What does one do?

What does one do on the day they send divorce papers to their spouse?

This is real. It has felt real for a long time, but every step of this process is like a giant slap of reality hitting me in the face. I am just walking (trudging) along through life, minding my own business, confident that I have a handle on this alternate reality I have created for myself.  Then the long arm of reality reaches out and wallops me, chuckling to itself, and taunting me, “Oh, aren’t you cute thinking you had a handle on your life…just wait until the divorce is final. Now that will be a doozy!” Meanwhile, I am picking myself up off the pavement looking around in confusion for who the hell just pulled a hit and run, and realizing reality just altered again while I wasn’t looking, shifting itself to accommodate this new development.

Reality is a bitch.

So. What does one do? The movies depicting celebratory drinks with the ladies isn’t accurate. I do not feel celebratory; just sad and exhausted. The ones in which you stumble into a bar aren’t right either. I have two kids to pick up from daycare in 4.5 hours. If I want to maintain custody, I can’t just show up intoxicated. Plus, that’s just bad parenting. I could throw his wedding ring into the ocean, but that’s a long drive and at least two week’s worth of groceries disappearing into the dark water. Burn all the pictures of us together? That’s a fire hazard. And there are good memories there too. Why are all the movies so dramatic? We don’t get to be that dramatic without consequence in real life.

Instead, I’ll write as eloquent a diary entry as possible, throw it out into the world, and get on with the day as if my mind isn’t reeling. Emails still need to be answered, reports submitted, kids fed and put to bed, and someone has to wake up again tomorrow to do it all over again. I guess that someone is me.