yobech505

Setting up House.

It’s been a long time since I got unceremoniously dumped from my last relationship.  I’m way beyond it, or so my electronic brain sensors attempt to point.   But it was something my daughter said the last time we hung out that incented me to attempt to unmuddy what went down the turnpike in a direction counter to mine.  Baffling the mystery; what actually happened?

My beautiful daughter, who is quite insightful, told me she was “setting up house”.

“Just another bunch of syllables that translate to ‘rebounding’?  I inquired.

“Well, sort of”.  She explained it and I heard it, thus:

While we were grooving, her divorce was only a collection of fortnights away. The officializing papers only needed to be signed, exempting all the nit picks that didn’t have to be brought to a closed clump in our glorious original one of thirteen colony’s laws for a legal joining to end.  As soon as they were signed, like maybe somewhere on the short side of a week, our relationship was flatulence in a hurricane.  Gone.

I’m standing there, in the doorway so I don’t get squished by falling debris, saying to myself, “Self, what in the name of Krishna just happened?” while Vishnu is laughing her multi armed blue butt into squiggly wrinkles saying, “Geez.  Are your glasses really that scratched?

Somebody had to get sucked up the relationship vacuum to fill that airless spot her ex left her in.  Who could she possibly bitch to. (not at).  Mom and Dad are so ‘told you so’ people.  Best friends listen to the stories she’s told 33-1/2 times before.  But a new guy steps in?  Aha!  Ears to hear all about the sob stories (yes, they can be legitimate).  Someone to lay next to you and give you what you probably didn’t have in your marriage but remembered that, once, you did.  She gets intimacy, passion, dates to the good places, a quiet dinner, all the jovial stuff a relating to each other experience should have.

And an unseen anchor chain cranks you right in.

Things are tough.  A divorce is stuck up with moving from Cape Cod to El Paso, Texas on the stress scale.  So the temp hired with emotional payments, to help her get through it, enrolls in an essential job, making it possible for her to nest and set up house while the cracked marriage is allowed to legally be split like the samurai’s watermelon.

Those of us who dumbly fall into these divorce made holes are subject to a crash course in relationship crashing.  Not yet able to be completely alone or without another insignificant significant other in the empty slot, she somehow needs to get puttied in.  And here we are.  So, chasing the rabbit, we fall, like Dodgeson’s little blonde girl in her quest for adventure, then out we pop, male chameleon calicos, insects in pupa form and psychotic queens be cursed.  No happy endings for us on this trip.

The recipient party, of course, does not suffer the same malevolent outcome however.  The housekeeper gets the house, and the benefits of the aspects of the relationship that maintained their sanity through the struggled part.  After doing your part, the party of the second part, becomes the party of the third part, which is not a part of much of anything.

Oh, I get it.

Duh!