and a little scared. This other part feels a little like I’ve lost control of a situation (that I didn’t have control over anyway, but let’s not get all logical here ’kay?) that I thought I had in my pocket.

I’m getting what I want – my freedom – so why does it feel so icky?

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Oh yeah, and for my U.S. readers if you haven’t already, don’t forget to vote. That, or be prepared to just shut up for the next four years about whoever is elected and whatever they do. Just sayin'. . .