It's Me, Sara Louise

You know, nobody gets married thinking they’ll get divorced. Even knowing it’s a possibility (I mean, let’s be honest, the odds aren’t great), you still don’t think it’ll happen to you. But then it does.

I’m divorced. Finally.

Almost three months since he signed, six months since he was served, nine months since I paid the retainer (THANK YOU, FRIENDS), and two years since I found out that he had “married” someone else while keeping that gas light lit, I am finally divorced.

And it’s so anti-climactic.

Don’t get me wrong, it feels… actually, I’m not sure how I feel — relieved, maybe? It’s all so anti-climatic. I guess that’s partly because I’m in a new city (more on that soon) without a crew to celebrate with. It feels a bit like 🎵 happy divorce day to me, happy divorce day toooooo meeeeeeee 🎵. But alas, I’m divorced, and I’m happy. Yes, let’s go with happy.

I guess the other thing is that this whole thing didn’t need to be this damn dramatic. It should have been, “Sara, the last couple of years have been difficult. The whole green card thing was hard and messed me up. And, while we were apart, I met someone else. I’m sorry, but I think it’s best to go our separate ways.“

Would I have been upset? Yes. Would I have understood? Yes.

But for some mentally challenged reason, he decided to live a double life while absolutely screwing with mine.

Nevertheless, it’s done now, and I am free. And he is, too. For now, anyway…

** clink clink **