A couple of weeks ago I moved back into the house I shared with my now ex-husband and two children. My ex husband and I are still on very good terms, we’re best friends, he annoys the shit out of me and we never have sex. Our relationship is exactly the same!!!
I’m in the guest bedroom, and he’s in the master. When I give people the tour of the house now I feel like I’m on Downton Abbey, “This is where I used to sleep when I was Lady of the Manor.”
It’s been an interesting experience being back in the house where all the happy married memories are, as well as the not so joyful ones. All the same stuff is annoying me as it did then, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t leave him again. I already played that card.
So I just have to shut up and co-operate. Wash each other’s dishes. Put each other’s laundry in the dryer. The most annoying thing is that he’s the favorite parent. Last night once again my eight-year old told me that he hates me and wishes I would move out. I’m doing this for him; doesn’t he think I’d rather be living with my boyfriend, having acrobatic sex on household objects? I’m living there so he and his brother don’t have to move around. Ingrates.
It hurts my feelings, but I’m almost inured to it now. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah I know you hate me. Well let me tell you something, you will never hate me, as much as I hate me. You’re new at this, I’ve hated myself for decades. Dilettante.”