My wife accused me of Divorce Envy. Just because most of my friends are now divorced, she thinks that I want to get divorced, too.
She says I hang out with them too much and I must be jealous of their new lifestyle. A lifestyle which includes the freedom to meet new people and get laid.
I can tell you that nothing can be further from the truth.
Honey, I hang out with these people because I have Marriage Envy. The more I'm with my divorced friends, the more I realize their lives are hell. Amen.
I socialize with divorced people for several reasons: 1) The statistics are against me. I can't help it that more than half the marriages end in divorce. There's just more divorced people out there to be with. 2) I hate doing the couple thing. Married people are boring. 3) My divorced friends need a friend to confide in. I know, I'm a martyr. I just want to give back and be there for them, hang with them, and hear their stories from the other side.
But once the divorce proceedings are finalized and the divorcees have opened their online dating accounts, a married person is pushing their luck with the whole cry-on-my-shoulder thing.
This is what must've happened to me. I must've overstayed my welcome. "Time to come home."
Perhaps, my wife didn't appreciate my friendly advice to my newly divorced friends: "Don't get married again. This is your chance to go out and have fun. Don't even think about settling down."
I'm not being naive. I hear that type of advice offered all the time to new divorcees from both sexes. I think it makes sense. Sew those wild oats. Have crazy monkey sex on kitchen counters. Enjoy!
"So, your life is so bad?" my wife asks.
"My life? No. I'm talking about my friend's life. They're obviously coming out of something painful. Why should they try and repeat that so soon? They should go out and live a little."
"And is that what you're doing with them? Living a little?"
I may have said this before, but honesty has no place in a relationship. But living vicariously through your divorced friends does. Sure they have great pick up stories, enhanced sex lives, and erotic texts from one night stands. But they also have lawyer's bills, psychiatrist sessions, missed carpools, angry children, and lots of heavy baggage.
No. I don't want to be out there hunting for my next meal, or bagging anything with saggy tits and flabby stomachs. But I sure don't mind hearing about it from other people.
When it comes down to it, we’re all just gonna be some skin and bones left on this so-called plate of life. It’s pure hell if you think about it.
And lately, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. You see, I’m convinced that I’m already dead and this is hell.
That’s been my mantra for a while. I know it’s not too uplifting, believe me I know.
What brought me to this dismal conclusion? That’s what this blog is about - a collection of stories, examples, proofs, etc., that show without hesitation that I’m already dead and this is hell.
But don’t let me take the limelight. I know after you read some of these entries, you’ll find examples in your own “life” that will enable that light bulb to pop on and help you explain the inexplicable. You’ll soon realize that WE'RE already dead and living uncomfortably together in hell. So please, feel free to send me your stories, or just browse through mine. As Freud said, “It’s therapeutic, Mrs. Pappenheim.”